After weeks of drilling and preparation in Chicago, the 13th Engineers finally headed to England in late July, arriving in England in mid-August 1917.
Monday, June 18, 1917
Back to barracks 10:00 a.m.
Tuesday, June 19, 1917
Routine, etc.
Sunday, July 15, 1917
Nothing of interest all week long. Packing up. Wrote Cecil letter this morning.
Monday, July 16, 1917
Orders to move Wednesday now.
Tuesday, July 17, 1917
Marking and packing. Two letters from Cecil again. Wrote two yesterday. All set for the big move.
Wednesday, July 18, 1917
All set and ready to march to train when orders from Washington cancelled movement until Saturday. 1st battalion goes tomorrow.
Thursday, July 19, 1917
Big parade to depot to see 1st battalion off. No letter from Cecil today. First day I’ve missed for long time. Disappointed.
Friday, July 20, 1917
Getting ready again for the big move. Received sweetest letter from her today. Wish I didn’t have to go. Kodak pictures. Wrote her two letters. Leaving tomorrow.
Saturday, July 21, 1917
Got telegram from Cecil. Sent her night letter leaving day. Left 18th and Clarke in second section at 6:20 p.m. Crowd people, so sad. Wish the women folks could go on to NY. So many mothers here crying. Wish Cecil was here. Have Section 8 in Tourist.
Sunday, July 22, 1917
Sunday. Woke up in Cleveland. Slept bully. No curtains on berths to smother one to death. Breakfast at Cleveland. Wrote Cecil a card. Arrived Cleveland 7:00 a.m., left 7:30 a.m. Played runs all morning. Dinner at Erie, arrived 12:10 p.m., out 12:35 p.m. Awfully hot. Everybody out to wave at us. Old lady on street shook hands with us. Bought pie at beanery. Not like Fred’s. Wish Cecil and I could eat in that corner table tonight. Stopped Buffalo two hours. Mess at 6:00 p.m., then sat on boxcar the rest of the evening. Left Buffalo Lackawana at 7:25 p.m. Bed early.
Monday, July 23, 1917
Woke up at 6:00 a.m., Strousburg, PA. Beautiful country, heavy fog. Reach Hoboken about 8:30 a.m., load on boats. Reached Hoboken 10:30 a.m. Loaded all stuff on barges. I’m in charge of HQ detail. Loaded on liner Orduna 1:30 p.m. Dropped out into East River at 3:00 p.m. Went straight out to sea. Have 2nd cabin stateroom 537 with Boyer. Meals in dining room. Pretty soft. Had dock man send Cecil telegram, guess he did. Tried to land a card but dropped into sea when threw it to a boat to mail for me. Went by Statue of Liberty 3:55 p.m.
Monday, July 23, 1917, off for France. All for Old Glory.
Evening on deck loafing after wonderful bath. Bed 10:00 p.m.
Tuesday, July 24, 1917
Woke up in heavy fog. Calm sea. All portholes closed at 8:00 p.m. No matches allowed above deck. All home covered, ship dark. Have dandy stateroom. Running water etc. Little close account all holes closed up. Have splendid meals and eat like gentlemen in cabin. Privates all herded together like sheep down in steerage. Wish they could all have it nice as I. Some of them so jealous and sore. Wish someone were with me. Great trip. Had a talk with the gunner yesterday. Have a big gun on stern and life belts and life rafts all over the ship. The gunner said torpedo missed them 10 feet last trip over. He is young cockney about my age. Wicked looking gun aft. Hope we get the range on a sub. So interesting. Sure a great life. Lots women aboard too. This Orduna is one of the finest ships afloat now. Manned by a regular crew. Some Red Cross nurses aboard too. We are billed to Liverpool. Wonder if that dock man sent Cecil the telegram. Never dreamed we would get through New York like we did. All watches set ahead, half hour every midnight. Col. Roosevelt was at the dock yesterday. His son is aboard with us now. Saw him this morning on the promenade deck.
10:00 a.m. cloudy and foggy. Had good breakfast. Everything is English here. English money in change, etc. Wonder if that fellow sent my wire. Slept a while this morning. Sea very calm. Met Miss Gray. Talked 30 min. with her, nice Scotch lady. Saw school of whales at 10:00 a.m. Watched them through glasses. Lifeboat drill at 2:30 p.m. and again at 4:30 p.m. I am assigned to lifeboat 9 with ten others. Lifebelt on my bed always. Some sport. Sat till late in lounging room. All ports covered with mats at 8:00 p.m. No lights above decks. Sat in salon, talked with Smithy till 10:00 p.m., then to cabin. Coons, Printz, Berry all there, killed one. Sleep at 1:00 a.m.
Wednesday, July 25, 1917
Up at 7:20 a.m. Still so cold and cloudy. Foghorn going continually. Took bath and shave. Breakfast 8:30 a.m. Bacon and eggs, rice cakes, French bread, coffee. Fine. I’ll never see such nice service in the army again. All cockney waiters. Cold on deck. Laid on fore end and watched waves until 10:00 a.m. Passed little fishing smacks. Understand we are going to lie off Halifax. Have written Cecil a note, hoping to get it mailed, but chances are slight. No mail will be taken off the boat unless they would take it and hold it until we get across. Wish I could mail it. She will be so worried. 2:25 p.m. pulling close by port of Halifax, Canada. Met some big boats coming out of the bay at 5:30 p.m. Moving slowly up Halifax Bay we passed half a dozen cruisers, destroyers, and five submarines all huddled together at shore. Could make out H4 and H5. The harbor is full of merchant ships. Big submarine cables across the bay. Halifax is a big city along the bay, big fort protecting it. Understand we stay here till Monday. No one is allowed to go ashore whatever. Guess they are afraid I’d send a telegram to Cecil. I heard they wouldn’t mail my note to her until they got a cable that we are across.
Thursday, July 26, 1917
Up at 5:30 a.m. Clock all moved ahead one hour here. Beautiful morning. Roamed around deck awhile. No one below a 1st class sergeant allowed in this saloon or on my deck. Makes it pretty private too. Sight worth a million dollars at 10:00 a.m.: two Italian submarines passed our ship at anchor in bay here and went about a quarter mile away and submerged. Stayed under 20 minutes, then came up. Sure had an interested audience. My one desire, to see one submerge at close range, was granted. They were about 110 feet long. Both flew Italian flags. Dived again. Slept all afternoon. Sat up in saloon singing and dancing until 11:00 p.m. then bed. Good Night.
Friday, July 27, 1917
Raining when we got up this morning. Heavy fog over the bay. Still lying peacefully at anchor in Halifax Bay. Watched some Italian submarines protecting in bay. Sure getting monotonous, and we must stay here till Monday yet. Drew shirts and overcoats this afternoon. Slept in cabin all afternoon. No letter. Wouldn’t be half so dreary if I could write instead of think. Wonder what she is doing tonight 3,000 miles away. Singing and music in saloon till late. Bed at 11:00 p.m. Rained hard this afternoon. Almost always foggy.
The regimental records note great excitement at about 8:00 p.m. on July 27 when fire was discovered on board. Life belts were put on and all held in readiness to leave the ship, but the blaze was extinguished with no material damage. Odd that EP makes no mention in his diary, but maybe he was too busy in the saloon!
Saturday, July 28, 1917
Up at 6:00 a.m. Physical drill on deck 6:30 a.m. Nothing unusual. Today still lying in Halifax harbor. Noticed several boats have gone to sea during the night. Also several have come in, including a big ship entitled Belgian Relief. Worked in Lt. Col. Howard’s office all day. Bed early.
Sunday, July 29, 1917
Still lying in Halifax Bay. Nobody allowed ashore. Roamed around all day. Transports coming in all the time now. Can see some warships outside the bay. We will start in a day or two now. At noon, as I was eating, the big Adriatic pulled into the harbor with troops packed fore and aft. Must be ten thousand. Two more troop ships due, then we go.
Monday, July 30, 1917
Still at anchor in Halifax Bay. No letters received yet, none allowed to go. We are trying to give the U-boats the slip this time. Sure not a soul allowed ashore, not a message. Now have four ships here loaded with troops. We get one more I understand. That well make about 25,000 soldiers in all. The Orduna, the Olympic, the Adriatic; all here now loaded to the guards with khaki. Wish Kaiser Bill could take a look at this, boy! This morning at 10:00 a.m. in comes the Carmania loaded with troops, the British flag at her taff rail. The Bermudian loaded with niggers also here. Out all morning in rowboats, going to have boat race this afternoon. Wrote Father a letter. Couldn’t tell him where we are but told him we were two days out of New York and was foggy. He will know where we are. He is wise. Boys in boats just came in, said they saw Walter Frost on the Carmanian. He enlisted with a St. Louis regiment. Coaling ship today. Looks like we leave tomorrow sure. Been here since
Wednesday, almost a week. Gets monotonous surely.
Tuesday, July 31, 1917
10:00 a.m., foggy and cold this morning. Got Halifax paper, no news of U.S. though. We coaled ship all night. Guess we leave this afternoon for England. Don’t like Halifax Bay for permanent home. All transports are ready to go. Wish I could write some letters of some kind. Seems so lonesome. We haven’t got any mail from U.S. either. Slept so good last night. Shall never have such quarters again. I see the difference now between privates and officers. Smithy still sick, has been sick ever since we have been in the army. Little better today. Surely doesn’t agree with him.
Wednesday, August 1, 1917
Still here. Awfully foggy this morning. Guess we leave tonight. Everybody getting up steam. We have been here one whole week now. Sure ready to go.
At 6:15 tonight we started slowly out of Halifax Bay on our last leg. Cold and dense fog. The Adriatic ahead, Orduna second and Carmania third. The Olympic is not going with us. We moved slowly past the city and thousands of people cheered us off. Hundreds of American flags waved at us. Just near center of city as we came by was the English battle cruiser Niobe. She dipped her colors to us and her band played the Star Spangled Banner while we stood at attention Then we gave them a deafening cheer. God, it was grand. Those English jackies saluted us like little men and the ship was covered with wicked-looking guns. And those blue-clad boys could make those guns behave. I hope we have at least part of an American convoy. I never loved that flag so much as now. Sure makes the blood race to see it break from the masthead of some passing boat. It is now 8:00 p.m. and we are well at sea. Past the electric submarine nets which tugs held apart for us. It is so foggy and cold. Foghorns going continuously. Can hear the Adriatic’s horn ahead and the Carmania behind. My stay in Halifax would have been so much nicer if I could only have gotten my letters. Know I have at least ten somewhere from Cecil. Couldn’t even write her. One man court-martialed for trying to slip a letter ashore in a boat. He may be shot for it. War orders. Am going to try and cable her when I arrive. Wonder if Father got my letter. He will know where I was when I wrote it. Going to bed now. Know things will be more than interesting when I awaken tomorrow.
9:30 p.m., just as I was tumbling into bed the siren blew. We all went on deck with the life belts on and found it was blown on account of some passing ship too close in the fog. Good practice but no fun.
According to the regimental history, a bad accident was narrowly averted in passing out of the harbor when an unknown vessel nearly collided with the Orduna.
Thursday, August 2, 1917
Woke up at 6:00 a.m. Fog all gone, sun coming up. Sea a trifle rough, whitecaps all over. Went on deck and saw the fleet. Sure looks grand. We are strung out one behind the other about 600 yards apart. Leading the fleet is the English cruiser Donnegal. Could see her guns all ready. She stands stripped for action and crews are at the guns. Behind her 600 yards is the Adriatic, then comes our ship, the Orduna. Behind us is the Carmania and behind her the Vermudan. We are moving about 16 knots. We pick up other convoys soon. That cruiser ahead looks good. She looks so dangerous with those guns all around her. Physical drill at 6:30 a.m., breakfast 8:30 a.m. We sleep with our life belts on the bed and canteens full. Each man has his place assigned in a life boat. I am in no. 10 now. My boat holds 52 people. Has compass, water barrel and a box of biscuits. We sleep with doors fastened half open to avoid being trapped in case the door should jam if we are struck. We won’t enter the danger zone for six days yet but we are all ready now for business. Not a light shows at night. Cigarettes are barred off decks. Every porthole is covered with paper and a screen. Sailed all day long. School of fish at 11:00 a.m., whales etc. Nothing unusual. Bed early.
Friday, August 3, 1917
Woke up 5:15 a.m. Went on deck. Cloudy but clear. Still moving along in same formation. Cruiser leading the way. Adriatic is not over 300 yards ahead, Carmania about 300 yards behind. Lifeboats are all being swung out and water barrels filled. No garbage allowed to be thrown overboard to leave a trail. We will be in the danger zone in three or four days, but making preparations for a surprise attack by subs. Will meet our convoys soon. Things getting interesting. I am going to write Cecil a long letter on the last day at sea, so I can mail it as soon as we arrive. Commenced zigzag course this morning at 10:00 a.m. Ships all going different directions in practice maneuvers. Still two days from war zone. Heard rumor that St. Louis was sunk. Our other two companies are on board of her. Hope it isn’t true. Submarine watches went on duty today. Men all over the ship with glasses. Sure getting interested now. Lifeboat drill at 2:30 p.m. again. Every man in his place in five minutes.
Saturday, August 4, 1917
Three days at sea. Clear sea, a little choppy. Still in same formation. I was on submarine watch starboard beam 6:15 a.m. till 8:00 a.m., the ship’s glasses. We have sub watches all over the ship now. See the cruiser signal back to us and we start zigzagging now. Enter sub zone about Monday I guess. Wonder if the St. Louis went down and if U.S. papers had it in. Folks and Cecil must be worrying so much. Am going to cable them if I can. Heavy fog 10:00 a.m. Went on sub watch 6:20 a.m. until 8:15 a.m., 11:15 p.m. until 1:00 p.m.; and 4:15 p.m. until 6:10 p.m. When fog lifted ships were all separated by half mile. Swing back into line looked beautiful, coming back I could see the guns so plain on that cruiser. Struck the Gulf Stream at noon, temperature went up from 40 degrees to 80 degrees. At 5:00 p.m. we changed course and headed due north. We are keeping well away from the traveled lanes. Ship rolling badly now (8:30 p.m.). Met only two freighters so far, as we are not on the steamer path. Located the direction of home on the water during my watch, also La Junta. Wondered what folks and Cecil were doing. Set all watches up 30 minutes every midnight. We are about 600 miles off the coast now I guess.
Just went on deck, so dark, no light. Court martial for smoking a pipe on deck. Oh that beautiful moon. Such a grand sight. Reminds me what someone said about that moon. Wonder if they are watching it now…
Bed at 10:00 p.m.
Sunday, August 5, 1917
9:00 a.m., cloudy with light mist on sea. Ship rolling badly. Today is day everyone stays home. Little difference on shipboard. Went on submarine watch, starboard bow at 6:20 a.m. till 8:00 a.m. Had good breakfast. Going due north this morning in single file. Should dock in Liverpool about Saturday. Wonder how folks and Cecil will spend the day. Printed a paper here yesterday with wireless news received from Cape Race. If I could only get the Sunday Tribune. Will enjoy the return trip so much more. Smithy better this morning. Anyone who sees a submarine first gets 30 pounds, $150. Little homesick last night. Lamiphere got some wonderful photos of our trip up the coast and the bay. Against orders, but he got them from the porthole. I’m going to have a good collection when I get back. Had long talk with wireless operator. He heard Eiffel Tower in Paris, London and Berlin last night. He is not allowed to send any, as Germans can locate his position by direction finder. Not even allowed to acknowledge messages sent to our ship. Man copies everything which comes over. Heard two distress signals last night, two ships struck but couldn’t tell me who they were. Sure interesting. Use continental code. Went on bow watch at 4:15 p.m., spray thick, almost wet me through. Am taking in signal school. Can do real well with the semaphore now. Changed our course three times today. Bed early, sea coming up.
Monday, August 6, 1917
8:00 a.m. Rolled all over the bed when I tried to get up. Sea is awful, boat rolling like a swing. Sea so heavy. My first storm. Everybody sick and feeding the fishes over the rail. On sub watch starboard bow 6:20 a.m., spray almost drowned me. Am not sick yet but I’m not boasting any. Hardly anyone eating breakfast. Everybody sick, stewards all busy.
Noon. Sea in terrible rage. Wind. Everything tied down. Even frames in table to hold the plates. On watch 11:00 a.m. to 12:30 p.m., drenched through. We are in fan formation about a mile apart now. Lamiphere and I had an accident in Kennedy’s stateroom this morning, funny, some water, but we landed the picture. Storm awful, everybody sick but me but I’m not boasting. Waves coming clear over the deck. We serve tea at 4:00 p.m. English all have tea at 4:00 p.m. Wonder what the fellows would say if they knew I had my “tay” every afternoon at 4:00 p.m. Got all English money now. Can count it all now from a ha’penny to a crown. “Jolly well a bloody britisher now.”
Tuesday, August 7, 1917
Up 6:00 p.m. on sub watch. Sea still running high but clear and sun bright. Cold. Going due north now, getting close to Iceland. Six days out. We reach danger zone tonight. Ought to meet our convoys today or tomorrow. About 85 percent sick, but I haven’t felt it yet. Had a good breakfast, ate well. Would give worlds for a paper. Going to make application today for commission though don’t expect to get it.
Made application this afternoon but won’t know how it comes out for a month yet. Sea still wild this afternoon. We changed course again, now going directly east. Awfully cold. We are getting close to the war zone. Have been awfully lonesome and homesick last two days. I wish this damn war was over so I could go back home. I hate to think of it lasting two or three years.
Wednesday, August 8, 1917
8:30 a.m. Seven days out of Halifax, 16 days from New York. Sea a little calmer this morning. Was on sub lookout, starboard bow 6:20 a.m. till 8:00 a.m. Heard firing ahead. We are now in the war zone. We are all abreast, huddled behind the cruiser. We meet some destroyers today I guess. Should land in Liverpool Saturday. Sun is bright and warm. We are going directly east now. Guess everybody thinks we are lost. All boats are being lowered this morning and life rafts are being swung to the rail. We are now in the danger zone. Everyone below Deck B has orders to stay on deck with preservers on. Just learned that Halifax papers stated a rumor was out that the Orduna was sunk and all on board were lost. Said 13th Engineers all lost. I hope it wasn’t in U.S. papers, folks and Cecil must be so worried to see that. We are all out today looking for our destroyers but haven’t located them yet. We should be getting close to the Irish coast tomorrow. Am going to try and cable folks and Cecil from Liverpool. All boats are now ready. Boats are zigzagging through the sea. Entertainment in lounge at 8:00 p.m.
Rumors that the Orduna had sunk were circulating among members of the 1st battalion, who had embarked first, aboard the St. Louis, on July 22. The St. Louis did not stop at Halifax, like the Orduna, and instead headed directly toward England. The St. Louis entered the submarine zone on July 28, and the following morning, was attacked by a super-dreadnaught German submarine. The sub fired at least one torpedo at the ship, and missing, surfaced to commence shelling of the ship from about 3,000 yards. The St. Louis returned fire with her 6-inch stern gun and a 4-inch gun, put on full speed, zigzagging, and eventually outdistanced the submarine. The ship was hit by some shrapnel but sustained no serious damage. The St. Louis reached Belfast on July 30 and sailed across the Irish Sea the next day, narrowly avoiding floating German mines, and arrived in Liverpool the evening of July 31. The Orduna, meanwhile, was still in Halifax and would not arrive in Liverpool for another 12 days, leading to great concern about her fate. It would not be until the evening of August 12 that the 1st battalion would know for sure that the 2nd battalion had survived.
Thursday, August 9, 1917
8:00 a.m. Clear and cool sea, very still. Went on sub watch on bow at 6:20 a.m. Saw strange ship about six miles starboard who turned off and left us. Passed some wreckage and lifebelts in water. Rather gruesome things to see out here now. Our destroyers have not shown up. Guess we are not going to get any. I am lined up to go from Liverpool to Southampton in auto, 350 miles across England. We will have 80 trucks. Will not join the regiment until we reach France.
8:00 p.m. Nothing unusual during the day except we changed course continually and zigzagged all day. As we were eating supper, 7:00 p.m., we heard a yell and went on deck. Here came six little destroyers, our convoy, lying low in the water, looked like dogs in some weed patch. They run 40 miles an hour easy. Am real safe now, sure did look good to see them slip out of the dusk.
10:00 p.m. Just had long talk with Charlton, my steward. He was on the Lusitania. Told me all about it. How he was in the water and came up under her as she sank. Also how she outwitted the raider Karlsruhe the day war was declared. Sure some story. Charlton told us all about it. Wonder if the Germans will ever find a conscience. Bed early. Took all my clothes off, felt so safe with those little devils out there beside us. They got one 4.7 each mounted aft.
Friday, August 10, 1917
Up on sub watch 6:20 a.m. Slept good last night, felt so safe. Those destroyers are little fellows, so small, and look like dogs in the water, guns fore and aft and run like hell. We are changing our course every few minutes. We are in the heart of the war zone now. Probably land tomorrow. The little boats are flying around like a bunch of dogs chasing a cow. We are all huddled up in a group with the destroyers around us. I’d like to see a sub show his nose up now. Orders now, carry belts on at all times Tonight is the most dangerous night of the voyage. On deck until 10:00 p.m., then taps.
Saturday, August 11, 1917
Up early, clear and calm. No land in sight yet. Have seen no submarines, though expect many have seen us. But they are afraid of those little dogs out there. This makes 10 days out of sight of land. Some voyage. We zigzagged all night. Just noticed a message with the heliograph from our cruiser, say the Bermudian is close to coal limit, almost out of coal. Noticed she is not zigzagging but preserving her coal. Two of the destroyers are hovering close to her. Notice mountains and land in the distance. Hurrah. 12:15 p.m. We are coming in sight of land now. Passing lots of freighters now. Nobody knows what we will do when we arrive in England. I filed a cable to Cecil with purser. Cost me all I had but had to do it. She will get it Sunday. Just came off watch. Could make out the destroyers numbers, they are 45-50-56-65-85-60
10:00 p.m. Wind, night foggy. Turned completely around on account of a submarine in a trap for us. All on deck with belts on. Bed 11:00 p.m. with clothes on.
The next morning, Sunday, August 12, 1917, the Orduna would finally reach England, docking at Liverpool.
