Smith cautioned us not to leave the dock, and not to send any messages outside, such as telegrams or letters. All day our little party stood round in the sheds and waited, except when they went to the dock-workers’ mess nearby for lunch. I had occasion to go aboard the _Sheridan_, and finding the room to which I had been assigned, put a deck-chair by the door, on the side away from the dock, and spent the afternoon reading, while Smith kept the others herded together on the dock. On five o’clock in the evening of September 2, 1918, the _Sheridan_ cast off her lines and we pulled out into the bay, to anchor, with the _Logan_. At eight o’clock, under cover of darkness, the _Sheridan_ got under way and began moving toward the Golden Gate. I made out the _Logan_ astern, without side-lights, but a single light at her mast-head to mark her position. We moved out at low speed secretly. As we came abreast of Fort Scott, we made out red and white lights ahead, drawing in toward our bows. We had been careful to burn no lights in our cabins, and refrained from smoking on deck. We were willing to do everything to prevent being torpedoed, and we realized that if we were to sneak away in the night, we must take every precaution against being discovered. This was war, you know. The lights we had seen approaching drew nearer, until they were close under our port bow. Somebody said it was a destroyer which was to convoy us. We now heard the propeller of the strange craft threshing the water as she stopped her way, and then a raucous voice bawled at us: “What ship is that?” Silence from our bridge. Once more, in tones that could be heard from Lime Point to City Hall, came the challenge out of the dark: “What ship is that?” And the swaying red light below took on a baleful gleam. “We’ll have to answer the blasted fool,” somebody growled on the bridge, and a cross voice replied: “The _Sheridan_.” “What?” “The transport _Sheridan_,” came an exasperated bawl from our bridge. “All right. Proceed to sea,” was the answer, and once more the propellers threshed and passed astern, seeking out the _Logan_. We now knew the boat to be a harbor patrol, guarding the entrance to the bay. We appreciated its protection, and extreme care for two transports trying to get away from San Francisco filled with troops. We wondered if that happened to be the way the Germans sneaked out of their ports. Presently we heard the _Logan_ challenged, as we had been, and the reply from her bridge.