VERA CRUZ, April 24, 1914.
[DEAREST ONE:]
We left today at 5.30. It was a splendid scene, except
for the children crying, and the wives of the officers and
enlisted men trying not to cry. I got a stateroom to myself.
With the electric fan on and the airport open, it is about as
cool as a blast furnace. But I was given a seat on the left
of General Funston, who is commanding this brigade, and the
other officers at the table are all good fellows. As long as
I was going, I certainly had luck in getting away as sharply
as I did. One day's delay would have made me miss this
transport, which will be the first to land troops.
April 25th.
A dreadnaught joined us today, the Louisiana. I
wirelessed the Admiral asking permission to send a
press despatch via his battleship, and he was polite in reply,
but firm. He said "No." There are four transports and three
torpedo boats and the battleship. We go very slowly, because
we must keep up with one of the troop ships with broken
engines. At night it is very pretty seeing the ships in line,
and the torpedo boats winking their signals at each other. I
am writing all the time or reading up things about the army I
forget and getting the new dope. Also I am brushing up my
Spanish. Jack London is on board, and three other
correspondents, two of whom I have met on other trips, and one
"cub" correspondent. He was sitting beside London and me
busily turning out copy, and I asked him what he found to
write about. He said, "Well, maybe I see things you fellows
don't see." What he meant was that what was old to us was new
to him, but he got guyed unmercifully.
April 27, 1914.
The censor reads all I write, and so do some half-dozen
Mexican cable clerks and 60 (sixty) correspondents. So when I
cable "love," it means devotion, adoration, and worship;
loyalty, fidelity and truth, wanting you, needing you, unhappy
for you. It means all that.
RICHARD.
