There is a sprinkling of Englishmen on board, a few American men, ten Japanese, an Italian Colonel who apparently is very much of a lady-killer, one Y.M.C.A. man and about a hundred of us in our high collars and greenish suits.
The "Caronia" has been an armored cruiser in the Pacific during the first part of the war, and then was hastily fitted up to carry troops. She is in rather bad condition, battered and dirty. Nevertheless ship life seems just what it was before the war. The food is good, tea is served, the attendants with their nice English voices are all so remarkably courteous and—charming! That is the only word for it. And now I must go and dress for dinner, which means, I shall put on a clean high collar. Ugh!
Sunday, Dec. 29th.
I must tell you about our Christmas at sea. It is the custom on all English ships for the stewards at midnight to go all through the ships singing carols. As I lay in my berth I heard them begin, such a fine men's chorus, singing in harmony. They came down our corridor, passed us, the sound gradually dying away, then the "Y" girls began and also went all over the ship, singing very well. Christmas was a wet, foggy day. The old "Caronia" would put her nose down into a wave and send a shower of spray over the decks. There were a few seasick people, yet one would hardly have called it rough. In the morning there was a short Christmas service, but the nicest part of the day came in the afternoon and will always stand out in my memory. All the girls had a tremendous lot of candy and fruit, and they decided to divide it all up so that every man employed on board the ship should get a present from the Y.M.C.A. In the afternoon we all went way down into the lower regions of the ship to sing and to distribute our gifts. There all the men who work down in the darkness were assembled. The "Y" girls sang, then the men sang, Christmas carols at first, but the party got merrier and merrier, and funny songs and solos and stunts of all kinds were performed. An old piano had been brought down. One of the stewards, a true comedian, gave us several awfully good songs, with a charm and a rhythm that were quite irresistible. One little Irish-looking boy with waving dark hair and a mischievous, sensitive face, sang cockney songs, the others joining in the chorus. Then, as the "Y" girls sang a catchy "rag" he was pushed forward and began a nimble clog dance. The first thing I knew, I was in the ring dancing with him! There was a shout of surprise from everybody, and they kept us at it over and over again. Finally we left, feeling really happy. It had been one of those rare parties where every one contributed to the entertainment. A few days later the enclosed expression of gratitude from the "catering department" was handed to each "Y" girl, also several others, equally appreciative, from the engineers and members of the crew.
The day after Xmas is a holiday in England. The men were again trying to have a little festivity down below and I was asked to go down and dance for them, so of course I did. I did the "Cachuca" to horrible old waltz music banged out by one of the stewards, I did every dance I ever knew and more than I knew; and then we had songs and more stunts from the men. Such good songs, and so catchy. It was great fun, and the men were so appreciative. And all down in the dark, damp, unknown region of a big ship!
The American men on board are not to our country's credit; a poor lot. The Italian colonel is the centre of attraction. He is a fascinating person, liked by men and women equally. He has borrowed my guitar for the voyage and sings and whistles to delighted groups.
This morning, after a foggy but calm voyage, we came up on deck to find everything glistening in sun. The sea was streaked in green and black and the white caps gleamed, while ever widening patches of blue appeared among the clouds. To port, barely distinguishable in the gray clouds, was Ireland. Pretty soon, on the other side, Wales came into sight. The day has become brighter and brighter. Continually we pass little steamers. There is the thrill of approaching land. We do not know where we are going. Such a delightful, irresponsible sensation! I know just how a boy must feel in the army.
New Year's Day, 1919.
Here I am, writing like any soldier at a Y.M.C.A. canteen in Liverpool. There are four of us crowded round one little table in a large, bare, smoky room. The place is buzzing with soldiers, a game of billiards is going on in one corner and in another a graphophone is never allowed one moment's rest.
You would laugh, (or perhaps you wouldn't!) if you could see me camping out in the wilds of England. Sunday night when we were all at dinner on the "Caronia" the engines suddenly stopped throbbing, and when we went up on deck there were the lights of Liverpool on either side of us, a sky full of stars above, and little lighted steamers scudding about. We were to ride at anchor in the harbor all night. A tug brought the Alien Officer on board, and each one of us and our passports had to undergo his scrutiny. It was a tedious business, and as I did not come till near the end of the alphabet he didn't get around to me till after midnight. One thing I have learned already is the immense advantage of belonging to the first of the alphabet. Your future is made or marred by your initial.