Don Martin's diary entry for Monday, December 24, 1917:
At Sea. 389 miles.
At Sea. 389 miles.
Got up at 9. Visited for an hour at breakfast with a Mrs. Wells of
London who is pleasant but very English. The 5 others at my table are English
or Scotch and I pass them a specimen of American humor and sarcasm now and then.
Sea had calmed down. Everyone hoping it will get stormy as we enter the war
zone as storms seem a safeguard against submarines. Played poker in afternoon.
Lost $5. Visited most of evening with an English woman Mrs. Rose. Then went to
smoking room. Met Russell who wanted me to play checkers with an English pilot
who had beaten nearly everyone. I beat him 6 straight and Russell was happy.
Everyone beginning to fret a little as we near the war zone. Good many persons
slept in their clothes. I didn’t but Russell and I sat up till 3 a.m.
Weather
quite calm + warm.
Letter from
Don Martin to Dorothy.
At sea,
Sunday, Dec. 24, 1917
Christmas Eve
Dorothy:
It is not a bad night at sea for Santa
Claus but I doubt that he will come on board the ship. They say he has not been
around much in this part of the world since the submarines began to sink
vessels. I don’t blame him. It would be a shame if he should be caught by a
torpedo and killed. What would all the little girls and boys all over the world
do then? ...
The storm last night kept up till
early morning but did no harm. You would have laughed if you could have seen me
getting ready for bed. I would start to take off a shoe and would pitch half
way across the cabin. After a while though I got in bed and it was all right
then although I was bumped about quite a bit. I read for an hour and it was
terrifying but to me rather pleasant (for I knew there was no danger) to hear
the wind roar around the windows and hear the waves sweep over the bow. My room
is up in the bow on the promenade deck. This morning the old steward, Hands his
name is, came in at nine o’clock and called me for breakfast. I asked him how
the weather was and he said it had all cleared up and that the day was fine.
And it has been fine. ... There were
very few, if any, whitecaps, and no swell big enough to give any motion to the
ship. I spent practically all the afternoon on the deck, walking about or
standing in sunny places and talking to other passengers. Everyone talks to
everyone on a ship you know and after a week all are pretty well acquainted...
The voyage from now on will be more
exciting. I have noticed the tension already. Tomorrow, Christmas, we will be
in the war zone, which means that part of the ocean in which the Germans long
ago set apart as unsafe for ships to sail. We will be in it along about noon --
a fine Christmas present – and it is hoped that in the evening two torpedo
destroyers will meet us and escort us the rest of the way in. They cannot
prevent a submarine from sending torpedoes but they are at hand to give
immediate help in case of a tragedy and that is very important. The water in
the ocean is not very cold – the temperature today of the water was 60 – and
one could keep afloat in it for quite a while.
About all the passengers talk about
now, as we approach the danger zone, is submarines. All say they are not
worried but quite a few sleep with their clothes on and several women intend
tonight to take blankets and sleep in the library. They do that because their
rooms are two stairways below the boat deck and a torpedo might hit them in
their berths. I don’t know that I blame them. My room is on the boat deck. From
my bed to the row boat to which I have been assigned in case of accident is but
thirty steps so I can go to bed with a feeling of reasonable security. Many of
the men are a little uneasy. While they are all courageous they cannot help
feeling that, after all, we are away out in the middle of the ocean and that,
if the ship should be struck, she would sink in an hour or so and everyone
would have a tough time getting into the life boats. I think about it now and
then but I certainly do not let it worry me. I remind myself of what you said
one day, “I don’t know how to worry.” I have my life preserver handy; know how
to put it on; have a flashlight and a police whistle where I can reach them
quickly and have my clothes placed so I could easily and quickly get into them.
That is about all one can do. Of course no one knows anything about the
submarines. They may appear in the middle of the night or may rise up from the
bottom of the sea any time. It is all guess work. We have to trust to luck.
However I have no doubt we shall reach Liverpool without seeing one at all.
The weather is most remarkable. One
hardly needs an overcoat. People sit on the decks (in the dark of course) till early in
the morning with nothing extra on but their overcoats. It is the most
comfortable weather for this time of year the steamship men have known in a long
time. The indications now are for calm weather all day Christmas. Everyone is
hoping for a big storm, inasmuch as submarines cannot work well in stormy
weather and the ship can stand any sort of a sea. Tomorrow I shall write to you
about the incidents aboard ship on the first day in the danger zone. Everyone
will be on deck, keeping an eye open. On the bridge of the ship, day and night,
there are six men with glasses to detect anything unusual, and all along the
decks, night and day, are sailors, keeping their eyes open also. Should a
submarine be sighted the passengers would instantly be ordered to the dining
room and there they would have to stay till the affair was disposed of one way
or another. I shall make it a point to be with the officers if anything
happens, as I am anxious to see any engagement the gunners might be called upon
to take part in. But you may be sure I shall not run any unnecessary risk. I am
too anxious to get back to see you, young lady.
In the music room just in front of my
cabin, and in the big dining room, one flight down, the soldiers are practicing
for a concert tomorrow night. There is considerable talent among them and the
concert will bring a pleasant end to what will probably be a dull, though
possibly very exciting, day. I will say good night now Dorothy.
With love,
Dad
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