We sailed down into the lower harbor just after dawn, joined four other transports and set out to sea. Next day we picked up three more ships and a flock of these wasp-like naval boats, and now there were ships all around us as far as we could see. It was rather a pretty sight: sort of majestic, all these ships loaded with fighting men, plugging along sort of irresistibly; I mean, it made you feel so strong and invulnerable, or something like that. I know what I mean, so it’s all right. As a matter of fact, I didn’t have much time to admire the scenery, because General Backett continued mercilessly to find things for me to do. Of course, in a way I was glad, because being busy kept me from worrying about my predicament and from getting into trouble. Anyway, the General never seemed to have a single moment when there wasn’t something on his mind, and anything that was on his mind automatically fell upon mine, for he depended upon little Leona unreservedly. That clerk that got blood poison must have spoiled him: he expected his dog-robber to be clerk, adviser, encyclopedia, file cabinet, errand boy, confidant, valet and information service, all in one and at once. He said the powers that be played a dirty trick on him, in that the officers who had been assigned to attend him were a collection of nitwits who were of no earthly good to him except for “show purposes.” “A staff’s a staff, even if for no other reason than that it exists and can be seen and counted,” he said. Well, as far as I could see, he was about right. At least this Chilblaines was a total loss: he was a worse dog-robber than I. He and the others were just a bunch of errand boys and I often wondered if they were heroes in the eyes of their respective friends and families. I suppose they were truly heroic to some people: they say that every man is a hero to someone somewhere, but if that is so I don’t see how the Bible crack about great men being without honor in their own country can also be true. I guess there’s no man living who isn’t great in the eyes of somebody. I could even imagine how this Chilblaines was looked up to and admired in his home town. Well, he might be Lieutenant Blaines in his home town, but he was just plain “Chilblaines” around the ship. Ben said, “That snotty little runt could be dropped overboard and nobody’d miss him atall!” And so, since his staff was sort of null and void for all practical purposes, General Backett relied upon little Private Canwick as his right-hand man. I certainly did feel important. I wanted to make myself indispensable to him, for in his protection lay my hope of safety. As Leon said, “One feels much safer with a general!” —2— Now I knew what traveling steerage was like, and I must admit that I didn’t care much for it. I was beginning to feel a little unstable and Ben was likely to boil over at any time. Getterlow apparently had a cast-iron stomach—maybe he had traveled like this before.