"Remember that the honour of the British army depends on your individual conduct. It will be your duty, not only to set an example of discipline and perfect steadiness under fire, but also to maintain the most friendly relations with those whom you are helping in this struggle. The operations in which you are engaged will, for the most part, take place in a friendly country, and you can do your own country no better service than in showing yourself in France and Belgium in the true character of a British soldier. "Be invariably courteous, considerate, and kind. Never do anything likely to injure or destroy property, and always look upon looting as a disgraceful act. You are sure to meet with a welcome, and to be trusted; your conduct must justify that welcome and that trust. Your duty can not be done unless your health is sound. So keep constantly on your guard against any excesses. In this new experience you may find temptations in wine and women. You must entirely resist both temptations, and, while treating all women with perfect courtesy, you should avoid any intimacy. "Do your duty bravely. "Fear God. "Honour the King. "KITCHENER, Field-Marshal." I remained in England only a week after my arrival from Germany. Part of the time had been pleasantly spent editing a special "American edition" of _The Times_ for Lord Northcliffe, who placed the full machinery of his journalistic organization at the disposal of the "Yankee War Refugees." He was only prevented from extending them the hospitality of Sutton Place, his lovely estate in Surrey, now a hospital, for a "week-end" outing by the inability of the railways to guarantee the necessary special train facilities. To my astonishment but unalloyed delight Lord Northcliffe "ordered" me to take a month’s vacation in the United States. He thought my family and kinsmen would like to have a look at an "English spy," fresh from Germany, before the earmarks of his nefarious trade had entirely evaporated, and so, having obtained the last bunk left on that veteran Cunard hulk, _S.S. Campania_, which had brought my wife and me to Europe on our honeymoon voyage, I sailed away from Liverpool on Saturday, August 15th, along with twelve hundred or fifteen hundred other sardines packed in an eighteen-knot steel box. CHAPTER XIV PRO-ALLY UNCLE SAM Somewhere in E. W. Hornung’s _Raffles_, there is this homely bit of epigrammatic philosophy: "Money lost, little lost. Honor lost, much lost. Pluckiest, all lost!" The aphorism was paraphrased by my fellow war refugees in the _Campania_, tucked away in couples, trios, quintettes and baker’s dozens into cabins which the Cunarder’s designers back in the dim mid-Victorian past built for a half or a third as many passengers. They made it read like this: "Baggage lost, all lost!"