As our shore leave expired at 8 A.M., every fellow was getting the best out of the hours that were speeding by, as he knew there would be many monotonous days to spend on the Pacific Ocean before reaching Honolulu. In tea-houses on the outskirts of the city, groups of soldiers sat and watched the geisha-girls do the “serpentine” to the music of “samisens,” their graceful forms presenting a novel spectacle, draped in flowing silk kimonos, as seen through a veil of cigarette smoke. Next morning when the roll was called aboard the transport, a large percentage of the “liberty-party” was absent, and it became necessary to send out a patrol to round up the soldiers. As a result of this celebration, there were innumerable court-martials held _en route_ to the Hawaiian Islands, with fines ranging from five to twenty-five dollars. Our voyage across the Pacific was uneventful. The weather was extremely calm, the horizon appearing as a circular brink of a tremendous cataract, over which the surging billows thundered in pensive solitude. An occasional albatross was sighted winging its flight through the aerial regions. Under the leeward shrouds, groups of soldiers congregated, spinning yarns or playing at cards, while others on the windward side inhaled the health-giving ozone of the salt-sea breeze. A Japanese mail-steamer, and several merchant marines were sighted from our course, _en route_ to points in Australia and the Orient. Several hours before our arrival in Honolulu, it was whispered about the deck that our shore privileges were to be restricted, and, sure enough, the disappointment was realized, due, it was said, to those who had overstayed their privileges in Japan. To be kept a prisoner in Mariveles was bad enough, but to be prevented from mingling with the throng in the “Garden of the Gods,” the “Paradise of the Pacific,” Honolulu, was more than the boys could stand. As we entered the harbor, dotted here and there with bell-buoys, fishing-smacks, yachts, and vessels of the merchant marine, we saw the new naval station off our port side, and the camp of the United States marines extending to the coral reefs to starboard. From the spar deck we could gaze on the beautiful city of Honolulu, with its white stone buildings bathed in tropical luxuriance, and the contour of its mountainous inland towering to the clouds. It was with a feeling of relief, as the vessel moored to the wharf, that a chance could be taken on getting ashore. The wharf was studded with people, mostly tourists and native venders, though a large concourse of officers’ families had come to greet their relatives. As the gangway was lowered, the band struck up an inspiring air, and only those who have seen an American transport loaded with soldiers returning home from that far-off jungle land, the Philippines and Sulu, can form any conception of the passionate display of enthusiasm manifested on these occasions.