On guard to prevent the men of the two ships (our own and the Florizel with the Newfoundlanders) coming over to visit each other. At ten o’clock at night I got the tip that a bunch of men were going to make a break for shore and I was asked to go. I had just come off sentry and was dressed for shore. We all met up forward, hailed a police boat, climbed down a rope ladder across two barges unloading shells and into the police launch. When I got in I found that I and one other fellow were the only privates; all the rest were sergeants and corporals, thirteen altogether, unlucky number. The police sergeants asked me if we had passes. I said, “You bet,” and we sailed away from the ship right under everybody’s nose. We landed and then took a car to Plymouth and went on the Hoe, which has been in absolute darkness since the beginning of the war. Girls were very interested in us and took most of our collar badges and buttons as souvenirs. One man asked me to give him a cigarette as a souvenir. We met an English captain in a tobacconist’s and he invited us up to the barracks. Two of us went. I was one. To get there we had to go on a street car. We had just sat down when up the stairs came my Lieutenant McCarthy. When he saw me he said, “How the hell did you get here?” “Oh, just swam across.” “Well, if you get caught it’ll be the guard room for you.” I said, “Never mind, we’ll have company.” He is a pretty good sport. We went to the barracks, had a session with the captain, then went to the quay, picked up the rest of the men, and sneaked on board. I got to bed at three and had to get up this morning at six o’clock to go on guard. ------------------------------------- Sunday, very tired. On guard all day, two hours on, four off. It’s very unfortunate having a Sunday guard, because in the ordinary way we have to attend church parade in the morning and after having listened to a sermon and sung “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” or, “Fight the good fight,” we are free for the day, whereas guards stay on twenty-four hours. The major noticed one of the sergeants coming on board this morning at six o’clock. The idiot missed us this morning and of course that dished us. The sergeants got in wrong. As I am only a private, and therefore ignorant and simple according to the military code, and, being with non-commissioned officers who are supposed to possess superior intelligence, I got away with it. The sergeants have had to do sentry on the same ladder we went down. Everybody is as disagreeable as possible. We are lying in midstream and can see the town. Can you imagine anything more galling than that? While I was on guard the Vicar of Plymouth came aboard and held service. He said that the last time a Vicar of Plymouth preached to warriors was just before Drake sailed to meet the Armada.