fish spraying out from the bows on both sides. Little ones, like locusts, larger ones, the size of robins. Our voyage is longer than we expected because we've come a long way south--and now it seems we won't get in till toward the end of the week. My guess is that we're in the Carribean, somewhere south of Cuba, at the moment. --I've been sitting all evening in the center of a group of C.B.'s at the bow of the ship, hearing their version of Freetown, Africa. 15
Tues, June 22 
Darling--Yesterday was midsummers day--and to the best of my observation this wonderful old ship turned north. It's a beautiful job of shipbuilding, this vessel, and gives me great respect for American ship designers. Yesterday I talked much to sailors, wounded men and flyers. We bought a gallon of ice-cream and consumed it. First since leaving home. Last night's sunset and evening star were perfect. The sunrise in the sea was perfect this morning. And of course--we're all happy--we're headed for home.
Have been talking most of the morning with Fletcher Martin, one of the painters who went out on the project that Henry is with. Only he painted in Tunisia. Saw Gen. Biddle there. 16
June 25 
Darling--Now it is announced that we shall dock in Boston. That's not so good for most of the folk aboard--and of course it makes my journey home more complicated. I'll send a wire or call you from the Hub. All this while there's been no way of saying a word of my whereabouts.
8 P.M. --And now it seems we're to get into Boston around noon. So I may perhaps reach home tomorrow night. It seems far far away. But closer, closer than it was.