About six this evening a speck on the horizon and we break our number from the fore truck and in a few minutes we come in plain view of our convoy. She is a torpedo-boat destroyer, No. 38, with the "Stars and Stripes" flying astern. We had a feeling of great relief. We gave her a hearty cheer. To bed now and clothes off.
July 11th. Woke up and climbed out on deck at three fifteen. Light was just breaking and every one was on the qui vive. Watched the serpentine for a bit and then turned in again and had a good snooze till Eddie, the bath steward, routed me out for a plunge. Last wash on board; we go dirty to-morrow, and then a good fresh-water tub and soap.
Our destroyer was changed during the night. The rumor is that 38 went in assistance to some other ship that was below us in our vicinity.
There are surprisingly few boats seen—two sailboats, a trawler, and one large steamer is preceding us. Just after lunch a large French dirigible circled over us. She has been hovering around since early morning, presumably looking for subs.
It is pack up to-night and if we have luck we shall land early in the a.m. About eight p.m. we sight the lighthouse off the bar, but cannot cross until high tide on account of the risk of striking a mine.
July 12th. On deck a little before seven when we cross the bar and proceed slowly up the Mersey and drop anchor before the quay where we wait for over two hours for the boarding officers. They arrive after a long wait. Everyone is herded in the lounge where a captain and three corporals go over all our papers and ask us if we carry any correspondence.
We disembark at noon. Then a short walk through the town with Peck, Russell, etc., hunting for a cable office. I suppose all my letters will be censored out of shape as I wrote fully describing the voyage.
Major Keating met us at the wharf. He is the officer in charge of embarkation, a perfect type of the English gentleman. Lunch on ship and are entrained for Southampton direct, much to our disgust, for every one was hoping for at least one day in London. The nurses are held over in Liverpool for a tea or something; every one is most courteous.
The train was scheduled to leave at two thirty p.m., but when made up did not have sufficient room for officers, so three-quarters of an hour delay while another first-class carriage is hunted up, but every one takes it very casually and Major Keating chats very pleasantly with us all. Finally the extra carriage arrives and we are loaded. Men are loaded third class and we go first. Everything is conducted in an orderly fashion with an eye to comfort. But it seems so strange to be here and traveling under these conditions and in uniform.