On a later page in my brief diary, from which I have already quoted, I find the following:
“Sapristi! I have just met Miss Katherine G——. She may be intellectual but she certainly is charming. She may have translated Brandes into English and done other heavy stuff like that, but she is not prematurely old. She is not anaemic and there is not a tuft of hair on her chin. She is young, she has black hair and black eyes and a kindly smile like a practical Christian. She is feminine. Her stateroom told the story—littered with flowers, clothes and things. If the boat is hit I shall certainly be one of several who will offer her a life belt.” There my diary ended.
The voyage was calm enough and without many exciting incidents. One of the passengers died. He was very old and feeble when he came on board, bound for his home I believe, in Greece. He was buried at sea early one morning before those who had gone to bed had risen.
Many passengers slept on deck while passing through the war zone. The ship’s concert took place a couple of nights before we landed. Many passengers stayed on deck during the ship’s concert. Miss G—— and the two aviators, Meeker and Walker, took part in a one-act play. I wrote the play originally but Miss G—— rewrote it because she said it was too “high-brow,” which convinced me that she was wonderfully human though highly intellectual.
Reaching France, we “crusaders” who had become intimate on the long voyage, which was all too short, went our various ways—some to aviation fields—some to camion camps—some to the American Field Headquarters at 21 Rue Reynouard, Paris, France. Some I have seen since—some I will never see again.
Coming out of an Eleventh Century Cathedral in Bordeaux with a couple of friends, I saw “Andree” pass by in an open carriage. She was smiling happily, showing her white teeth when she turned and waved to us as the carriage disappeared around the corner.
I last saw Meeker and Walcott in front of the Café de la Paix in Paris. I wished them luck in their undertakings for the cause. Meeker and Walcott, aviators, have since fallen on the field and I am sure the world is bound to be just a little better for the inspiring sacrifice they have made.
In Paris I met Frederick Norton, of Goshen, New York.