The rest of the day would be taken up with physical drills—one company using the deck at a time—and fire and boat drills. It was given out at first that four long blasts of the boat’s whistle would be the signal for “Abandon ship.” This was changed later by the ship’s captain, but somewhere along the line there was a hitch, and the information never got down to the company commanders. About five nights out, at about 10:30 P. M., the whistle began to toot, once—twice—heads began to appear over the hammocks; thrice—the hammocks began to be agitated; four times—two hundred and thirty odd hearts gave a leap, four hundred and sixty feet hit the floor, and B Company started up the gangway, with three sergeants, who shall be nameless, leading the way to victory. Lt. Foulkes, who was on fire watch, judged hastily that it must be all a mistake somehow, and calmed the riot with his .45 and a few choice remarks in the vernacular.
Then the chow—oh, the chow; oh, the Gawd-forsaken chow. It was doled out as breakfast, dinner, and tea. It was none too much in quantity. There were here and there newly made n. c. o.’s who were not above holding out more than their share. And our American stomachs were several times abruptly introduced to strange dishes. First it was a weird looking mess that tasted like an explosion of mustard gas. How did we know it was currie? Few had sufficient faith in human nature to down their portion. Then one day a ghastly odor tainted the noonday air, and we were introduced to tripe. The latter was finally buried with military honors, and I arrived on the scene just in time to save the ship’s cooks from being the star actors in a similar ceremony.
“Tea” was bread and cheese and tea. We thought of the days of plenty at Camp Dix and reflected that the culinary end of this war business was hardly a success so far.
The officers were fed well and in civilized fashion in the cabin, which didn’t help matters much for the men. Also some members of the boat’s crew took advantage of the situation by running a sub-rosa restaurant in the forecastle, gouging such as had the price. Of course the Americans thought right away that they were holding out part of our rations for this purpose, and international relations began to get very strained. The officers were finally informed, and the practice stopped.
There were ten or twelve other ships in the convoy, which was headed by the battleship Montana. At last one morning the latter was missing, and we knew that we must be nearly across. Precautions were redoubled and life preservers were not removed even at night.
On the morning of May 31st we sighted land—a welcome sight indeed. Capt. Breen at once identified it as dear auld Ireland, and was much disgusted when we learned later that it was Scotland. We had sailed around the north of Ireland, and were dropping down the Irish sea to Liverpool.
This was the submarine zone indeed. Destroyers appeared from the horizon and hovered on the outskirts of the convoy. A great silver dirigible swung lazily from the clouds and floated along above us. The Irish coast came into view on our right.
At about 2:00 P. M. there was a scurry among the destroyers. The dirigible descended above a spot some half mile off our port bow. Guns began to speak from the transports and destroyers. It only lasted for about five minutes, however, and we couldn’t see any visible results. But we were told that a sub had been spotted and destroyed.
Late that night we took the pilot aboard and proceeded up the Mersey. Few of us slept a wink. After the long strain it was good to see ourselves surrounded by the lights of shipping, and to see the shore on either side, though as few lights as possible were shown even then. However, we could open the portholes, and the long, long line of docks slipped by until we wondered if this great harbor had any end. At last, about 2:00 A. M., we docked and settled down to wait until morning for a glimpse of Merry England.
The next day we waited around until 1:30, when we disembarked. We were marched about half a mile through the streets to a railroad terminal. The people hardly glanced at us. They were well used to soldiers by that time. Not a cheer, not a sign of curiosity. Another herd for the slaughter house. A few wounded soldiers, in their flaring “blues,” looked us over with some professional curiosity.