Back From Hell

When the old Chicago cut loose from her moorings in an Atlantic port it was a red letter day for me. She was a good sized craft, of the French Line, and was to carry a lot of other Ameri-cans, besides myself, from the United States to France. We were all in a spirit of expectancy, mingled perhaps with sadness, for we were going over to see and have a hand in the most stu-pendous event of history, the Great War. Although many dif-ferent motives actuated us, our destination was the same, and ...