How near God seemed in that vast, horizon-wide cathedral of the sea! Its vaulting dome more radiant than St. Peter's sculptured prayer; its altar, clothed with the lace of ocean foam; its pavement strewn with silvery sheen; its sanctuary light the candelabra of the stars. "I will lead thee into solitude and there I will speak to thy soul." God, Eternity, and Things Divine were here made real; and to each lonely boy wrapped in blanket on the dark cold deck, there came the message that:
"Far on the deep there are billows
That never shall break on the beach;
And I have had thoughts in the silence
That never shall float into speech."
A town of 13,000 population, ashore, is one thing—at sea, it is something else! First of all the question of clothing, most young men back home are fastidious—here all must wear the life preserver style trimmed à la canteen, which means our canteen, filled with water ration, must be our inseparable companion—very much attached to us, as it were.
On shore, juvenile America spends his evenings downtown; here, he must remain at home—indoors, if you please, not even deck promenades being permitted. Again, to the average young man, the disposition of cigarette butts is of little concern—m'lady's best parlor centerpiece, polished floor or cherished urn usually preferred; woe betide the luckless Buddie who denies his poor dead fag decent burial in the ubiquitous spit kit! To throw butts, gum wrappers, matches or anything but glances overboard, clew to the vulture eye of the lurking submarine, was a positive court martial offense. It was beginning to be evident that Sherman was right!
Yet all went well; and that indomitable humor which ever characterized our boys, which rose superior to all hardship and danger, and smiled in the very face of Death, made tolerable, if not happy, those seven thrilling days at sea. "Some swell place" would be Buddie's comment on the tossing waves of mid-Atlantic; and usually having been well, and not used to see sickness, he was easily prone to seasickness!
In Rue de Belgrade—Lull Before Battle.
One day private Barry, 64th Infantry, came to me. "Chaplain, I am in great trouble! Before leaving Camp Merritt my best girl and her mother called to see me off, came from away back home to say good-bye. Now I am not satisfied with the details of that parting; I am just crazy about the girl, and what worries me is the thought that, in the excitement of leaving, I may not have made it perfectly clear to her how much I really love her. Now, Chaplain, I want you to write her a letter, make it good and strong, and tell her how much I love her. Will you do that?"
What else was I to do? I was his Chaplain, his big brother, friend and pal. His comrade in arms, climbing with him even then the road to Calvary's hill! "Sure thing—leave it to me, old man—but say, tell me, just how did you act and what did you say to her in parting?"
He told me. "Well, that looks pretty convincing; I think she saw you loved her all right—however, I will write the letter provided you help me."