Monday the weather changed to a brisk southerly breeze. White caps topped every crested wave, and the gusts whipped spray all over our faces. Living! Soon clouds. A promenade with S, to the stern, to the prow. Nothing like a choppy sea, increasing to rough weather every minute. No voyage should be complete with out it. Then at night, another walk in wind, rain, and spray, and down for the last night aboard ship.
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| Clearly not the 24th, Lusitania, 1912. |
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