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March 21, 1918.

LIVERPOOL.

I noticed that the ship lacked motion when I woke up in the dark stateroom but didn't believe [[strikethrough]]d[[/strikethrough]]we'd docked because since yesterday afternoon we had been stopping frequently, right in the heart of the danger zone, to take soundings for guidance in the thick fog. We were docked when I awoke though, and after 3 hours of baggage smashing, and tipping the ship's crew, and waiting, and waiting, we disembarked and rode in a rickety old depot wagon to the Great Northwestern Railway Hotel to the U.S. Headquarters.

"You 5 casuals are going to London," said the Captain in charge.

"That's good, we'll start in the near future hours as long as they say it is a good ride to London in the daytime," we let it known.

"No you wont", edicted the Capt.

"Well," questioned Pete Schuur, "if we want to