CHAPTER IV
PARIS AND ITS WAR SPIRIT
EACH trip through the submarine zone, in fact, has its thrill until you grow, to a measure, hardened. When I was ready to leave for France the channel crossing seemed for a number of reasons less pleasant than usual. Only one line was in operation, and that was taking the long route from Southampton to Havre. That the Sussex tragedy had had something to do with the choice was obvious. People spoke of the approaching excursion with misgivings. The antidote for most of them, it is likely, was the extended formalities they had to accomplish before they were permitted to risk their lives at all. The police, the American consul, the French consul, local detectives, Scotland Yard agents, and French secret service men—those were some of the obstacles to dishonest travel between the continent and England.
I was amused when I drove with my baggage to the pier entrance in Southampton. I had been conducted that afternoon by the courtesy of the Admiralty through one of the great dockyards.
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