After a sleepless, uncomfortable night, spent sitting bolt upright in a compartment of the Paris-Brest train, Kendall arrived at the dirty, unkempt, unattractive seaport which was his destination. His baggage was taken from him by the branch of the army which looked after such matters, and he found his way to the provost’s office, where he showed his orders and was told to report daily to see if his name was posted in the list of those to sail. No further information was given him as to the date of his departure nor the vessel upon which he should sail.
He secured a room at the Continental H?tel, the best the city afforded, and found it unspeakable—and then for six interminable days he wandered about the town, waiting, waiting for the convoy which seemed destined never to arrive. He played innumerable games of bridge, walked a dozen times a day to a vantage-point on the old fortifications from which he could gain a panoramic view of the harbor and its jostling craft.... Far out at the entrance swayed and tossed an observation balloon, keeping ceaseless watch of the sea for lurking submarines....
No vessels came save one, the torpedoed Mt. Vernon, which had sailed early on the morning of his arrival. It staggered into port with a great hole in its side, and presently disappeared into dry dock farther into the bay.... Then the report spread that cholera had broken out in the town and was magnified to appalling proportions.... There was nothing to do but play bridge and walk to the harbor to look for an incoming convoy, and to eat and sleep. It was maddening....
The harbor ceased to be interesting. German prisoners compelled to labor on the docks became commonplace; scurrying destroyers failed to stir the imagination.... And then one morning Ken walked to his usual vantage-point and saw at anchor the gigantic Leviathan....
Presently orders were posted and his name appeared upon the list. He was to report himself with his hand-baggage at a certain point early next morning.... The morning was overcast and cold, with a chilling, slanting drizzle of rain, and everybody was out of spirits and uncomfortable as they waited for the lighter to carry them out to the transport. There was no shelter, and they stood about the deck of the little boat, backs to the slashing rain, for no sooner had they left the wharf than the rain descended in earnest.
Finally they were on board and were assigned to rooms, but this was not the end of the waiting. Forty-eight hours remained while the vessel was being coaled, but at last she started, a consort on either side and a flock of destroyers for convoy.
The voyage was not unpleasant, and it was interesting, at least, to watch the little destroyers plunging and rolling through the great waves until one night they disappeared and left the three transports alone.... There were six days and a half of plowing westward through the Atlantic, days when one wore constantly his life-jacket and rather expected to hear at any moment the detonation of the defensive guns or the explosion of a torpedo against the vessel’s sides.... But at last land came into view—only to be obscured by fog that compelled the Leviathan to crawl along, feeling her way with the lead.... And then, as suddenly as it had come, the fog vanished and they were in the harbor, with the Goddess visible ahead and the sky-line of the metropolis over to the right.... Nobody left the deck. It was an experience and every man wanted to feel every second of it, witness every manifestation of it.... Vessels cheered them and they cheered in return.... It was America—home. They had been to the war and had returned, some of them battered, broken, but nevertheless retu............