All through the country of Holland, Dutch soldiers were "preparing"

everywhere. We arrived at Flushing at two A. M. and went aboard

at once, but not before being well looked over by English commissioners,

who examined our foreheads and wrists for German measles. Shall I ever

get away from that word?

_November 8th, Sunday._

A long day on the Channel and I was seasick--miserably, hopelessly,

endlessly seasick, but when somebody shouted I managed to lift my head

in time to see a floating mine--just a tiny, black buoy bobbing about,

but I did not mind. I asked the stewardess if she were not afraid,

making the journey every day, and her answer awed me by its conciseness

and its confidence. "Oh, no," she said. "Our Admiralty has arranged a

path for us between the mines." That was a sublime faith, but I should

choose a more winsome path--bordered with marigolds, perhaps, or phlox.

About four P. M. the gaunt, chalk cliffs of Dover hove into

sight, rising up in their grimness and seeming yet to shadow the awful

tragedy of the previous day, when an auxiliary cruiser had struck a mine

a quarter of a mile from shore and sunk in five minutes.

_November 9th, Monday._

Folkestone! The busiest town on earth, I should say, and soldiers

everywhere. There were ruddy-looking troops, singing also, and

apparently quite content to be "going over," for an Englishman is always

game; and there were pale ones, just out of hospital, in every kind of

uniform, and bands of refugees and exiles who had not a franc among

them.

Comtesse de M. went with me to the English Embassy to see if they would

give me a passport to France with her, for in my haste in leaving Liege,

it had not occurred to me that I would need a passport ever again

anywhere.

It seemed to me that there were millions of people at the door of the

Embassy, but fortunately Madame de M. found an acquaintance who must

have had considerable influence, for he took us around to a secret door

and we were soon in the audience room. Well, of course, there was

nothing to prove that I was an American but our honest word, which was

not enough, so I offered to hand out my German passport, which was

certainly maladroit.

Fancy, an Englishman viseing a German passport!

Then Madame de M. pulled out hers and asked them to sign my name on it

as companion to her. The august head looked troubled at this; however,

he took his pen and was just in the act of putting it to paper when his

assistant or rather accomplice interposed and they argued a bit. He took

his pen for the second time and plunging it into the inkwell was just

about to sign when somebody else expostulated and another discussion

ensued.

For the third time (he pulled himself together as a man who knows what

he is about) he took his pen and would certainly have achieved his

object if the door had not opened at the inexpressible moment to admit

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