December 22, 1917 -- Across the Atlantic - Day 3

Don Martin's diary entry for Saturday, December 22, 1917: 
At sea. 375 miles.

This was a pleasant day till late afternoon when wind shifted to South West, beating up a nasty sea. I played stud poker in smoking room with Mr. Russell, [Klocher] of A.P., Lieut. Commander White and an English writer named [Polland]. Lost about $2. Played both afternoon and evening. Quite late wandered around the ship with young chap named [Keegshon], on his way to Holland. He is a [kir] and very nice fellow. Am not meeting up with too many. Would rather not. At 12:30 a.m., after writing long letter on my typewriter to Dorothy, I lay in bed and read. Ship pitched and rolled furiously. Many people sick but so far I have enjoyed it. We are nearing submarine zone but no one seems worried. Learned that gun crew in practice last Thursday found two defective shells. 

Weather nice but windy + foggy at night.

         On this day Don Martin began to write a record of his Atlantic crossing, in a letter to his daughter Dorothy. This would continue in the following days.

At sea, Dec. 22, 1917

My dear Dorothy,

     Here I am, away off the Newfoundland Banks, going at 19 miles an hour through a sea almost as smooth as Lake Erie in August. No submarines yet. Probably there will be none. No one seems to be worrying although everyone realizes the possibility that one might show up at any moment and shoot a torpedo at us. Still everyone would have a good chance to be rescued. There are plenty of lifeboats. Everyone has two life preservers in his room; every passenger has a card telling him which lifeboat he shall go to in case of trouble and we all have rehearsed the proceeding so as to be ready. I have a room of fair size and every comfort except heat. The boat is somewhat cold but no one minds it. Everyone wears warm clothes. On the first day we made 277 miles. The second day 373 and the third 375. We are now on the Banks of Newfoundland, well out to sea, and will head due East, going either north around the Scottish coast or south around the Irish shore. It makes little difference which. We expect to land in Liverpool on Friday or Saturday and the first thing I shall do will be to mail this letter and additions to it which I shall probably write during the next few days. The censor will have to read it before it leaves England but I daresay there is nothing in it which will offend him and that you will get it about as I am now writing it on my own typewriter in my stateroom. 

     We left New York at four o’clock Wednesday afternoon. It was raw and cold all the evening. The next day – Thursday -- - the wind blew rather hard and there was considerable of a sea. The bow plunged into the swells several times and water raced down the promenade decks but not enough to do any harm. However, it was unpleasant on deck and most people remained inside. In the afternoon and evening perhaps 50 persons gathered in the library or lounge and there was quite a musicale. Several American officers on their way to France played the piano splendidly and sang all the songs well known on Broadway. It made things very enjoyable. Yesterday was a nice day. Only a light sea and delightful air. We had entered the Gulf Stream ... It is much warmer than the surrounding water and warms the atmosphere. I walked up and down the deck nearly all the afternoon. In the evening it was not pleasant to be out. 
     In the first place you know the ships have to be absolutely dark. Not a single ray of light is permitted to escape to the decks, so that a ship, no matter how large it is, cannot be seen unless an enemy is very close by. People are allowed to go on the decks at night but it is so black that few do so. The smoking room, where the men gather to play cards, etc. sets on the stern of the ship about 40 feet back of the main cabin and it is necessary for the company to run a rope from one house to the other so that, in the darkness, the men can see to get back and forth. 

     It all seems rather uncanny. A great big ship, plunging along swiftly through the night, with the white caps surging away on both sides, and not a light showing to warn a ship which might be coming from the opposite direction. However there is little danger of collision. The steamers going East are compelled to keep within a track well defined to them and vice versa. However the risks they run these days are very grave compared with the risks of normal times, but the officials of the ships and the passengers don’t seem to mind it. In the evening every curtain is drawn tight and the spaces between the cabins and the dining rooms are darkened. Inside the ship, except for the lighted library and smoking rooms, one is reminded of a coal mine. 

     There are 600 passengers. Half of them are officers on their way to France and a fine looking lot of men they are. Most of the other passengers are British. At my table sits a youthful Scotchman who has been a Chaplain in the British Army in India. Also an Englishman who is returning home after 25 years in India. Then there is an English army officer, the wife of a Duke who lives in Canada and a few others of lesser prominence. The meals are very good but probably would grow tiresome after a bit. About half the passengers have not been to many of the meals on account of sea sickness. I have felt perfectly well... Thursday would have finished me I daresay if I were going to be sea sick at all.

     I am writing this Saturday afternoon. It is now just 4:20 by the ship’s time. In Silver Creek it is 2:40. I keep my old watch the way it was and the one I got from the staff set to ship’s time. Each night the officers post a sign up saying that the clock will be set ahead 32, 34 or 36 minutes – whatever it may be. You see we are going East and when we get to London it will be five hours behind New York time, or ahead I should say.

     Last night I had dinner up on the boat deck with the officers. They have a nice little dining room with their own chef and he gets nice things for them to eat. Tonight I shall do the same thing again. They expect to have a sort of banquet, and I am among five passengers invited. I have had a good appetite ever since we started and will no doubt continue to have. I go to bed about midnight and get up at nine. We can get breakfast up to 10 a.m.; have luncheon at 1 and dinner at 7:15. It is easy to sleep. Last evening – or about 5 o’clock – I was sitting on the deck in a chair, with steamer rugs, etc. wrapped around me and I fell asleep and stayed so for an hour. Many do the same thing. Tomorrow we shall have some sort of religious service for those who wish to go. On Tuesday we will enter the submarine zone and then everyone is on the watch. While there is always a possibility that a torpedo will strike us from one of the German submarines there seems little prospect that one will strike this ship. It is too fast for them. However if it does there are boats enough to take are of everyone... I have heavy woolen underwear; a t hick woolen sweater, woolen socks and a heavy overcoat so I am prepared for anything. 

     ... The ship pitches all the time on account of the big swells which are always found off the Banks but there has been not much roll. When I get to Liverpool I shall take a train direct to London – it is a four or five hour ride and will then go to the Savoy Hotel for a short time. I can’t tell what I will do then. Maybe I shall have to go direct to France to see Mr. Bennett or I may have to stay quite a while in London...

With love,

                Dad