they smelt like week-old socks of a basketball player. It was funny to watch the boys look and smell these things -- they would stand over the pot which was contentedly smelling on the table, you could see the edges of their nose slightly lift, their face drop and then would follow an awful cry of anguish. However I think we all pulled through and will continue to live.
I spent most of my time watching the convoy from out on the deck -- ya feel a lot better when outside anyway. It was foggy a great deal of the time and I enjoyed listening to the fog horns -- to me they just sounded like the death cry of an old cow.
So far there has been no excitement of any kind and as a whole the trip has been very quiet.
McDaniel, Francis, Letter, 24 May 1942