On the night of April 5th we were ordered to roll packs. We stacked our
bunks and drew ammunition. And we were posted on a vigil of waiting.
April 6th, 1918, Saturday, was the first anniversary of America's
declaration of war. At two-thirty on that morning, in an air pleasantly
crisp and flooded with moonlight, we marched to the railroad and
entrained. Leaving Camp Upton at three-fifteen, we pulled into Long
Island City just in time to be greeted by the usual six o'clock factory
whistles.
A waiting ferry engulfed our battalion and we were transported down the
East River, around the Battery, and up the Hudson to Pier 59, at the
foot of West Eighteenth Street, Manhattan. A methodical transfer was
accomplished from the squat and stunted ferry to the gigantic but little
known _Justicia_.
While still under process of construction in the shipyards at Belfast,
in Ireland, for the Holland American Line, the _Statendam_ was
commandeered by Great Britain at the beginning of the European war and
was operated as a transport under the name _Justicia_ by the White Star
Line. She was at the time the fifth largest vessel afloat and that she
was the especial prey of the German undersea navy is indicated by the
fact that a submarine attacked her on a subsequent trip from England to
the United States, on July 20th, and after a dramatic engagement lasting
some twenty-four hours, she was sunk. Fourteen of a crew of seven
hundred were lost.
All day men and equipment poured onto the decks and into the hold of the
giant transport. Our entire regiment and one battalion of the 308th
Infantry were quartered between decks. Next morning, before reveille,
the _Justicia_ slipped quietly down New York Bay, thru Ambrose Channel,
and into the Atlantic.
B Company had no quarters _de luxe_. We were crowded into small
space--Section K--far down on D deck, with sleeping hammocks slung over
our mess tables. And our mess, served by the British, was a sorry series
of meals. We were compelled to wear during the day, and to sleep with
during the night, ungainly life preservers. But discomforts were
subordinated to the interest in our new surroundings. The mysteries of
the big ship, its spotless engine-room, the intricacies of navigation,
the precautions against possible attack,--all held us.
[Illustration: _Among Those Present--A Group of NCO'S at Camp_]
On leaving New York we pursued a northerly course, and at nine o'clock
that night anchor was dropped in lower Bedford Bay, at Halifax. Early
next morning we steamed up into the inner harbor and before us lay the
sadly devastated city of Halifax. Immense areas of the city had been
totally destroyed by the explosion resulting from the collision between
a Belgian relief ship and one bearing a cargo of explosives.
That day and the next, while waiting for our convoy to assemble, was
spent in practicing with lowered boats.
Late on the afternoon of April 9th our convoy of ten passenger and cargo
ships passed out of the harbor, sped by the cheers of the crews of two
American battleships. We were escorted by _U. S. S. St. Louis_ and _H.
M. S. Victoria_.
Boat drill, a well-ordered scramble for life boats, took place twice
daily. Each morning we indulged in strenuous setting-up exercises in
order that we might remain in trim. Practice with depth bombs and smoke
screens helped to relieve the tedium of the long trip.
As we neared our unknown destination, our escort was increased by ten
British torpedo boat destroyers. Veritable sea dogs they were, darting
every which-way, breasting wave after wave, ever watchful for the tricky
Hun.
And then, on Friday. April 19th, land! Just a ridge above the
horizon--the blue hills of Wales--but already we could feel in our
imaginations the solidity which our unsailorly legs had missed.
As the day waned we sighted the lighthouse at the mouth of the River
Mersey. With cheers of relief we were permitted to doff our bulky life
belts. Just before dusk we entered the Mersey, passing closely by the
beautiful seaside resort of New Brighton.
Forging up the river we reached Liverpool and, at nine o'clock that
evening, after almost fourteen days afloat, our transport was moored.
The city, as we saw it from the decks of the _Justicia_, lay quietly,
with lights beginning to twinkle in the increasing gloom.
One by one the companies formed and debarked, and at 11:15 P.M. B
Company marched down the gang plank, thru half-lighted sheds, into those
curious side-door railway cars so peculiar to Europe. Exactly at
midnight our train pulled out of Liverpool. At 3:00 A.M. a short stop
for hot coffee was made at Rugby. We passed thru the outskirts of London
at 6:00 A.M. and at nine-twenty the train rolled into the terminal at
Dover.
The private yacht of Belgium's Queen Elizabeth had been pressed into
service as a cross-channel ferry and in this royal craft, under escort
of destroyers, aeroplanes, and dirigibles, we crossed to Calais in an
hour and thirty-five minutes. The crossing was enlivened when two
riflemen of the crew took to firing at mines that endangered our
passage.