"There's a question I'd like to ask," he goes on. "In your country where women have the franchise, do you find that they all vote alike?" "No more than all the men," I answer. "Then that's all right," he says in a relieved tone. "I've been afraid that if we let women vote, they might all vote against war."
SHALL WE GO DOWN OR ACROSS?
"You really aren't a militant, are you?" he says again, thoughtfully. "Well, I'll let you go." So that's my last steel line.
The boat begins to move in the Mersey. And the ship's siren sounds shrilly. It is the summons to shipwreck drill. We assemble quickly in the lounge on the top deck, every one wearing a life-preserver. At a second call of the siren, we file out following the captain's lead, to stand by our boats in which the crew are already clambering to their oars.
So now we know how for the moment of disaster. The whole steamship waits for it. This is a weird voyage that we begin. Mine-sweepers out there ahead of us are cleaning up the seas. A Scandinavian boat has just been sowing mines all over the water. The Baltic, here beside us, poked her nose out yesterday, scented danger and returned to the river. We wait now in the Mersey twenty-four hours before the mysterious signal is given that it is the propitious moment for our boat to get away. We steal softly to sea under cover of a
