There were women war workers of nearly every age and variety in that motley ship's company. There were school-teachers--one from Portland, Maine, and another from Portland, Oregon--stenographers, clerks, women of real social distinction, professional women, including a well-known actress or two, and girls so recently out of finishing school or college that they had not yet attained their full places in the sun. Few of them had known one another before they had embarked upon the ship; there was a certain haziness of understanding in many of their minds as to the exact work that was to be allotted to them overseas. A large percentage of the women, in fact, had never before crossed the Atlantic; a goodly number had not even seen salt water before this voyage. Yet with all this uncertainty there was no timidity--no, not even when the great December storm arose, and with the fullness of its fury lashed itself into a hurricane the like of which our captain, who had crossed the ocean a hundred times or more, had not seen. And when the fury of this storm had crashed in the cabin windows, had torn the wheelhouse away, had set the stout ship awash and the passengers to bailing, the courage and serenity of these American women remained undisturbed. They suffered great personal discomforts, yet complained not. And with our national felicity for an emergency organization--that sort of organization really is part and parcel of our individualism--relieved the steward's crew at night and cooked and served the Sabbath supper.