On Board the Transport
Florence Luckenbach,
In the Basin at
St. Nazaire.
I arrived here at seven-thirty yesterday morning after sitting up all night from Paris. I left my baggage in the depot and started immediately for the docks to see how my prospects for a ride home looked. There was nothing in the first basin, but the watchman there told me there were a number of American transports further down. But alas, when I finally located them, the marines on guard wouldn't let me go near, to ask about a job for the trip. And the answer they gave me at the base office was even worse. It was impossible. They couldn't allow it. These were transports for army supplies, not for lugging back bankrupt ambulance drivers. A hot breakfast after this cheered me up a little and I tried to break through the marines again. This time I tackled another bunch, told a pathetic story and they let me through on the sly. The captain was not on board, but one of the quartermaster clerks was, and after I had told him all about myself, he said he would fix me up, even if
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