We lost two hours here waiting for orders, but by 10 we had turned our head for the Atlantic, and were soon going full steam ahead. The 970 miles from Naples we covered in forty-eight hours, at economical speed. Our speed and size dwarf everything we come up against.
Before sunset we passed a small tramp steamer which halted, as we also did, and for long signals were carried on between the two of us. The passengers were unable to read these, but they must have been very important when a ship like the "Aquitania" came to a dead halt.
At Gib. we had been told that a rumour had reached England, and appeared in the "Daily Mail," that the "Aquitania" had been torpedoed.
December 2nd.—The air is soft and balmy, a few drops of rain have fallen, but the lower clouds fly fast as if a breeze was brewing.
6 p.m.—We have had a stormy afternoon, a driving rain and a 50-mile gale as reckoned by the captain. As I came along a passage a cupboard door flew open and scores of dishes fell out with a crash. In the wards bottles and tables are flying all over the place. As I was steadying myself on deck the ship's whistle gave a blast that seemed unending. There was a rush from below to the boat deck, but as there was a thick haze we decided it was only a fog signal. "Fog signal," said the captain, "I call it a d——d fool's signal. This boy," pointing to a very guilty looking little chap, "placed his back against the whistle lever, and the d——d fool never noticed he was raising hell."
December 3rd.—All last night the rolling had been particularly bad, so much so that the ship is pronounced to be much too top-heavy. I had slept straight on till 5 and did not feel a particularly heavy roll at 2 a.m., which every one is talking about, and which had tumbled a lot of people out of bed. One old sailor says he got a terrible fright, he thought the ship would be unable to right herself from her great weight, and he fled on deck expecting the worst.
4.45 p.m.—A revolving light can be seen through the mist but must be many miles off. At 3 we had all been warned off the deck as a message had been received that we were again in a danger zone. We are now near our haven, and if that light is from the Needles another hour should take us there.
Later.—We anchored off the Solent as it was getting dark. In time a pinnace came alongside, presumably a pilot came on board, so we up anchor and are now moored inside the outer boom.
December 4th.—As soon as it was daylight we began to move, and went slowly up the Solent in a drizzle and thick mist; ships no end at anchor all the way; past Netley Hospital facing great mud-flats; New Forest stretching away to the left; Cowes in thick haze. When nearing Southampton four tugs came alongside, two were attached to the bow, the other two on guard crept along with us. At last the docks appeared, we were hauled round by our tugs and went in stern first. The four tugs then arranged themselves along our starboard side, got their noses up against the "Aquitania's" ribs and butted her up against the quay wall.
7 p.m.—I expected to get off hours ago. The Military Landing Officer says the best he can do for me is to send me to Glasgow. I know what Glasgow is like in a drizzle at this time of the year—"coals in the earth and coals in the air," as some one says. It has rained all day, is foggy and altogether British, unlike anything I have seen for a long time. I can understand how our colonials come home and curse our leaden skies.