December 23, 1917 -- Across the Atlantic - Day 4

Don Martin's diary entry for Sunday, December 23, 1917: 
At Sea. 407 miles.

[Handts], my steward, called me at 9. Shaved and had breakfast. Then walked around on deck till lunchtime. Is a nice sun-shiny day. Sea a bit choppy but not unpleasant. People beginning to keep an eye out for submarines. No suggestion of any yet. Have seen no ships at all since first day. Missed church service. Nothing on board to suggest that this is Sunday. Wrote a letter to Dorothy. Sent considerable time with Mr. Russell who seems to be quite a fellow.

Weather unpleasant by warm.

  Letter from Don Martin to Dorothy.

At sea, Sunday, Dec. 23, 1917

Dorothy:

     We are 400 miles nearer Europe than we were when I finished writing to you yesterday. We passed from the Newfoundland Banks during the night and now are running straight East in the Gulf Stream, toward England – but it is a long way off yet. It is Sunday but there is nothing to suggest it. There was a religious atmosphere this morning but I missed it. In the big dining room they has the Episcopal service and I really intended to hear it but I decided to sleep late for a change and when I arrived at the dining room the service was over.

     ... The time in this longitude is twenty-five minutes after eight while in Silver Creek it is a quarter after six. I keep the ocean time on the new watch I got from the office and leave my old watch just as it was, so I have both the ocean and the land time at the same time. 

     There are three children on the boat. They are in the second cabin with their mother and are on their way to England. The youngest is about two and the oldest is about seven. They run about the deck almost all day and many of the big army officers pick them up and carry them around. They seem to enjoy it greatly. 

     Last night was beautiful. Early there was a heavy fog but as we drew back toward the Gulf Stream it disappeared and at eleven o’clock the moon was bright; [the] evening star ... was up and the sky was just packed with stars. They seemed very close by. Another man and I sat and walked about the deck till after midnight. It was not so dark as other nights because of the moonlight. The air was about as one would expect to find it in April or early May and not a suggestion of winter about it. Today is much the same. The sea has been reasonably calm all day but late this afternoon a South wind came up and now it is blowing pretty hard. The sea is choppy and this added to the long, deep swell which always is found on the ocean, makes the ship rock and pitch quite a bit. A good many people are sick. The places at the dining table are about half filled I should say.  Some folks have not been out of their cabins since we started. I have been feeling first rate and do not look forward to any sea sickness at all. I guess my stomach must be pretty good. Last night I had dinner with the officers and it certainly was a fine dinner. After nine o’clock I was in the music room where there was an impromptu concert, anyone taking part who would volunteer. Some are good and some very bad. Several young men going abroad for the Y. M. C. A. took part and they seemed quite talented. I have become quite friendly with a man named Russell from Chicago. He represents the big packing interests of Chicago and is going to London to stay a year or more. He has been there a good many times before and will be a valuable acquaintance. He lives, while in London, at the Savoy Hotel and I shall go there too. There is no trouble meeting people. There is danger of meeting too many.

     This afternoon I walked on the deck for a couple of hours and then sat in the smoking room and played cards till seven o’clock when I went to dinner in the regular dining room. I had soup; roast lamb, browned potatoes, celery, green peas, lettuce and chicory salad, pudding, ice cream, fancy pastry, coffee and fruit. One eats about twice as much at sea as any other place. I guess a sea trip is quite beneficial as a matter of fact. I have a salt water bath in my own bath room every morning and spend nearly all the time out on deck. I find that my room is one of the two best ones on the boat. An English officer has the other one. I have my wardrobe trunk, a valise and a suitcase in it and have plenty of room. There is a reading lamp at the head of my bed and I lie in bed and read a short time every night. Some of the persons on board sleep in their clothes, with life preserver right next to them and everything ready for a hurried escape in case a submarine attacks the ship. I haven’t done that and don’t intend to. I could get up and dressed in a few minutes and no torpedo could sink the ship in less than an hour.

     At the table with me are some rather interesting people but they are terribly English. A young Scottish clergyman whom I mentioned yesterday has been ill for two days and an English woman, wife of a hotel proprietor in London, showed up today for the first time since we left New York. She said she had been ill.

     Since I finished the foregoing I have been at dinner and up in the smoker playing cards and now there is a fine howling wind blowing. The ship is tossing around. It rolls sideways and pitches away up and down. The wind has swung around into the southeast and the indications are that there will be some mighty high seas before morning. I am sitting in my room and the chair almost tips over now and then. The things on the dresser move around and the whole ship squeaks and groans. Most of the passengers have gone to their berths and the chances are that before morning all who are not immune from illness, will be filled with sea sickness. The waves sweep over the bow of the boat and race down the promenade decks. It is a good blow but nothing like some of the storms the sailors have been through. Here in my room I can hear the wind whistle and roar against the sides of the vessel and occasionally can hear the propellers racing out of water. I don’t mind it at all. In fact I am going up in the front where it is safe and have a good look at the sea when it is in a fury. There is one good thing about rough weather in days like these. Submarines can’t do any business then. It is amusing to see people try to get along the passageways leading from the after part of the ship to the forward cabins. They grope their way along and stagger. Going down stairs is quite a job. 

     It is a good thing perhaps that I have my typewriter with me. It would be impossible to write with a pen tonight and I rather thought it would be a good idea to write to you every day so that when you get my letter you will have a pretty full account of my entire journey. Maybe on Tuesday and Wednesday I will write more briefly because then we will be in the submarine zone and I will no doubt be out on deck with most of the other passengers keeping an eye open for danger. We enter the danger zone on Christmas morning. ...They will have a special Christmas dinner on the ship but if the weather continues as it has started tonight there will not be a great many people able to enjoy it. 

With love, 

            Dad