_September 7_: F says she is ready to make new tests and what is holding up work on the _Sisyphus_? Replied it was complete except for my cabins. She had the effrontery to say these werent important and she was ready to go ahead without me. I pointed out that the _Sisyphus_ was my property and it would not sail until I was properly accommodated. _99._ _September 8_: I shall not move to Ireland afterall. The Grass has a foothold in Ulster. _September 9_: The Irish are swarming into Scotland and Wales. Impossible to keep them out. _September 10_: Donegal overrun. _September 12_: On board the _Sisyphus_. Wrote an incredible amount; still beyond me how anybody can call the fashioning of a book work. We left Southampton last night on a full tide and are now cruising the Channel about four miles from the French coast. It is quite unbelievable--under this tropical green blanket lies the continent of Europe, the home of civilization. And the bodies of millions, too. Except for a few gulls who shriek their way inland and return dejectedly, there is not a living thing in sight but the Grass. I have reserved the afterdeck to myself and as I sit here now, scribbling these notes, I think what impresses me more than anything else is the feeling of vitality which radiates from the herbaceous coast. The dead continent is alive, alive as never before--wholly alive; moving with millions of sensitive feelers in every direction. For the first time I have a feeling of sympathy for Joe's constant talk of the beauty of the Grass, but in spite of this, the question which comes to my mind is, can you speak glibly about the beauty of something which has strangled nearly all the world? _Later_: Sitting on the gently swaying deck, I was moved to add several pages to my history. But now we are approaching the narrower part of the Channel and the sea is getting choppy. I shall have to give up my jottings for a while. _Still later_: F finally picked a spot she considered suitable--the remains of a small harbor--and we anchored. I must say she was overfussy--one cove is pretty much the same as another these days. Possibly she was so choosy in order to heighten her importance. Repetition of the involved etiquette of inspecting the intended victim and turning on the sprays; only this time the suppressed excitement anticipating possible success made even the preliminaries interesting. Miss Francis and her assistants retired for a mysterious conference immediately after the application and I stayed up late talking with the captain till he was called away by some duty. It is now nearly two A M--in a few hours we shall know. _September 13_: Horribly shaken this morning to find the Grass unaffected. Even wondered for a moment if it were conceivable that F would never find the right compound--that nothing could hurt the Grass. Had I been illadvised in not going more seriously into Burlet's vertical cities?