It seems that Cole had attempted Goodman's life with a pitchfork. On finding that he was unable to protect himself against this deadly weapon, Goodman retreated to a corner, where he secured a bucket, which he threw at Cole's head, causing him to drop the fork. Goodman then seizing his opportunity, charged on Cole and hit him squarely between the eyes. From the effects of the blows, poor Cole was confined to the ship's infirmary with a broken jaw and a badly bruised face. Seventeen days after embarking from America we steamed into the mouth of the Thames, and never was there a happier bunch of American college boys together. When we stepped ashore that most beautiful Sunday afternoon we were no longer cattlemen, but young Americans in Europe to see, hear and learn all we possibly could. Landing at Alexander dock, about twenty miles below London proper, we made our way rapidly to the nearest station of the elevated railway which runs parallel with the Thames, and boarded the first train going to the Fenchurch Street Station. Engaging two four-wheelers, we were soon driven into the square of the great and lavishly furnished Hotel Cecil, where we registered. Hubert Collins, a university man who was on this trip, and I left London for Liverpool, where we went aboard the steamship "Oravia," which was to transport us to Lisbon, Portugal. We glided smoothly out of the harbor and on our way to Portugal, which we so much desired to see, and from which point we could easily make our way across the frontier and into old historic Spain, where Don Quixote made his daring raid upon the windmills. Before we had been an hour out of port we selected our bunks and were comfortably seated in our new quarters. The first day out we made the acquaintance of most of our fellow passengers, and indeed we found them surprisingly agreeable. Leaving Liverpool on a Thursday, we made our first stop at La Pallice, the seaport of La Rochelle, a town of about twenty thousand inhabitants. Arriving at eight-thirty in the morning, we boarded a car which conveyed us to La Rochelle, at which place we spent the entire day in sight-seeing. We made our lunch on good French wine and sweet cakes. We returned to our ship about six o'clock that afternoon, tired and footsore from our day's tramp over the city. That night our ship remained in port, and never shall I forget the Frenchman who mistook me for a sailor and offered to tip me with fifty centimes for pointing out to him the engine room of the ship. The next morning we steamed away, and Monday we made our second stop at Coronna, Spain, where Sir John Moore and his English soldiers were defeated by the Spanish troops. Thursday we were scheduled to anchor at the port of Lisbon. I sincerely hoped that nothing would happen to delay us, for the novelty of the trip had worn away and we were anxious to get ashore again.