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 I went to the Catholic School for maps but found nothing helpful but a huge globe. I promised to write the sisters if we hit land anywhere. I am going to bed as I can't help and none of us are sleeping much any more and we need all we can get. We are on the ragged edge.

Bill is getting ship reports at midnight tonight and will make his own weather map from them.

The next log book entry emphasizes our isolation. The only newspapers we'd seen had been a stray batch from Boston, describing the takeoff. By then that seemed in the dark ages. So far as we knew we were comfortably forgotten,by the world. Echoes only came to us in personal messages, and at that time it was impossible to realize that any general interest remained.

Log Book: Apparently from the telegrams to me today our troubles are painted heavily for they all