Dear Daddy:—

At about noon yesterday, we were all thrilled to see a big transport ship go by us to starboard. She was very lightly laden, and tossed about at a great rate. She had no flag and no visible name, and gave us no signal, which my friend, the purser, tells me is the custom in war-time. She was too far off to wig-wag, and she did not wish to use the wireless and thereby let some one else know her whereabouts. We were all duly thrilled by her and watched her out of sight. Then we lay down again, only to be bounced out of our chairs by the news that a French man-of-war was passing us to port. We tooted around to the other side, and there she was, big French flag, a medium-sized ship and a cruising destroyer, according to the faithful purser. She went by us slowly and gave no sign. We were duly grateful, for I can tell you her guns looked awfully big! After she had gotten well past us, and we thought everything was over, she suddenly fired a gun, began to steam up like everything, and turned around remarkably quickly and came racing down on top of us, smoke pouring out of her funnels and coming full-tilt right at us. Nobody knew what it could mean, and then our engines stopped and we hove to. The officers all beat it up to the bridge, and you never saw so many sick passengers come to life and hang over the rail with the rest of us watching. Every one had a different notion, and I can tell you it was sort of scary, for she might be a German in disguise, and Heaven only knows what she might do. After she got alongside, she stopped and wig-wagged for all she was worth. After about ten minutes, which seemed at least an hour, our engines started, and we went our way. She circled around us, and kept going off in different directions, and then turning. It seemed as if she was looking for something. The report the captain gave out was that she wanted the Greenwich time; wanted to know where we were going, and then wished us “Bon voyage.” You can believe that or not. It does not sound plausible to me, but, anyway, the dear thing left us after having scared the life out of us. When she was alongside, and you began to think of life in a lifeboat in this sea, which is fairly smooth, it did not appeal. I suppose it all sounds trivial to you,—to be held up by a warship in mid-ocean,—but with the fact in mind that all sorts of things are happening now that never did before, and also that she went steaming past and then suddenly turned, we all had plenty of room for imagination. It was awfully interesting to see how different people took it. I think I would have been scared to death myself if it had not been for the humor of the idea of perishing with a certain one on my arm. She, poor soul, was so frightened and weak that she was both pitiful and laughable.

This dear boat seems to go more slowly every day. At the present rate, I don’t think we will land much before Easter! She certainly is nice and steady, though, and if this glorious weather keeps up, I, personally, don’t care at all when we get in. It is so warm that it is really ridiculous. Here we are at Christmas season, and yesterday I walked the deck all the morning without even a sweater, my flannel waists being heavy enough, though, to make up for something, I guess.