Do you like wooden shoes? They do here. The kids clump along on the stone road with as much noise as a horse. They all can say “Gimme penee Americain” and many can talk more English. They are certainly glad to see Americans, and not for what they get out of them, as we had so often heard, but because they are genuinely glad to have Americans working side by side with their own men in the big cause. But at first they used to wonder why Americans were all boys; if they were grown up, surely they would have hair on their faces, and were not these men smoothfaced? Such little things one gets in talking to natives.

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Next post July 2.

It was a perfect trip across; not a storm, smooth water and a good passage generally. And this camp is a great place. Do you remember the letter I had from Seth saying he was in a barracks which had been built by Napoleon? That’s where I am. Strange isn’t it?

What I’ve seen of this country is beautiful. There is something picturesque about the plainest house that the new world can’t equal. There is certainly no charm in an ordinary barracks; yet these quaint old buildings are a delight. We came up here at night, but it wasn’t hard to see what a great country it is. I’d love to be turned loose here with a camera.

Our crowd is in tents. We have the headquarters one because Wagner and Hamilton are in it. They are a circus, as you know, alone; together it’s the funniest thing you can imagine. Van Duzer, Dizzy and Frank Philips are also here in the tent.

Somebody said there are three ages of the American in France – language, coinage and postage. The first is all right for me; so far I have managed very well. Most of the boys have a struggle. But the chief trouble is money. That’s where they all get dizzy. Most of them point to what they want, hold out a handful of money, close their eyes and trust to Jesus.

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Next post July 1.

Monday

These few days have been uneventful and unpleasant. I’ve spent most of them in a more or less quiet corner, reading or looking idly out to sea. This letter seems to sound like a library catalog, but it’s because that’s all that happens. A new book is as great an event now as a big drive will be later. So here goes: After Tarascon I found “The Adventures of Francois” by S. Weir Mitchell – a very well-written compendium of France in its revolution period.

Then Arnold Bennett’s “The Regent” which was most amusing. It is the book old F.P.A. used to talk about, as a sample of how hopeless it is for British authors to try to understand American manners and speech. They think all Americans say: “I reckon”. That, at any rate, will never be after this war, for I think all the nations are going to benefit in a better understanding of one another. And now I have Upton Sinclair’s “The Jungle” which at least may be interesting; it created quite a stir about 12 years ago.

Clarence Elmer and Jack Wagner are planning a little show tonight for some of the officers. Clarence will be a negro and Jack an Italian. It will be a sort of comic impression of transport life, and I’ve been called in to collaborate.

One of the boys I was talking to wanted to know if there was any way to get across by train. He was serious; he had no idea of geography; he wanted to know whether France and England are at the same place. Another has lost a belt and goes around placarded in this wise:

I’M THE FELLOW WHO HAS LOST

HIS BELT. HELP ME FIND IT.

He looks like a New York clothing strike, but it’s good sense. That’s about the best advertising I’ve seen since I left business. Ahem.

Sometimes I laugh at the thought of what a ghastly joke it would be if they were to take us to Italy or Russia or the Balkans or some other place than France, because of course we have no positive word yet that we are going to France. We’re just “going over”. But the joke would be on all of us, who have scratched our wool and burned the well-known but in this case figurative midnight oil, trying to train our tongues to twist Gaul-wise. What gnashings of teeth there would be.

The water today is smoother than the Hudson. I don’t understand it. Of course no one is sick in such weather. Food continues to be good. Also there is a canteen aboard where we can buy most anything. So we don’t suffer in any respect. Once I had a taste of luxury – a chunk of hot white bread which a sailor just from the bakery gave me; as welcome as it was indigestible.

 

 

The above space denotes that time has intervened since I wrote the foregoing. Even good things have an end. So with this little sail. At this time tomorrow we shall have landed.

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This and the previous letters written while on board arrived on July 6.

Next post June 28.

Friday A.M.

Yesterday was wasted; I did nothing at all – not even shave. From about 3:30 to 8:30 P.M. I sat in one place near the rail at the very stern of the ship. There it is about as comfortable as possible. I’d borrowed “Tartatin do Tarascon” in French from Lubatty, but didn’t read more than about 30 pages. Mostly I talked with Grenelle (not Jean) or anyone else who happened to be at the rail. We ran into and out of a little shower, which was interesting. Then came Clarence Elmer, who is laboriously learning the language of the land. He is wearing out a piece of paper with a lot of good French printed on it. At about 8:30 he asked me if all feminine words were plural, so I went to bed.

Today is clear and calm again; a bit cooler. Not feeling so very energetic but probably will later.

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Next post June 24

Wednesday

An uneventful day – as all of them are becoming. In private life I should up and suggest that the men be taken on an upper deck, in small groups if necessary, and do calisthenics twice a day. But in a private’s life there is no such thing as thinking or suggesting. So I do not think – about such things, I mean. But I do a little exercising on my own account. Also I sleep 9 hours an evening, which, you will agree, is too much for a New Yorker.

The ocean is still again, and the day sunnily perfect. We were, I think, fortunate in going over at this time of year. I hope the weather continues.

Just back of me a crowd is waxing noisesome about a boxing match. And the band is playing.

Yesterday the only likely thing in the library was “Fishpingle”. I just finished it. Vachel, the author announces that it deals with the problem of the distribution of land in England. The only problem I could feel was: are publishers fools? He is considered a capable modern writer, but it is certainly an ineffably silly and useless book.

No – my dinner did not disagree with me, and I am, in fact, more than usually cheerful. Tomorrow’s news may be more readable, especially if I find a better book. It is only as a figure of speech that such stuff as this can be called news. It is more of a picture, incomplete because the government withholds some of the essential colors – the censorship does, at least. But there really isn’t any great loss, for you have most of it here.

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Next post June 21.

Tuesday

I spent most of Sunday and all of yesterday reading. Woe is me! The apple of my eye had a bad spot! For the bookbinder slipped up, and left out 17 pages leading up to the climax of the “Way of All Flesh”. It is the part leading up to Ernest’s arrest. But I guessed at it and came through all right. It’s a great book.

In the past two days the water has been absolutely blue. We are really on the ocean. The ship has rolled just a bit more, and several fellows have been sick. So far I have not, but cheer up – we haven’t met any real weather yet. I’ve been trying to keep to myself which of course is not to be done. Tempers get short when quarters are close. The deck is much pleasanter anyhow than downstairs.

Some of the soldiers are a strange lot. The other day I was talking to one who has crossed 13 times. He has lived 4 years in Germany, 1 in France and spent some time traveling all over Europe. He is a college man, speaks several languages and is highly cultured. He is sitting not far from me now. Next to me, on the other hand, is a chap who has never heard of golf and one of his friends is explaining it to him. Verily the army is a leveler. I dare say he who doesn’t know golf will make a better fighter, and so, in these times, must be rated the better man.

Do you remember, not so long ago, when I said I had read of shadows being purple, in book after book, but had never until then been able to see them so? It is much the same with this water. “The Ocean Blue” is old to me in story but eternally new in reality. I cannot stop wondering at it. You know it doesn’t change from the green until you are some distance out, and in deep water. Also I have seen some flying fish, which I had always through were somewhat like haddock, but which in reality are very small – like flounders, I should say, and almost white. They fly only a foot or so above water for a distance of about 100 feet, then dive into a wave.

There is a French class aboard, conducted under the auspices of the omnipresent Y.M.C.A. The boys go round the deck with vocabulary sheets in hand, saying aloud; “untsigoreeta” and “oon feem” and laughing at what a “damfool language French is”.

Ship’s time you know, changes, but I have not made the correction on my reliable Ingersoll. It says 4:15 P.M. In reality it must be about 4:50.

The point, however, is that we have fine long evenings. Our last meal is about 4 o’clock, and then there is nothing in the way of duty until morning. It is light enough to read until about 8, and from then till 10, one may stay on deck and get the air, as indeed everyone seems to do.

Today there were movies in the mess hall. There is a portable m.p. machine, and several reels of slapstick comedy, vintage of 1909, were shown. And our old friend Dizzy was the officious if not efficient operator.

Ivan Watson goes around with an “I mourn my loss” expression. The reason is that whenever he thinks of the ship it is a case of “I knew her when”. It seems he made a round the world cruise in her in 1911.

Frank Philips and Jean Crunelle are about the only sun-dodgers I see much of; Frank because he sleeps next to me, and Jean because he needs help in his French. Otherwise the crowd is not so cliquey as customary, which, as I said before, is not a misfortune in these close quarters. It is agreeable to get acquainted with the Metees anyhow. Jones is really nice chap, interesting and educated above little Rose’s fool head. How he ever managed to like her I don’t know.

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Next post June 19.

En route at last! It was a great moment when we began to move and another when we passed old (Ft. Wood). Now we are on the open sea and have been for nearly a day. It is all so new to me that I feel as green as the veriest inlander. This is the first time I have ever been out of sight of land. The feeling that the other shore is just ahead, as in a ferry trip, will not be downed. It is wrong to be on the seacoast for 20 years and remain so inexperienced.

The ocean so far has been smooth as the Hudson. The boat is steady and scarcely vibrates, which, Jimmy Bennett says, is a characteristic of German built boats, which British ones have never equaled.

There is no lack of things to do. Before we left port, we had band concerts in the evenings, though now of course we can have them only during the day. Last night I went down to our quarters and found about a dozen card games, some checkers and one “rine-the-peg” game. A Victrola was vicking, and people reading and writing. Didn’t look at all like war.

Do you remember how we walked up 5^th Ave. and laughed at the fellow yelling from the library steps; “Rummage in your bookcases!” He was a blessing so humorously disguised we didn’t know it. For he got books for the War Service Library which provides them, through the Y for these ships. I’m glad you contributed because they’re certainly a help aboard. And what do you think I lighted on? A fine leather (like Fathers and Sons, only in brown) edition of “The Way of All Flesh”. I hope there will be time for me to finish it.

I stay up on deck which is just 1 flight above my quarters, as much as possible. This morning I attended mass on deck. There are several chaplains aboard, all capital fellows.

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This and the next couple of letters were written on board but were all received at the same time along with the SAFE ACROSS CARD.

While he doesn’t tell us which ship he sailed on, of the three he mentioned in an earlier letter, the George Washington and the Leviathan were German-made so we have to assume he was on one of these.

Next post on June 18.

We left Ft. Wood in fine shape. For my part, I hadn’t a regret. We had an easy sort of time there, but it was just about long enough. We left at about 9 this morning, and of course it didn’t take long to get to the ship. It looks like a good safe one.

On the dock the kindly Red Cross distributed buns and coffee. It was there we parted from our barrack bags. Belt, blanket roll and haversack are no small load of themselves, and carrying a barracks bag in addition is no summer morning pleasure for a fellow my size. I was just about learning to manage when it was time to get rid of the thing.

The same good old Red Cross gives each man, as he comes up the gangplank, two of those “Safe Across” cards. One will come to you and the other to the Folks. Then the Y hands out writing paper and a little booklet on what to do and not to do on troopships. They seem to take good care of us.

We had noon mess aboard; it was good. Then our bunch had a wild scramble for bunks. So far I’ve had three different ones; I’ll keep this if I can. It is conveniently near the necessary things and shows signs of being livably airy.

You can’t imagine and of course haven’t seen, what a busy place a transport is when men are coming aboard. All kinds of work going on; crowds of soldiers all around, some reading, writing and chatting, others at the eternal card games; army and navy officers and men rushing back and forth on some business or other; hammering, machining, work, work, work. Makes you realize that it takes more than patriotic meetings to win a war.

Of course I was hoping to get on John’s old boat, but I really don’t know whether she’s in port or not. He said he had spoken to one of the other officers about us and said I was to look him up. However, since John is off, it won’t matter anyhow.

Just took a turn on deck, (that’s the proper term, I believe). Great place. But, I wish we’d sail soon; I’ve looked long enough at N.Y.C. without being able to get to it. It is 4:30 and they’re lining up for mess. When one looks at the mess line it seems as though they feed the whole blamed army here; guess I’m not hungry yet.

This letter may be the last for some time: I am told it will be mailed before we leave, but then on is told many things, you know. Here’s hoping.

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Next post June 15

Another rumor, this time more or less colored with official sanction. We are to leave here Tuesday or Wednesday. It looks quite possible. I didn’t want to tell you yet, but if I didn’t Mrs. Eldredge would, for Fred will tell her at once. If we do go, it will be on one of the three big boats; G.W., Mauretania or Leviathan, which is a consummation devoutly to be wished. On the other hand we might go to Camp Merritt first. But, as I said, it is all a rumor. It’s about time, that something happened to us. Suppressed excitement is the order of the day. I wonder what will happen to Eldridge.

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Links to Wikipedia entries for the three ships:

• G.W. = George Washington
• Mauretania
• Leviathan

Next post June 13.

A new rumor – we are to go to Camp Merritt with the 102; it doesn’t say when. I’m getting tired of rumors, however, and don’t take much stock in them.

News? None. This morning we drilled until 10:15. Then came the order; “All photographers in front of barracks.” Visions of passes and transports. Bu no, it was only top sergeant announcing we were to report to the company mechanic to do some work. There were 5 tents to put up and we stalled along on the job until 2 P.M.

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Camp Merritt was a military base in Cresskill, in Bergen County, New Jersey, that was activated for use in World War I. (Wikipedia)

Next post June 9.