Читать книгу History of Ambulance Company Number 139 - Various - Страница 6

After spending five chilly nights at Camp Mills, Long Island, and awaiting anxiously the orders to leave for France, we did not seem to mind the coolness of the night on May the 17th, for we were to leave the following day on the long expected trip across the Atlantic. Bright and early the next morning a passer-by could plainly see that something was about to happen. All were in gay spirits as they hurried here and there, gathering together the miscellaneous articles and other things, which make up a soldier's equipment. Packs were rolled, the camp tidied up, and our overseas boxes loaded on trucks. At last after everything was ready we fell in line and marched across the camp, to the train that would carry us to the ferry. The old world seemed to hold a different meaning for everyone that morning. We were about to step into the greatest adventure of our lives, and one that would never be forgotten. Groups of soldiers cheered us on all sides, and yelled that they would be with us soon. Some were from our own division, and we recognized many of our friends.

On arriving at the ferry, we took our place as close to the rail as possible, and waved to the passengers on passing boats. The ferry, filled to its full capacity, chugged down the East River to one of the many docks where, quietly waiting, was the big camouflaged boat that would complete for us the trip from our training camp in Doniphan to England.

The moment that we had been looking forward to for so long a time had at last arrived. We wound our way to the big warehouse and stopped in front of an iron door. Stacked on the floor were life-saving jackets and as each one passed through the door, he received a colored tag, and one of the life-preservers. The tag assured him a bunk and meals.

Our expectations were fully realized as we filed by one by one up the gang-plank and onto the boat that was to be our home for the coming fourteen days. We were divided up and led down stairs to our quarters. They looked more like a steam-room than a place to sleep. It was all a jumbled-up puzzle. Water pipes seemed to be running in all directions, and arguments could be heard on all sides as to how we were to sleep. In the midst of it all an officer appeared, and he told us to let down the rectangular shaped frame, also made of water-pipe, which rested in sockets on two other upright pipes like hinged shelves. Then he told us to unwrap the small piece of canvas, which was wrapped to the rectangular frame. After doing this, things began to seem clearer, for the canvas was also rectangular in shape, and had grummets all around it. By means of the rope it was securely laced to the framework. This composed our bunk, and there were three of these in a tier, and a tier on each side of the two perpendicular pipes. The aisle between the bunks was very narrow and we crowded and pushed in making up our beds, for everyone was more than anxious to learn more about our boat.

In the meantime several sailors came in from the engine room and we began making friends, although they had many a laugh while watching us prepare our bunks. They were asked for every bit of information we could think of about the boat – "How fast it could go," "How long it was" – and many other questions about the sea, and their experiences. We found out that the name of the boat was the "S. S. Louisville," formerly the "St. Louis," that it was 564 ft. long, and carried 3500 men. On asking how many miles the boat could make in an hour, we were assured that "it was the speediest ship in the convoy."

By this time we heard mess-call, and began to look for a line. Men were running upstairs and down, and hurried questions flew from everyone as to when and where the men with his color of tag were eating. Each color had a certain time to eat. There were four colors, two eating at one time. The men filed in to the dining room from each side of the main deck through two large double doors. There were four long tables and we stood up to eat, moving along the table as the men ahead finished eating and moved out to wash their mess-kits in large sinks, just before leaving the room. It was very interesting to see the systematic way in which the men moved along, taking a mouth-full as they pushed their mess-kits up the table.

As we were strolling on deck that afternoon, a low grumbling sound met our ears, as if it came from some place far below. Then it turned into a rythmatical chug of a large engine, and we knew that the boat was getting up steam preparatory for the trip. The sailor-boys, too, were making preparations for "Jerry." They carried large shells and deposited them in cases behind the guns, and as we watched them work, we wondered if there would ever be a real necessity to use them during the trip.

Evening found everyone knowing the boat almost by heart, and we began to gather in groups on deck and look about. To the rear lay New York, the tall buildings outlined against the sky. Numerous tug-boats were slowly winding their way in and out of the docks. One of the sailors leaning against the rail pointed out to us the former German ship "Vaterland," in a dock across the river. We were entertained for awhile by watching a bunch of negro waiters for the officers mess shooting dice, and a quartet gave us a few songs. But night soon came, and we went below to try our new bunks. One of the boys no sooner found the trick that one could play, than he immediately dislodged the man above him, by putting his feet on the bottom of the bunk above, pushing it out of its socket, and bringing the fellow down into the aisle below.

All night the engines kept up their continuous running, and the next morning two little tug-boats came up along side and pulled us out and down the river. We were ordered "below decks," out of sight, but a few borrowed sailor caps and stood on the lower deck to get a last long look at old New York and the Statue of Liberty. As we neared the open water, and the tall buildings began to fade away behind us, the cold facts of the situation began to present themselves. We were leaving a land, the only one we had ever known, to cross the fathomless ocean to another land, and to battle-fields with horrors unknown. But we soon put such thoughts aside when we were permitted to go on deck. The convoy was slowly spreading out into formation, the battle-ship that accompanied us going ahead as our protector. As soon as we reached the ocean, orders were given not to go on deck without our life-preservers, and to stay on the side of the boat which our color of tag designated. By night we were using "sailor-terms" for every part of the boat. A detail was called for, to stand watch in the "crows-nest" and other look-out stations. One of the boys in the "crows-nest" said that "when we hit the rough sea, he knew the top of that main mast touched the water when the boat made a big heave to one side."

A few days passed, uneventful except that we went through the usual drill necessary in case there should be a fire or an attack by submarines. Every man had his place to go in case of danger. At the gong of a bell, every man would grab his life-preserver, and hurry, supposedly in an orderly manner, to his portion of the deck. One of the fellows asked John, the cook, if he expected one little life-preserver to hold him up. Well, John didn't say anything, but that night he had a couple of extras – "I might have to use them," was the only excuse he would give.

After a few days out the ocean began to get rough, and the boat would heave from side to side, and at the same time pitch forward and backward. However, we soon got used to it, and did not mind it so much. Some time that night one of the boys who had been on deck ran in, saying "the rudder has broken" – and apparently something was broken, for the boat seemed to heave all the more, and to take a zig-zag course. Once or twice it made a complete circle, and we began to think that they had lost all control of it, but three sturdy sailors were sent up in the stern to handle it by means of large pilot wheels. Our company was quartered just beneath the officers kitchen, and during the roughest part, the plates and other dishes began to roll from their places on the shelves, breaking upon the floor. This made a very unpleasant sound, above the uproar of a thousand other noises. During the rough sea, the mess line began to thin out somewhat. Some would come into the mess hall, but at the sight of food, they would turn pale and make a hurried exit.

Soon we ran into comparatively smooth water again, and one day our boat's turn came for target practice. We drew away from the convoy, and a buoy with a small flag on was dropped overboard. The gunners took their turn shooting as the boat swung around, and once or twice they came so close that we felt sure they had made a direct hit. The buoy was knocked under the water, but the little thing soon appeared again. The boys were naturally anxious to see them handle the guns, and they crowded around as closely as possible, but after the first shot they gave them more room. One fellow was standing directly behind the gun, but upon the super-deck. He was so intent upon watching the operations that when the gun fired its concussion knocked him off his feet. He got up, took a wild look around and immediately left. Finally the big six-inch gun in the stern sank the buoy. After cruising around all day, and just as night was hovering over the sea, we again caught sight of the convoy. We were certainly glad, too, for of course we felt more comfortable with the other ships.

It was on board the ship that we first became acquainted with the censorship rules. The officers did a slashing business on our first letters, and only a few unconnected lines ever reached the folks back home.

It was on the morning of May 29 that the news flew over the boat that land was in sight. Although only 2 o'clock, day was breaking, and many went on deck to see that which we had not seen for fourteen long days. Upon reaching the deck, we could also see a number of little torpedo destroyers darting here and there – small in size but powerful little "watchdogs" of the sea. The "Mosquito Fleet" had arrived, and was tearing through the water in all directions. We were thus escorted through the danger zone, and had little fear of submarines. But we could now understand why old "Chris Columbus" felt so glad upon seeing land. As the day grew on we drew into the Irish Sea. The water was as smooth as glass, with only little ripples disturbing its peacefulness. Jelly fish of every shape and size could be seen through its clearness. Two large dirigibles, and several aeroplanes came out to greet our convoy and protect us in the dangerous waters. At one time we could see both Bonnie Scotland and Ireland, where the channel was very narrow.

About 10 o'clock that morning five long blasts from one of the ships was heard – the signal for a submarine. The little sub chasers raced around to our right and immediately began to fire upon an object. The big dirigibles also made a nose dive, and turned loose with its machine guns. Aroused by the shooting, we ran up on deck to see the action, but were ordered below to await the outcome, and if there was ever a time when we could have used an "island," it was then. However, nothing serious developed, and afterwards we were told that it was a broken life buoy which had been mistaken for a periscope.

We were moving slowly, so very slowly that one could hardly feel the throbbing of the tired engines that for twelve long days had worked untiringly. From the officers' deck we could see the green and red guide lights, welcoming our convoy of fifteen ships into the sheltered harbor of Liverpool, England.