# Travels in Philadelphia/The "Haverford" Comes Home

THE HAVERFORD COMES HOME
Philadelphia's hands were tied in the matter of welcoming the Haverford. What a greeting we could have given her men if they had been permitted to parade through the center of the city, past Independence Hall—the symbol of all they fought for—and down the shining sweep of Broad street! And yet, although we were morosely forbidden to "come in contact with them" (it sounds rather like the orders given to citizens of Coblenz), what a fine human note there was in the mass of humbler citizens that greeted the transport at the foot of Washington avenue. I wish Mr. Baker might have been there—the scene would have made him more tender toward those loyal Philadelphians who don't quite see why most of the transports should dock at—well, at another Atlantic port!
But I hadn't intended to go down to see the Haverford come in. I have traveled on her myself and know her genial habits of procrastination. I shrewdly suspected she would arrive at her dock long after the hour announced. Days ago, when we were told she would arrive on the 27th, I smiled knowingly. When she was off the Capes and word was telegraphed of a "disabled steering gear," I chuckled. The jovial old ship was herself again! It is almost incredible that an enemy submarine should have dared to fire a tin fish at her. I should think a cautious, subaqueous ​commander would have sheered off and dived away in panic, fearing some devil's ruse. Surely no harmless vessel (he ought to have gutturaled to himself) would travel as leisurely as that! How many U-boat captains must have fled her dignified presence, suspecting her to be one of Beatty's trick fleet, sent out to lure innocent submarines to death by loitering blandly on the purple sea. This is no ill-natured jibe. Slow ships are ever the best to travel on. Her unruffled, imperceptible progress across blue horizons is her greatest charm, and was undoubtedly her subtle security.
But passing along Pine street, about thirty tobacco whiffs after breakfast, I saw three maidens run out from the Peirce School in a high cackle of feminine excitement. Evidently they had been let off for the day. "What shall we do with these old books?" I heard one say. "Do we have to cart them round with us?" It was plain from their gleeful chatter that they were bound for Washington avenue. And then on Broad street I saw little groups of pedestrians hurrying southward. Over that spacious thoroughfare there was a feeling of suspense and excitement the feeling of "something happening" that passes so quickly from brain to brain. I could not resist temptation to go down and join the throng.
Washington avenue is not a boulevard of pleasure. Most of it is a dreary expanse of huge factories and freight cars. But over the cobbles citizens of all sorts were hurrying with bright faces. ​Peddlers carried bundles of flags and knots of colored balloons, which tugged and eddied in the cold wind. In an Italian drug store at the corner of Sixth, under a sign, Telefono Pubblico per Qualsiasi Distanza, a distracted pretzel basket man, who had already sold out his wares, was calling up some distant base of supplies in the hope of replenishing his stock. Jefferson Square, brown and leafless, was packed with people. Down by the docks loomed up a tall, black funnel, dribbling smoke. "There she is!" cried an excited lady, leaping from cobble to cobble. For a moment I almost apologized to the good old Haverford for having misjudged her. Was she really docked already, on the tick of time? Then I saw that the vessel in sight had only two masts, and I knew that my old favorite had four.
The crowd at the lower end of Washington avenue was immense, held firmly in check by mounted police. Red Cross ambulances and trucks were slowly butting their way down to the pier, envied by us humbler souls who had no way of getting closer. Perched on a tall wagon a group of girls, apparently factory hands, were singing merrily "Bring Back My Bonnie to Me." On every side I heard scraps of detached conversation. "He was wounded and gassed, and he says 'if they send me back to that stuff it'll be in a box.'" Sheltering behind a stout telephone pole, perhaps the very one which was flinging the peddler's anguished cry for more pretzels, I sought a light for ​my pipe and found myself gazing on a red-printed dodger: "WORKING CLASS, KNOW THE TRUTH. The workers of Russia have done away with the capitalistic, distroctive, parasitic sistem, which on one hand creates Millionaires and luxury and on the other hobos and misery."
The longest way round is usually the shortest way home, and it occurred to me that the graveyard of Old Swedes Church would be a useful vantage point. I found my way there down the quaint little vista of League street and the oddly named channel of Reckless street. Apparently the same thought had occurred to several other wiseacres, for I got to the gates just as the sexton was locking them. Ignoring the generous offer that the church makes on several signboards—"$10 Reward for Any Person Found Destroying the Church Property" I took my stand at one corner of the churchyard, looking out over the docks and the thousands crowded along the pavements below. Reading the tombstones passed away the time for the better part of an hour.
One sad little inscription runs like this:
LIZZIE affectionate daughter of ——— died Dec. 24, 1857
When Christmas bells ring out their chime
And holly boughs and sprigs of thyme
Were hung on many a wall,
Our LIZZIE in her beauty's prime
Lay in our darkened hall.
But still there was no sign of the Haverford. I strolled up the waterfront, stopping by the barge Victor to admire a very fat terrier fondled by the skipper's wife. I was about to ask if I could step aboard, thinking that the deck of the barge would afford a rather better view of the hoped-for transport, when I saw the ferry Peerless, one of the three ancient oddities that ply between South street and Gloucester. And at the same moment the whistles down the river began to blow a deep, vibrant chorus. Obviously, the best way to see the Haverford was to take a deep sea voyage to Gloucester.
And so it was. When the Peerless pulled away from her slip the first thing we saw was the reception boat City of Camden, with the Mayor's committee aboard, backing up-stream in a flutter of flags. And then we came right abreast of the big liner, which had just come opposite her pier. She stood very high in the water, and seems none the worse for the five months' ducking she is said to have had. Her upper decks were brown with men, all facing away from us, however, to acknowledge the roar of cheering from the piers. So they ​did not hear the feeble piping set up by the few intrepid travelers to Gloucester. A spinster next to me cried out entranced: "Oh, I would like to take each of those boys and hug them."
A ship is always a noble sight, and while the Haverford was never built for beauty, she has the serene dignity of one who has gone about many hard tasks in her own uncomplaining fashion. She has a large and solid stateliness. Hurricanes cannot hustle her, nor have all the hosts of Tirpitz marred her sturdy comelihood. Her funnel is too outrageously tall and lean, her bows too bluff, her beam too broad for her to take on any of the queenly grace of her slim and swagger sisters. She is a square-toed, useful kind of creature; just the sort of vessel the staid Delaware loves, with no swank or swagger. And yet, in the clear yellow light of the winter morning, she seemed to have a new and very lovely beauty. Her masts were dressed with flags, from the bright ripple of the Stars and Stripes at the fore to the deep scarlet of her own Red Ensign over the taffrail. Half a dozen tugs churned and kicked beside her as she swung slowly to the dock. Over the water came a continuous roar of cheering as the waiting thousands tried to say what was in their hearts. In the crude language of the Board of Health, her passengers had not been "disinfected" and we were not to be allowed "contact" with them; but they had traveled far and dared much; they had gone out hoping no gain; they had come back ​asking no glory. From the low deck of the Peerless we could see them waving their brown caps against the bright blue nothingness of the skyline. They were home again, and we were glad.