Until now all my efforts to reach Europe had been fruitless. I had imagined that my task would be easier. Once I nearly succeeded in sailing on a Norwegian boat as an ordinary sailor; but was dissuaded, as there were several Englishmen in her crew. At last I got what I wanted. By chance I made the acquaintance of a man who had led a rather stormy existence. He had been all over the world, and had lived for a long time in New York. I was never really quite able to ascertain his real occupation. However, he was very successful at one particular job—which consisted in polishing up old passports. We quickly concluded our bargain. In a few hours I had my papers with my photograph neatly pasted in, and all the proper police notifications entered according to existing regulations. And in this wise the Swiss traveller, locksmith, Ernst Suse, went on board the neutral Italian steamboat _Duca degli Abruzzi_ on the 30th of January 1915, and disappeared into the steerage. Two hours later we passed the statue of Liberty. Five sea miles out of New York two English cruisers were watching the mouth of the harbour. A shining example of the Freedom of the Seas! The journey was abominable. Though I had been trained in a rough school as a naval officer aboard a T.B.D. I had never dreamed of anything like it. The ship was heavily overweighted, and pitched and tossed to such a degree that I was convinced that she would capsize under the impact of the heavy seas. And the bugs! But I shall go into that later. On the morning of the third day of our journey I stood on deck and gazed longingly at the first-class railings over which two charming little faces were looking down at me. A gentleman approached them, and with difficulty I suppressed the name which sprang to my lips. For I knew him; it was—— Doubt was impossible. It was my brother officer T., who had come with me from Shanghai. He saw me at the same moment, but only recognized me after he had exchanged some very loud remarks with the ladies about the filthy fellow down below (meaning myself). Suddenly he stopped, stared hard at me, smiled knowingly, after which he suddenly turned away and disappeared. In the evening, when darkness had completely fallen, I had an opportunity of a short talk with him. He was travelling as a distinguished Dutchman (of course he did not speak a single word of Dutch), and his destination, like mine, was Naples, and from thence homewards. Though we had both met daily in New York, each intent on getting home, we had been obliged by our respective helpers to keep what we did a dead secret from each other. And we now learned that we had both been to the same man!