If only all you dear people at home could know how comfortable and happy
we all are, you would not worry the slightest bit about us. Of course
the danger is still here even if we don’t notice it, but everything is
so serene it seems as though it couldn’t possibly touch us. The only
time that one can even imagine any danger is at night when on the decks
not a single particle of light can be seen, except a dark purple glow at
each companion-way. All the portholes are fastened shut and all the
windows of the dining-saloon are shut and shaded as soon as it begins to
get dark. The main hall, or whatever the place is called, in the center
of the boat where the main stairways are, is also entirely dark, so that
when the doors to the deck are opened no light will shine out. We are
told that we are one of a group of boats going out together although out
of sight of each other, and that when we get nearer the other side we
are to be convoyed by battleships. We are getting wireless directions
from cruisers now, but are not sending out any messages. We had
lifeboat drill this morning, with lifebelts on and each person knows to
exactly what boat he or she is to go. At times like those drills there
is nothing but the greatest jolliness and cheerfulness. In fact, all the
time there seems to be nothing but cheerfulness and eagerness to get to
work. I haven’t even heard of any apprehensiveness on the part of a
single person. As one of my nurses said in her slow drawly way: “There
isn’t any use worrying about the submarines. If the Germans are going to
kill us, worrying isn’t going to prevent it. If the Germans do kill me,
I’m going to come back and haunt the whole German army.”
Everything has gone so very smoothly from the very beginning, I really
don’t see how arrangements could have been improved upon. Even the one
trunk that got left behind reached the steamer in time, and the two
nurses who were to join us in New York turned up exactly as scheduled
and all the missing documents from the War Department came before we
left and as far as I could tell, everybody had everything that she ought
to have. When the gangplank was pulled up and I realized that not one of
my group could get lost for at least ten days, and there were no more
documents to expect by mail and no more telegrams giving more
instructions, it seemed as if a great load dropped off my shoulders. It
was a glorious day and the sail down the harbor was wonderful. All kinds
of boats tooted and blew their whistles at us and people on ferry boats
waved and cheered us. Soon after lunch, the few necessary room
adjustments were made and trunks were carried to the proper rooms.
Nurses had been assigned to rooms alphabetically, but a few changes
seemed to make everybody happy. Some of the nurses are three in a room,
but quite a lot of them are only two in a room. With the portholes
screwed down there is no difference between the inside and the outside
rooms. The whole Pennsylvania Unit, Base Hospital No. 10, is with us,
going no one knows where, any more than we do. They seem very nice
people, and the Chief Nurse is the Miss Dunlop with whom I had been
corresponding about work at the American Ambulance. Miss Dunlop was in
charge of the nursing at the Ambulance for some time and can give me
lots of pointers about foreign service.
When we reached the _St. Paul_ that Friday evening about 6, going
directly from the train to a ferry and from the ferry to the pier, we
found the other Unit on board. A committee from the Red Cross was here
giving out uniforms. It took not much over an hour and a half before
each nurse had received all her things and was free to go. Each one was
given caps and armbands, a lovely soft cape lined with bright red
flannel; a soft dark blue felt hat, with hat pins, a heavy dark brown
blanket, a long heavy double-breasted, dark blue military coat and a
dark blue serge dress. The whole equipment is excellent and extremely
good in quality and the fit was fine, considering the way measurements
had to be sent. There was a box there addressed to every single nurse,
each one containing a dress and a coat. The dresses are very good
looking. They have high standing collars with a little edging of white
at the top and an edging of white at the cuffs. Extra edging was found
in an envelope attached to each dress. There is a pleat that runs from
each shoulder to the waist and a row of big black buttons follows those
pleats. There is also a row of buttons up the outside of each sleeve. At
the waist there is a belt and a cloth-covered buckle. The skirt has a
pocket on each side and has a panel back. The effect of the whole outfit
is very shipshape, though a little somber. There is no distinguishing
mark for Chief Nurses, but Miss Noyes, the Chairman of the Bureau of
Nursing Service, who came on from Washington to see us off, said she was
going to work out some sort of a method for distinguishing the Chiefs
and would let us know later what it is to be. A great many of the nurses
sent back to their homes the heavy coats they had brought for the
steamer. I sent mine.
All the officers and the enlisted men are having regular drill every
day. I asked for some drill for the nurses too, and we began yesterday,
greatly to the delight of every one, the spectators as well as those
participating. We have regular setting-up exercises as well as some
military formations so that we can march in decency and order when we
have to. On shipboard standing on one foot and raising the other knee is
apt to be accompanied with some merriment. And some of our fat doctor
officers have more or less difficulty lying down flat on their stomachs
and getting up very fast. But by the end of the voyage we all may be
very proficient. At any rate it is awfully good for the digestion.
Speaking of digestion, we are having excellent food and, as is always
the way on a steamer, altogether too much of it. The dining-saloon holds
us all at one sitting, which is pleasant. No. 10 takes up all of one
side and No. 21 the other and the few civilian passengers sit in the
middle.
I was assigned to a very good stateroom all by myself. Then yesterday
the purser moved me into a still larger and better room, where I have a
table and a droplight, which is more luxury than I ever traveled with
before. People are all so good to us. Even the stewards and the
stewardesses, most of whom are English, seem to be only too glad to do
what they can to make us all comfortable. There have been a few seasick
nurses, which is hard to explain, as the weather has been perfect and
the ocean very smooth. To-day there is a slight roll, but not enough to
notice. Every day there is target practice with the guns. Empty barrels
are thrown overboard and the gun crews shoot at them with the big guns
that are on the forward and after decks.
Evening prayers are held every evening at 9.30, and yesterday we had
church service and had all the enlisted men up. Our [Chaplain] Dean
Davis is a real man. We got a choir together yesterday and last evening
had some fancy singing, which an overly critical person might call
bellowing. It is a mixed choir and it certainly can sing. Now it is time
I studied some French.
Friday afternoon, May 25.
Since I last wrote we have had some real weather, and such a lot of sick
people! Doctors as well as nurses succumbed; and great was the misery.
To-day it is bright and sunny again and not so cold, and everybody is
recovering. It was up along the Banks and opposite Labrador, I guess,
where it was the worst. It was cold and rainy and really very rough, so
much so that we had to have the racks on the tables. I have not been
sick a minute myself, but there was one day when I was not much
interested in eating. Still I did not miss a single meal.
It is a heavenly day to-day. We are already in or near the danger zone
and extra precautions are being taken. It all seems so queer. To-night
we are not to undress, and the few nurses who are on the deck below this
one, where most of them are, are to sleep to-night in the
doctor-officers’ rooms on the upper deck and the latter are to sleep in
the sitting-rooms. There has been some special target practice when no
passengers were allowed on deck, and there was an elaborate boat drill
this afternoon. It is all strange business and still most
incomprehensible to me. I still feel as if I were dreaming and that in a
few minutes I would wake up. We are due to land Sunday afternoon at
Liverpool, it seems, and are scheduled to go to London. But after that
all is shrouded in mystery. My crowd of nurses are fine and have been
behaving splendidly. Comparing them to the Philadelphia bunch I feel
that I have no reason to be ashamed of them or to fear for what they are
going to do. They have all shown a splendid spirit and seem to be full
of enthusiasm and eagerness to show what Missouri can do when it tries.
I feel perfectly sure they are going to be a loyal, hard-working group.
All the nice things that people sent to eat and read have been greatly
appreciated. I was just swamped with nice things, but there have been
lots of people to enjoy them with me. I have slept and slept and read
and read and shall be in fine shape when we land. I was pretty tired
when we started and was not sleeping as I should because of the
multiplicity of details that were on my mind. Except for the sick nurses
the responsibility has let up a lot here on the boat, but will of course
begin again when we land. My Squad Leaders have proved most efficient.
Miss Dunlop of No. 10 and I have had some very nice talks. I shall be
sorry to lose her advice and assistance when we go our separate ways.
She is considerably older than I am and much more experienced. For
destinations there are rumors of Mesopotamia, Saloniki, Russia, England,
and the North of France. Take your choice. It’s a great game to be
traveling thousands of miles and not know where you are going, nor how
long you are going to stay, nor really what you are going to do when you
get there. We may even be in camp somewhere. All the camp equipment is
with us. Well, I like the game anyway.
Last night all my dear little nurses [in St. Louis] were having their
graduation exercises without me. I hope they got the little speech I
sent them, poor as it was. We were thinking of them. One of the men at
our table is keeping one of his watches at St. Louis time, so at every
meal we discuss what is going on in St. Louis.
When this letter reaches you, you will know that everything is well with
us. You will know that before then, come to think of it. For it will
take a long time for letters to get back to the U. S. A. It is going to
be ages before we shall receive letters from you, worse luck.
I have enjoyed Elsie’s ginger and her book ever so much and Mother’s
wonderful Dean box is going to continue to be a delight for a long time.
I am going to try to take the box along for eats, and to keep it for
that. I am not sure yet just how much luggage I can manage and I seem to
have accumulated a good deal more than I started with. The Ever Warm
Safety Suit is awfully nice to have. I trust I shall not have to use it,
but it is nice to have around anyway. There are several of them on the
boat.
This letter can be kept just for the family. I am writing others to St.
Louis. I do hope Philip[2] will be coming along over soon and that it
won’t take long to find out where he is.
Don’t you worry about me one least little bit. I am having the time of
my life and wouldn’t have missed it for anything in the world.
Good-by for now. I hope all your summer plans will work out smoothly
and happily for you all.