Diary of 1911 Midshipman Cruise
In the summer of 1911 Ellsberg and the rest of the midshipmen from the Naval Academy went on their annual cruise, which this time was to Europe, with stops in Queenstown, Kiel, Bergen, and Gibraltar. The USS Iowa, under the command of Commodore Coontz, was the flagship and the USS Massachusetts and the USS Indiana made up the rest of the fleet. Ellsberg was on the Indiana.
June 5 We got underway this morning. We were roused at 4 AM, and went on deck. A few minutes later, the anchor was hoisted, and at 5 AM, we started out. A fine rain started to fall and the spray and the rain make the decks pretty wet. The Iowa is leading, and we bring up the rear. The ship moves so smoothly thru the water that you wouldn’t know she was moving. The leadsmen are heaving the lead in the chains, to see that we keep in deep water. The atmosphere is foggy, but it is possible to make out the shores of the bay. The speedcones are hoisted clear up. I go on signal duty at eight bells. Somebody took my rainclothes already. That’s a fine start.
8 PM I found my raincoat already. The weather cleared off about noon. The Massachusetts kept changing her position from side to side. About 3 PM, we passed what was left of the Texas after they finished using her as a target. She is sunk in the mud, but all her upper works are visible. The lookout called out at 5 PM “Sail ho.” “Can you make it out?” “Yes, it’s a lighthouse.” About 6 PM, we passed a school of porpoises. It was the first time I ever saw any. They were about six feet long. The porpoises kept jumping out of the water, and some went clear out. It was a beautiful sight. A little later, we struck the groundswell and the ships began to rock gently.
At 7:30 PM, we sighted Cape Henry, and soon left it behind. We are now headed straight out into the Atlantic and land is out of sight. We won’t see it again for fourteen days. I don’t think I’ll get seasick.
We passed several four-masted schooners going up the bay. I go on watch tonight at 12.
June 6 Went on watch at twelve. Bumped my head against the deck when I awoke. After dressing, I went on the bridge. It was fairly light from the moon, but I had a job keeping awake. We saw the lights of a steamer crossing our bows. I practiced signaling for a while. We soon ran into a thick fog, and the ships began tooting their fog horns, for the running lights couldn’t be seen. The searchlights were lit when the fog thinned and we could see those of the ships ahead. I went off watch at four and turned in. Woke up at seven. It is still foggy. I went into one of the eight-inch turrets and a Negro petty officer explained some of the parts to me.
June 9 I was so seasick for two days that I couldn’t do a thing but lay on the deck. Vomited frequently and didn’t eat a thing from Tuesday noon till Thursday night. I can understand all the seasick jokes now. At the present time, I have recovered and now feel all right. I made up at noon today what I’ve missed in the grub line. The food is still fine.
The Massachusetts had some trouble with her anchors last night and dropped so far astern we could barely see her truck light. She came back to position today. We had signal drills today and beat the Massy. About ten o’clock this morning, we sighted an ocean liner coming up astern. She traveled much faster than we and soon caught up. She was the Majestic, from Boston to England, of the White Star Line. She passed pretty close to us and I got a good view of her. She is the first vessel I’ve seen since we cleared the capes. The time seems to pass very fast.
At present we are east of Newfoundland. The weather is generally cloudy. It rained a little today. We had to write up an eight-inch turret today.
Quite a bunch of the fellows, together with some of the sailors, are still seasick.
I took a salt water shower this morning. The water was certainly salty.
7 PM. We struck heavier weather in the afternoon and all the ships pitched a good deal. The Massachusettswas pitching heavily, and looked fine as she did so. Her stern nearly came clear out of the water sometimes. A few large waves broke over our forecastle and the first one soaked four seamen before they could get away. I was on duty on the bridge at 6 PM, and the rolling made me seasick. Another midshipman was keeping the bucket occupied, so I had to vomit on the bridge. So many fellows got seasick up there that the officer of the deck said “Bos’n’s mate, provide two buckets for use on the bridge.” I go on duty at 4 AM tomorrow.
We had to write a description of an ammunition hoist today.
June 10 I stood the graveyard watch from 12 to 4 AM this morning. The sky was mostly clear, and it was rather light all the time. This morning it was pretty cold and windy. We passed a steamer bound for New York at noon. She wasn’t very large, and didn’t come closer than a couple of miles. She had only one stack. About five o’clock this afternoon the Iowa suddenly sheered way off to port as if her helmsman had lost control and started off at right angles across the column. The Massachusetts veered off to keep from ramming her. They got her back on her course in a few minutes.
Everybody who carries anything around here always goes in a terrible hurry, although the passages are narrow. Two mokes will grab a pan of hot water, and yell “Coming through!,” and then go shooting down the deck like a cyclone.
I find it less trouble to turn out at twelve AM, or four AM, to go on watch, than I ever did to turn out at reveille at 6:30 back at the academy. We have been at sea for one week now, but it doesn’t seem so long. The sea is still rough, but the pitching of the ship doesn’t affect me in the least any more.
I’ve learned to signal by four different methods now: - the International flag system, the Ardois, the semaphore, and the wig-wag. We signal with the other ships every day.
The weather is always cool out here. It seems more like autumn than summer. We wear sweaters almost all the time.
June 11 We sighted a passenger steamer, the George Washington, bound for Europe, at 4:30 AM. She was a large boat, and looked pretty fine. About 7 AM, we sighted an oil-tank steamer bound for New York. She belonged to Standard Oil. She was a long, low boat with one funnel aft.
We all attended church services this morning on the gundeck. The chaplain is a young fellow and I guess this is the first ship he’s had.
We had a chicken dinner today, which was a darn sight better than many Sunday dinners we had back at the academy. The food on this ship is certainly a surprise. Most of the fellows who took last year’s cruise on some of the other ships can’t account for it. I guess they think we ought to give the commissary a medal.
It rained hard for a while this afternoon. During the rain, I stood my first lookout in the crowsnest, perched at the head of the forward mast, away above everything. The ship certainly looks queer from that position. While on the lookout, I sighted an iceberg and reported it. The column veered to port, so as not to come too close, and we passed about a mile from it. It was a beautiful light blue, with a rugged front face. It looked like a large pillow resting in the water, for the top and sides had been smoothed by melting. The iceberg was about one hundred yards square and perhaps fifty feet high.
June 12 We had a moving picture show last night on the superstructure deck. The chaplain ran it, and it was quite a success. He ran off three reels of film, mostly scenes in foreign cities. A large part of the crew attended. An orchestra of one banjo and one guitar furnished the music. It rained hard during the performance, but an awning was spread over us. Most of the audience had to sit on the deck. The sailors kept the crowd amused by their jokes on the pictures. In one picture of New York, two sailors appeared, and one in the crowd yelled “Hey, liberty is up at eight in the morning!” I think it takes a sailor to appreciate the joke, however.
It was very cold this morning.
We had a drill this morning in loading and aiming one of the eight-inch guns. The gun-crew had seven men in it. I was sight-setter. These drills are very interesting, even though we don’t actually fire the guns. Our division officer, Lt. Treadwell, is a swell fellow all around.
I was out on the gallery by the side of one of the turrets watching the waves. The wind is blowing hard now, and it is rather cold now, for we are steadily going northward, but the coldness gives one a lively feeling. The waves are higher than any we’ve encountered yet, but I’m a regular old salt now. No more seasickness for me. Many of the waves washed way up on the decks and the spray wet everything. These waves are very beautiful to watch. Some are a dark gray, all wrinkled up and look like an elephant’s skin, but most of them, especially along the crests where the sun shines thru, have beautiful colors, fine light greens and blues mixed up with white foam which makes them look like turquoise. The whole face of the sea is covered with white caps.
I stood the life-buoy watch from 8 to 10 PM. This is a watch kept on each side of the ship by a large life-buoy in order to release it when anyone falls overboard. The life-buoy is not made of cork, but is a large hollow metal ring with an attachment consisting of a torch which lights up as soon as it hits the water and burns for hours.
I stood the watch on a gallery of the superstructure deck. The wind was almost behind us, but as I was on the weather side of the ship, I got the benefit of its force. The waves rose high and all of them washed the deck. One big one rose clear up to the gallery, and though I tried to back away, it caught me and soaked me thru. My shoes filled up with water which squashed every step I took.
June 13 The waves were still high this morning. One big one swept across our bow so that we could only see the top of the Iowa’s military mast over it. If this wind keeps up, we ought to get to Queenstown (Ed: Queenstown is now known as Cobh) a day ahead of schedule, for it is right behind us and adds a couple of knots to our speed.
I hiked out on the forecastle to try to get a picture of the Iowa with the waves over her. I just about froze, and missed getting soaked a couple of times, but the waves refused to do it again, and while I was still waiting, the Officer of the Deck sung out from the bridge for me to get off the forecastle, so I didn’t get the picture. Two or three fellows got seasick again today, but not I. The ships did some heavy rolling today. Sometimes we could almost see the Massy’s keel, and the next minute, we could look down her smokestacks.
June 14 It was raining this morning. I stood watch from two to four AM, on the annunciator. It was very cold and I wore a sweater, a reefer, and a raincoat. I spent the two hours from twelve to two when I wasn’t on the bridge, sleeping on the lee side of the after smokestack. It was quite warm there. We didn’t have any drill this morning.
I acted as aide to Lt. Treadwell today when he made a big inspection of the crew’s clothing. A bunch of them hit the pap.
This afternoon, we sighted some smokestacks dead ahead. The ship came on fast, and we soon made her out to be a British cruiser. We hoisted our colors and they hoisted their’s.
She was a fast boat, but I don’t believe that she was much larger than some of our destroyers. She had a six-inch gun mounted on her bow.
The ship was painted black, and as she started to pass our beam, she made a fine picture. I trained my camera on her, but the thing was empty and I had to stop to put in a new roll. In my hurry, I put the cover back on wrong and as I couldn’t distinguish the film numbers, I couldn’t get a picture.
The chief carpenter had a large blue print of the Indiana, a section on the fore and aft line, on the deck today and was explaining it to us. The drawing showed the forward magazine, and the carpenter was explaining that the paints were kept far forward, away from the magazine, as they might cause a fire. One of the youngsters, Howe, said, “Well here’s a magazine aft, too.” “Yes,” said the carpenter, “they have one aft.” “Well,” asked the youngster, “where would be a safe place to go in case of fire?” “Overboard,” the carpenter told him.
We’re learning quite a bit about the different parts of the ship now.
June 15 That British cruiser yesterday signaled to us by semaphore while she was passing, “The captain of his majesty’s ship, the Cornwall, wishes the squadron a pleasant cruise.”
Today we had a field day, but not the kind they have at Boulder (Ed: Ellsberg spent a year at the University of Colorado in Boulder). We broke out all our dirty clothes. And with a pail, a bar of salt water soap, and a ki-yi, which is a small scrubbing brush, we all scrubbed clothes. The forecastle was covered with soapsuds and clothes all day. I scrubbed six suits of works besides some underwear and other things.
One of the youngsters on the bridge today astonished the whole crew by striking nine bells, a thing as unusual as a clock striking thirteen. The Officer of the Deck said that it was the first time in his life that he had ever seen it happen.
Last week when most of us were seasick, one youngster was rolling on the deck as sick as any of us. Somebody asked him, “Howe, are you seasick?” “Oh, no,” replied Howe, “my stomach is a little out of order, that’s all.” We get all night in tonight.
June 16 We are steaming right along, and at our present gait, we should strike Queenstown Sunday noon. We are to take a trip to Killarny from there.
We passed a three-masted sailing vessel this morning, the first sailing ship we’ve seen since we left.
Quite a number of fellows have hit the pap lately for having articles in the Lucky Bag. Whenever anybody leaves anything lying around the decks, the master-at-arms, called the jimmy-legs, grabs it and sticks it in the Luck Bag, and if you want it back, you have to hit the pap.
My washing dried out fairly well, and cleaner than I expected, but some of it that was hung in the starboard gallery to dry, got pretty well covered with soot from the stacks, which didn’t help it any.
The deck watch had drill with the searchlights last night, but I didn’t see it.
June 17 We are only 250 miles from Queenstown now. I guess that’s the reason we sighted five ships today, a ship, two brigs, a schooner, and a tramp.
Everybody on board is writing letters today. I guess the mail orderly will have a heavy load when he goes ashore.
We had a bit of excitement this afternoon. A bunch of life preservers placed on a rack forward of the forward stack caught fire in some way and made a merry blaze.
The cooks were peeling onions near us, and the odor of them was so strong that for a while we couldn’t smell the smoke. When we finally saw the fire, some sailors and I started to pull down the preservers, to get at the fire, but before we got very far, the bugle sounded fire quarters and the bells began to ring. A minute later they turned on the water and finished the fire in no time. No serious damage was done. I got a piece of one of the burned preservers.
We haven’t learned yet whether Howe thought it necessary to jump overboard to find a place of safety.
The paymaster paid us our liberty money for Queenstown today. I drew down one large ten dollar gold piece.
The sea is smoother today than any day since we’ve left the bay. The ships hardly roll at all.
One of the things which seems strange to a landsman is the ease of going to sleep onboard. I don’t believe I could do it on land, but here I find no difficulty in lying down on the deck, with no mattress or blanket and going to sleep on the soft side of a hard plank. Last night, I should have gone below from the deck watch at midnight to turn in in my hammock, but I was sleeping so soundly on the deck, that if some water hadn’t finally dripped thru the awning on my face (for it was raining) at one o’clock in the morning and waked me up, I would have slept all night there. And yet there was no covering of any sort, just an exposed deck with only an awning above.
The boats are being got ready for port, both the steamers and all the small boats have been given a fresh coat of the slate-colored paint with which everything on board is covered, for battleships are no longer painted white.
I passed a pleasant hour last night on the starboard life-buoy watch, listening to three chief petty officers relate a few of their adventures afloat and ashore. They had a large number of stories.
June 18 I had the lookout from 12 to 2 last night. The weather was as calm as the night we started and it looked about the same. The navigator had it doped out that about two AM we ought to sight a lighthouse on Cape Clear, the southern point of Ireland, so we were all on the lookout for it. About two o’clock we saw the light, but it turned out to be a steamer, and I went off the lookout before land was sighted. They finally located it about three AM. Meanwhile as they couldn’t get the light, they had to run on soundings so from two to four AM I was on the sounding machine.
This machine invented by Sir William Thompson is used to take soundings in deep water. It consists of a glass tube, closed at the upper end and coated inside with silver chloride. When the glass is sunk by a weight, the pressure causes the water to rise in the tube, and the contact with the water changes the silver chloride, leaving a line on the inside of the tube to show how high the water rose. The tube is then placed on a scale to read the depth.
Well we had to let go of 1200 feet of wire before we got bottom, and then we had to reel it in again which was not a cinch. I helped to take four soundings.
I slept just four and one half hours last night. The chaplain had a moving picture show on the quarterdeck till ten o’clock. He had some pretty good moving pictures, and ran off three reels. Then I had to turn out at twelve to go on watch. I got back in my hammock at half past four and then had to get up at seven, making four and a half hours for the night. But I get all night in every night this week.
The night wasn’t very long last night. It was light until nine o’clock PM, and then at about two-thirty AM, it was light enough to be day again.
At about three AM we could see land off the port bow. It rose straight up from the water, consisting of cliffs about a hundred feet high. At five o’clock we were sailing in close to shore, headed for Queenstown. We passed some large houses with towers which looked like old castles. We passed about four liners in close succession.
The land didn’t appear green at all where we first sighted it, and there were no trees, but as we went north, the landscape began to look better. We took on a pilot, that is, the Iowa did, and kept on going. Soon the land began to look like a checkerboard, and after passing Daunt light-ship, we turned sharply to port and steered straight for a cleft in the cliffs. The channel passed close to the starboard shore, and we started to enter the harbor between two forts, one on each side of the narrow channel. The forts weren’t large buildings, but consisted of embrasures built into the face of the rocks. As we passed the forts they began to fire a salute of twenty-one guns, and when they had finished, the Iowa hoisted a British flag on the fore and returned it. A British cruiser in the harbor also saluted us.
Led by the Iowa, we entered the harbor. Our course took us past some tramp steamers, the collier Vulcanfrom which we are to coal, some fine square-rigged ships, and four old dismasted ships now used as coal scows, right up to a fine anchorage in front of the town, about three hundred yards from shore. From our anchorage, it seems as if we were in a lake, for the harbor is entirely landlocked. The town of Queenstown rises up directly opposite us, on the side of a steep hill sloping down to the water. The part we can see of it doesn’t look very large, but they say the greater part of the town is over the ridge. There is a large number of trees in the town, and the houses are well scattered. We can read the names of the hotels from the ships. The railroad station is close by the landing. It only takes twenty minutes by train to get to Cork, which is a large city. I’m going to go there.
On the other side of us, is a large dock with a cruiser in it. There is a large number of government buildings there. A number of small torpedo boats is anchored nearby.
All afternoon, shore boats have been surrounding us, but no bumboatmen have been allowed to come on board. I got some London papers from a newsboy in a boat, but they didn’t impress me favorably.
A bunch of little Irishmen, kids of about ten years, came out in a boat and stopped alongside the forecastle. The sailors and midshipmen gathered at the rail and had a lot of fun talking to them. They didn’t talk the way Irishmen in vaudeville do, but it was a great deal queerer. They had a strange sounding English, rolling their r’s and talking quickly. That was a rather wise bunch of kids, for most of the jokes the fellows tried to work off on them were returned with interest. The kids were all Irish looking, - freckle-faced but intelligent. All the men who came out in boats to look at us looked like idiots or bums.
A number of British soldiers, in their queer hats, looking like a soft hat, creased in the middle, with the brim cut off, also came out. Some boats with English bluejackets also passed.
No one went ashore today but some officers and chief petty officers. I get liberty tomorrow.
There was quite a large number of small steamers in the harbor. They were small side-wheelers, and were certainly as wide from wheel to wheel as they were long. The Flying Fish and the Flying Fox lay at the same wharf, while the America and the Ireland were end to end. Just back of them was the O’Driscoll Hotel. These steamers were certainly Irish, for their upper works were painted dark green and their hulls light green.
All the houses in Queenstown seem to be pretty well made of brick, but coming into the harbor, we passed a number of typical Irish shanties with thatched roofs.
It started to rain a bit after we anchored.
June 20 We had our first liberty yesterday, and I guess it takes a sailor on liberty to make a splurge. I could write this whole book full of our first liberty.
At ten o’clock, the liberty party consisting of three-fourths of the midshipmen and half the bluejackets laid aft on the quarterdeck, and after being mustered, we embarked in two sailing launches and were towed by the steamer to the naval pier where we disembarked. Immediately we all hiked across the street to the Bank of Ireland to get our money changed. They gave a pound for a five dollar gold piece, which was decidedly profitable for them. Then I started to walk around the town, but quit and took a jaunting car instead. It was a fine car with good springs, so the ride was comfortable in spite of the roads. After going down the main street, we ascended a steep hill and stopped in front of the cathedral. They have a large and beautiful cathedral here, but I can’t say that I like cathedrals. We then passed a lot of broken down houses, almost ruins but still inhabited and went out into the suburbs. The country there was beautiful with fine hedges and trees and large houses. We passed many very old women, for Ireland, they say, is a country of old women and young children.
Coming back, we stopped on a high embankment over the harbor and got a fine view of the harbor and our ships. Near the entrance of the harbor lay the sunken Ivernia, with only her red stack showing. She passed too near to Daunt Rock a few weeks ago and a hidden reef tore her bottom out. They managed to get her here before she sank. They are trying to salve her now.
We passed down the road and entered the town again. Here I left the car and met a Grand Army man with his badge and buttons. After entertaining me with his history, I was touched for two shillings.
I got some fine strawberries, cake, and chocolate in the town, but I couldn’t recommend the hotel where I ate dinner.
This was about all of Queenstown, so I took the train for Cork, about twenty miles inland. The river Lee, navigable for large steamers, joins Cork to Queenstown. Cork is a large town of about forty thousand people.
On the way up, we passed many sailing ships anchored along the shores. We passed Blackrock Castle and some other castle also. I guess their builders must have been only small barons for the castles, while having towers and turrets, were no larger than a ten room house. Both were built right at the water’s edge.
Travelers in Europe go in three classes, first, second, and third. A native never rides first. I bought a third-class ticket, costing one shilling for the round trip. The trains, of course, are divided into compartments, entered at the sides. I guess one Pennsylvania Pullman would outweigh our whole train.
In the same car, they have first, second and third class compartments. In the first class compartments, the cushions reach the ceiling; in the second class compartments, they are fairly high; and in the third class compartments, they have ordinary plush cushions like the forward end of a street car. Otherwise the compartments are alike, except that each has painted on its door, its class. The first class fare is just twice the third class.
The first thing I saw in Cork was a streetcar, called a tram. It had seats on top, but was only half as long as an American car. The fare was one penny and I took a ride on the top side thru Cork.
American sailors were everywhere, but especially in the jaunting cars. They were all having a swell time to judge by their faces. The real hit of the day were the negro sailors. I guess they rarely see a negro in Ireland, for a crowd of about fifty kids were following one about. About ten others were touring the town in a crowd on bicycles. I guess the saloons did a good business but I didn’t see any sailors drunk. I rode on the car alongside of an Irish petty officer in the English navy, and had a great time hearing him talk. They talk so queer, it’s hard to get what they say, the first time. We met a herd of sheep going thru the street, baaing and herded by three Irishmen with sticks. In another place, we met a bunch of hogs. In the center of the town was a monument erected to the Irish rebels who died in the various rebellions. It’s a wonder the English allowed the thing to be erected, for it contains an inscription asking their children to follow their example.
We crossed the river Lee. It had only six feet of water, for the tide was out. On the other side, we started thru the residence section. All the large houses were situated in small parks, each one having some name.
The Irish women wear large hats, for several had quite a job squeezing theirs thru the car door, or up the stairway.
I walked back with two other midshipmen. A crowd of small boys followed us, begging us for “apenny,” one cent in English money. Hart threw them one every once in a while.
There were bunches of shops along the street. We dropped in at one place to look at some caps, and then I felt like kicking myself. Just before I left Crabtown, I bought a cap for $1.50. Here they had some for two and six (two shillings sixpence or 60 cents) that were twice as good. Many fellows bought them. Some other fellows took chances on Irish lace, paying five and six dollars for small pieces. That’s one thing I know nothing about.
Every once in a while, we’d drop into some place and get some strawberries and cake. In one place they had ice cream, something rarely seen in Europe. I got some for sixpence, a dark brown mixture which tasted pretty good, but they didn’t give very much of it. Nothing in the food line but cake is cheap over here.
Many of our officers went to Cork, but they didn’t wear their uniforms. One of our Dago instructors, Arturo Fernandez, got permission from the Navy Department to take the cruise with us. He was at Cork also, with the front of his cap sticking up, and looking as hard as nails.
I can’t say much for the Irish women. We saw large numbers of them in the streets, but you would have to stretch your imagination to call them beautiful. Most of them had red cheeks, but it was a queer sort of redness. It looked as if they had been drinking, and the redness had gone to their cheeks instead of to their noses.
The men were worth seeing though. I saw some of them with knee-breeches, and heavy woolen stockings, shoes that weighed about a ton and had no shape, and faces that were the limit.
You see all sorts of whiskers here. I’ve seen some very perfect specimens of paint-brush whiskers, and I don’t believe that any cartoon could ever caricature the Irishmen you meet in Cork and Queenstown.
The British soldiers are the goods, though. Most of them are pretty good looking young fellows, though their uniforms are queer. You see a soldier, a corporal or sergeant, going around, walking very stiffly, with a little box hat, secured by a chin strap, a monocle, a tight fitting red coat with gold lace chevrons, and plaid trousers. To complete the picture, most of them carry a little swagger stick, held under their arm.
The Irish cops are large men, with dark green uniforms and large, flat caps. They were very polite and were all anxious to show us anything.
There are no large buildings in Cork. The highest could not have been more than six stories.
I left Cork at seven PM and took the train back to Queenstown. The door of our compartment was locked, so we crawled in thru the window.
When we got to Queenstown, we saw our skippers in their dress uniforms landing. I suppose they were going to some entertainment here for them, for there is a British rear-admiral on this station.
One of the things we noticed here were the Irish names. In one block, there were three saloons with Murphy over the door, though I don’t know whether it was the same Murphy.
Near the seawall there was a small amusement park, with a merry-go-round, a shooting gallery, and a roulette wheel. I invested tuppence in the merry-go-round, and then watched them whirl the wheel. A lot of sailors and British soldiers were playing it. No bets were higher than a penny. The house seemed to be losing pretty steadily, it appeared to me. Then I went to the shooting gallery. One youngster, “Tex” Vaughn from Texas was making the Irish stick out their eyes, watching him shoot at little bottles and flying balls. He rarely missed, and made some fancy shots, with his rifle upside down, with one hand, and from his left shoulder. I shot some myself and broke more bottles than I missed. I spent every last penny that I’d brought ashore in this gallery, spending about a shilling and a half, the shots being a penny apiece. I spent three and a half dollars ashore today, and at this rate my ten dollars won’t last me for this week. All I have to show for it is about six postcards. After going broke there, I went down to the pier and caught the last boat for the ship at nine o’clock. Everybody was happy, and when we got back to the ship, it was an hour before we quieted down enough to get to sleep. We had as much liberty in one day yesterday, as the fellows last year got in three. I was quite well stuffed from all the things I had eaten during the day.
When we got back, the mail was waiting for us. I received two letters. The record for one man was five.
This cruise is certainly being well managed.
I didn’t go on liberty today for we have to stay on board one day in four to stand watch, man the boats, etc. The midshipmen are divided into four sections, and three go on liberty while the fourth stays aboard. Today is our day to remain on the ship.
So far the only thing I’ve had to do yet today was to pull bow oar in the running boat for the one trip which it made today.
We rowed to the Massachusetts and the Iowa and brought them some letters which had been misdirected. The Massachusetts is coaling today from the Vulcan, and everything on her is dirty.
The bugler has been busy all day blowing calls for the steamers, the side-boys, and special details. We fired a salute this morning when the consul boarded us. Later in the after, they lined four side-boys up at the rails, while an English officer, a captain, came on board. Our officers must be having a great time entertaining.
Some of the bluejackets have obtained leaves of absence for three and four days and hiked for different parts of Ireland to see relatives who live here.
One man I knew left this morning for Limerick on three days’ leave with a large package of tobacco for an uncle of his, he said.
I am rather glad I can’t go ashore today, for it gives me an opportunity to rest up from yesterday and prepare for tomorrow.
They are rather wrought up over here about the coronation, which occurs in two days. I don’t know just how the Irish feel about it. In this part of Ireland they seem to be loyal; yet from some articles in the papers which I read, all of Ireland isn’t satisfied.
The Irish here seem to think that we call ourselves Yankees. One Irish kid said to Hans, who is German, “Be you a Yank?” and in Queenstown, one old woman said to me as I passed, “Long live the Yankee nation!” for which I thanked her.
June 22 Yesterday morning, we rose at about five and had an early breakfast before going to Killarney. At 6:30, all the midshipmen embarked in two launches and were towed by the steamer to the landing, where we met half of the Massachusetts bunch.
We had a special train and we all rode first class. Commander Coontz, the squadron commander, Commander Nulton, our skipper, and Commander Marvell, the skipper of the Massy, accompanied by his wife, were in charge of the party.
Killarney lies in the western part of Ireland, about sixty miles from Queenstown, so we had to cross all the southern part of Ireland. We stopped only at Cork and one or two other places, so we made good time, considering the sort of engine we had hitched onto us. The trip took about two and a half hours.
We passed through typical Irish scenery on the way. We saw plenty of whitewashed sod cottages with thatched roofs, and hundreds of stone cottages, now uninhabited, with the roof fallen in. We must have passed the ruins of at least ten castles, and two or three abbeys.
The country was hilly all around, and very well cultivated. Everywhere were little patches of farms, about ten acres in size, surrounded by hedges. Stone walls were also plentiful, and ran everywhere. Every road had stone walls, old and moss-covered, on each side. The roads themselves were remarkable. They were probably only thirty feet wide, but every road seemed to be made of crushed stone, hard and smooth. We passed many two-wheeled donkey carts, loaded with garden truck being driven along by old women.
Another noticeable feature was the peat bogs, which don’t look like bogs at all but simply like ordinary fields, covered with grass. In places, however, where the grass was cut away, a dark black earth was exposed, and in hundreds of fields we could see blocks of this peat cut out and laid in rows to dry. The levels of many of the fields have been lowered by five or six feet by this process of cutting off the top.
We arrived at Killarney at about ten-thirty and we were immediately taken in charge by a bunch of Cook’s Tour agents who steered us to the Glebe Hotel where we had a light lunch before going to the lakes. About eleven o’clock coaches began to arrive, and we left in groups of eleven for the lakes.
We all rode on the tops of the coaches, and while we had no horns, we looked like a regular old English coaching party (perhaps). We passed thru the town and out into the country, and soon began to get into the mountains. We passed by many large estates, which were really beautiful, owned mostly by some lord or other. We finally came to the mountains and started along the road winding along the side of the lakes. The mountains here appear very high and steep, though they are all green, being covered with moss. The trees growing by the road had moss on them a few inches thick. There was a large number of holly trees in the forests. Our driver, Patrick Foley, was as Irish as they make them, and helped along by relating stories. We reached the head of the lakes at one o’clock and disembarked. We had to wait here for an hour, and it rained heavily part of the time. However, there was plenty of shelter under the trees.
At the end of this time, boats containing half of our crowd began to arrive, for we made the trip up in the coaches, while the Massy bunch and part of ours, came up the lakes in boats. We now took the boats and they took the coaches and we started back again.
The trip back was better than the one going up, for now we had a better view of the lakes and the scenery. I came down in the same boat with Commander Coontz and the other officers. We had four oarsmen in the boat, all Irish, to pull us back, while Commander Coontz steered. It seemed quite strange to see the admiral of our fleet steering a little rowboat down the lakes.
There are three lakes. The mountains rise from their shores, which are very rocky. We often scraped the rocks in going thru, and twice we had to get out to let the boat go down some rapids. We passed many little islands rising from the waters, all green and rugged.
The water of the lakes has a peculiar color, something between a dark brown and a black. It is very cold, and evidently pure, for the rowers often dipped a glass into it and drank the water from the lake. One of them evidently thought an apology was necessary when he took his first drink for he said, “It’s a little weak.” Possibly he expected Coontz to dig out a bottle of whisky.
We stopped at one cottage and one of the fellows got out and bought some crackers and cheese, which all of us, including Mrs. Marvell, ate.
Every once in a while, the stroke oarsman, a typical Irishman, gave us some information on the things we passed, for all this country has a history. He showed us one little island, which had nothing on it but moss.“That island,” he said, “was used by Cromwell to keep prisoners of war on. They got very little bread but plenty of water.”
After traveling fourteen miles down the lakes, we came to our destination, Ross Castle. When close to it, one midshipman lost his cap overboard, so Coontz gave the order, “Back water!” and fished it out with a boat-hook just before it sank.
We came up to the landing and disembarked. The stroke oar asked us not to forget the sailors, so we passed the hat for them and collected about eight shillings, which we gave him. They deserved it, for it takes a man who has pulled a cutter himself to appreciate the hard work in a fourteen mile pull.
Ross Castle was the largest castle we saw. It is now an ivy-covered ruin. The guide said it was the last Irish castle to fall in Cromwell’s time.
The carriages were waiting for us here, and hustled us to the hotel where we had dinner at five. After dinner, we had about an hour left before the train left, so I strolled around the town.
Killarney isn’t especially beautiful. The streets are narrow and crooked, and most of the houses are rotten. A bunch of men tried to sell us things, but shillalahs found the only sale.
I met a young Irishman who had heard of America and possibly thought he knew a great deal about it. He asked me whether I didn’t come from West Point. Fawncy coming all the way to Ireland to be asked a question like that! However, he asked me to go and have a drink with him, an invitation which I was obliged to decline.
At six-thirty, we took the train back to Queenstown in a heavy rain. In the depot when we disembarked, we gave Coontz a four N yell, for everyone had a fine time.
We got back to the ship about nine-thirty. No one had a chance to spend much on this excursion, for the entire cost of the trip, railway fare, coaches, boats, meals, etc., was included in the four dollars which were deducted from our accounts to pay the costs. It was well worth it.
When I got back to the ship, I found four letters, and a check for twenty-five dollars from the Naval Institute, waiting for me.
Today is Coronation Day, and I get all day liberty.
June 23 Yesterday at 12:30, I went to Cork. I walked around in the rain there for a while, and finally at four o’clock, I took a train from there to Blarney Castle, to kiss the Blarney Stone. It rained all the way but stopped just before we disembarked at four forty-five PM. I bought an entrance ticket to the park and the castle, which cost three pence. When I got to the entrance gate, as I handed my ticket to the gatekeeper, I asked him when the next train for Cork left. He said it left at seven o’clock. Well, I nearly fell over, for the last train which I could take from Cork to Queenstown in order to get back at nine o’clock PM to the ship, left Cork at seven PM, and it takes forty-five minutes to get to Cork from Blarney. The penalty for returning late from liberty is the loss of one day’s leave for each hour’s absence after the expiration of liberty, that is, after nine PM, and the loss of all further liberty and about seventy-five demerits. I hiked back to the railroad station, and found that the train I came on wouldn’t return for fifteen minutes yet, so I had that much time to see Blarney Castle. The castle was only about a quarter of a mile from the station, so I decided to take a chance. I sprinted to the castle, around to the front entrance and started to climb the stone stairs inside which lead to the top of the tower. These are narrow stone steps, built as a circular staircase. The stones are all out of plumb and well worn.
I beat it up those steps, passing a lot of people on the way. The interior of the tower was dark, save where a loophole thru the wall let in a little light. From what I could see of the castle as I ascended, it wasn’t a very comfortable place to live in.
At last I reached the top and went out on a narrow platform built on the inside just below the embrasures. The Blarney Stone was built into the outside wall on the other side of the tower. To reach it, one must lie flat on his back, and then while someone hangs onto his legs, he slides straight out so that only the part of his legs below the knees rest on anything. When he gets out far enough, he can look down and see the rocks way below him. The Blarney Stone is just above, and he reaches up his head and kisses it.
I had expected that there would be some guides or persons stationed there to hang on, but the only person there when I arrived at the top was a young Englishman. He didn’t want to hold me, but when I hurriedly explained the circumstances to him, he was willing. I took off my coat and while he hung on, I slid out and kissed the stone. I didn’t have time to take a look at the scenery from that position, so he pulled me in again and I grabbed my coat and started for the bottom. When I reached it, I ran along the road to the train, but after running a few hundred yards, I ran up against a barb-wire fence, so I knew I had the wrong road. Well, I thought it was all up with me and the train, but I turned around and ran back to the castle and got started out on the right road. I was nearly dead from running then, but I kept it up, and as I neared the station, I could hear the engine puffing, though I couldn’t see the train. I sprinted, and got to the train about fifteen seconds before it pulled out. I didn’t recover my breath until we reached Cork.
I think I made a new record for the Blarney Stone. To paraphrase Julius Caesar, I came, I kissed, I caught the train, - all in fifteen minutes.
Just before I left Cork for Blarney, I stopped in Shandon Cathedral for a few minutes. They were holding services there on account of the coronation. The music was very beautiful. Just after I left, the Bells of Shandon commenced to ring. You probably have heard the poem about the
"Bells of Shandon
Which sound so grand on
The pleasant waters
Of the River Lee"
The bells sounded sweet enough, though I couldn’t make out what tune they played.
After returning from Blarney, I took a jaunting car to the Imperial Hotel of Cork, the best hotel in the city. I ate dinner there at six. It was a fine dinner undoubtedly, with about six courses, but the price was also undoubtedly fine, for they handed me a bill for eight and six, which is $2.15. I don’t believe I’ll dine there any more.
After dinner, I caught the seven o’clock train for Queenstown. I came down in the same compartment with eight members of the band of a Lancashire regiment, who were to play that night on the waterfront at Queenstown in honor of the coronation. They were all English, with a poor opinion of Ireland.
In Queenstown, I heard the band play. It was a pretty good band. They played a number of American pieces, - Dixie, The Star Spangled Banner and others.
At nine o’clock I returned to the ship. The ships, and ours especially were covered with electric lights. At nine-thirty they were lit, and I believe that this illumination was the most beautiful part of Queenstown’s coronation celebration. British and American flags were hoisted on the masts, and the searchlights played upon them. I could see the other ships, which looked fine, but I’m sorry that I couldn’t get a view of our own ship from the shore. Strings of lights were placed along the waterline, along the deck, up and down the masts, and along the yardarms, while we had six searchlights working on the flags. I got to sleep about half past ten.
June 24 Yesterday, we turned out at four o’clock in answer to the call, “All hands coal ship!” I dressed in an old white dress service jacket and a pair of old white trousers, without underwear, put on an old white hat, and jumped into the forward coal bunker of the Vulcan. At first I only held the coal bags while the others shoveled. Clouds of coal dust were soon rolling up, and before long we were all as black as negroes. The dust was choking, so I tied a handkerchief over my nose. After a while I shoveled coal myself. We knocked off at seven for breakfast. I had to wash a place around my mouth in order to eat. After that, I went back to the coal and shoveled until ten, when we had some sandwiches and coffee. From ten to twelve, I worked on the deck, hauling bags of coal around on trucks. We had a fine dinner, and then worked all the rest of the afternoon to finish coaling the ship. We got thru at five o’clock. By that time, coal dust was about two inches thick on the decks, and we were all tired.
It took me fully three hours to get clean again, washing myself steadily. The clothes weren’t worth anything, and I threw them away. I couldn’t throw away my shoes, so I paid a moke a quarter to clean them up again.
Coaling ship is an interesting operation. You take a large canvas bag, holding half a ton, and two men hold it out while others shovel coal into it. All this takes place in the coal bunkers of the collier. When the bag is full, a second bag is placed alongside of it, and that one is also filled, then a hook is fastened to the top of the bags and a man on deck hoists them out with a derrick. As the bags go up, they swing around as if they were going to drop down on us again. When the bags clear the deck, they are swung across to the battleship and dropped on her deck. Half the bags are emptied into coal chutes on the port side, where the collier is, and the other half are hauled on trucks to the starboard side and emptied there.
An accident occurred in the forward bunker about two hours after we started coaling. They were hauling four bags of coal up at once, a weight of two tons, when the drum in the derrick slipped and the bags swung back into the bunker again. As they swung across, they caught a youngster named Balsley, and lifting him clear off his feet, slammed him against the side of the bunker about ten feet away, where his head struck against a projecting bracket. His limbs shook for a minute and then he dropped.
We suspended operations for about half an hour while the surgeon removed him from the bunker.
The doctor says that it’s a wonder he wasn’t more seriously injured. He says that Balsley has only a slight concussion of the brain and no fracture. They expect him to recover in about a week.
The sailors cleaned up the ship after coaling. Now everything is painted and I can’t sit down anywhere, for everything is covered with fresh paint.
June 25 I got liberty again yesterday morning and went to Cork. I soon discovered that the cathedral which I thought was Shandon, in which I entered a few days ago, wasn’t Shandon Cathedral but St. Finbarr’s, so I set out to hear the real Shandon Bells. I reached another church which seemed to be Shandon, so I climbed up its circular stairs and finally reached the top. Unfortunately, the bell-ringer wasn’t there, so I couldn’t hear the bells. I descended again with the sexton, and long before I reached the bottom, it seemed to me that I was standing still and those circular stairs were revolving under my feet. When I reached the bottom I handed the sexton three pence for his trouble and after thanking me, he said, “You really ought to see Shandon Cathedral. It’s the one over there,” and he pointed out another church about a block away. By this time, I was determined to hear those Shandon Bells or die, so I hiked over to the other cathedral. This time I struck it right, for this one was really Shandon Cathedral. I was rather tired from climbing up the tower of the other church, but nevertheless I climbed up this tower and saw the real Shandon Bells. The bell-ringer was there, and he played Annie Laurie for me. The chimes sounded pretty good. After descending I registered in the book they keep there, and then departed.
I wandered around Cork for a while, and ate dinner at the Tivoli Restaurant, which claims the distinction of having served King George when he was Prince of Wales. I got a fine dinner there.
Almost every store in Cork is a purveyor to his majesty, the king. It seems that when you pay the royal steward about fifteen or twenty pounds, he hands you a certificate which makes you a cobbler by royal appointment.
I stumbled against a Carnegie Library in Cork. Carnegie gave 10,000 pounds to built it. It seems to fulfill its mission, for it was crowded with a large number of working men.
I saw an election notice posted on a wall in Cork. It gave a list of nine persons who were candidates for some city office, and after the name of each one, it gave his occupation. The fourth person on the list was described as follows:
Bridget Grady...Spinster,
And the next one was,
Michael Aherne...Gentleman.
The occupations of the other candidates ranged from that of a stevedore to that of a banker.
About every fourth store in Cork is a spirit store or a bar. There are no saloons, except hair-cutting saloons. Over the door of every liquor store is the sign “Beamish and Crawford’s Ale and Stout.” It happens that the right honorable Mr. Beamish is the high sheriff of Cork.
I got back to Queenstown at about eight o’clock. Someone has fixed up a baseball series between enlisted teams of each ship. The first game was called at the end of the first inning on account of rain.
The city of Queenstown seems determined to entertain us, for they have offered a beautiful silver cup to be raced for by midshipmen crews from each ship next Monday. There is also a prize for enlisted crews to be rowed for in a separate race.
I didn’t go ashore today for it was my day to go on duty. I am on the signal watch. There is hardly anything to do. I stood the watch from twelve to four this afternoon, and I will stand another from eight to ten tonight. The only thing to do was to watch the other ships for signals.
Almost everybody in Queenstown is out visiting the ships today. The sailors and the midshipmen are showing them around and answering all sorts of foolish questions. One lady laid her hand upon an eight-inch turret, and then said to her guide, “Is this a boiler?” All the boats are busy bringing visitors on board and taking them back again.
We had a fine dinner on board today, much better than some I’ve had on shore.
All the little beggars in Cork chase us around. A little kid will run up in front of a midshipman and salute with one finger, and say “Copper, sir, copper?” or “Give a penny to get a buon (sic)?” You would think that all the little kids in Cork live on penny buns.
I got back to the wharf at nine. The Iowa’s boat took off her midshipmen first and left. About a minute later, a midshipman from the Iowa came running down, but he was much too late. He hired a shore boat to take him to his ship, but I don’t know whether he got back in time to escape being reported for returning late from liberty.
June 26 The chaplain had another moving picture show on the quarterdeck last night, but as I had to stay on the bridge, I couldn’t see it.
When I went ashore on liberty this morning, I only had about half a dollar to spend, so I determined not to be extravagant.
I went to the office of the admiral commanding the Queenstown naval station and received a pass from him to visit the dockyard in the harbor. I went out to the yard on a naval tug, and had to show my pass before I could land. I was guided around the grounds by different policemen, being handed over from one to another at the end of each beat. They were to see that I didn’t visit any forbidden places, I suppose. They were fairly good guides, and gave me information of the buildings we passed.
They have a large dry-dock in the yard which was recently enlarged. The cruiser Talbot was in the dock undergoing extensive repairs. I went through her, accompanied by my policeman. She was a very long vessel for her beam, and I think she must have been capable of good speed. All her guns were hoisted out and were laid on the wall alongside.
It is impossible to realize how large the underbody of a vessel is until she is seen in a drydock. The under water body of the Talbot was much larger than the portion of the hull which is ordinarily seen.
All the buildings in the yard were built by convict labor. My guide, the policeman, being an Irishman, wasn’t especially in love with those buildings, for he said that most of the prisoners had been sentenced on account of their agitation and political principles.
I went back to Queenstown and had lunch. In the afternoon, I walked along the road leading to the top of the hill overlooking the harbor. I got a fine view of the entire harbor from there.
The Ivernia which was sunk in the harbor, is now floating again. Divers patched up her hull, and when the water was pumped out, up she came. She will soon be taken to Liverpool to be docked and repaired. A sailor told me that after she had been entirely fixed up, she would probably be renamed for a boat which has once sunk has a bad reputation among superstitious passengers, such as immigrants.
I saw a ball game this afternoon between teams composed of both midshipmen and bluejackets representing the Iowa and the Indiana.
The Iowa had the academy battery, and three other first team men, while we didn’t have a single one. Our pitcher, a sailor, pitched a good game, but he got rotten support. The Iowa won, 12 to 0. The feature of the game was the rooting of the Iowa sailors. They were the most vociferous bunch that I’ve ever seen.
There will be a regatta this evening. The city of Queenstown has offered a fine silver cup for the midshipmen, and a beautiful silver mounted drinking horn for the bluejackets. The race will be rowed at the turn of the tide. There is a difference of about ten feet in the height of the water between two tides.
One of the midshipmen named Deming, who evidently paid some stiff prices for meals in Cork, has a scheme to get even in Berlin. He says that he is going to go to the finest hotel he can find in Berlin and wash his hands there. Then he intends to go to some cheap restaurant and dine on a five cent sandwich.
June 27 The Iowa has the Indian sign on us as one of the sailors remarked about nine o’clock last night.
At seven o’clock last night, the boatswain called away the racing crew. There had been a mistake about the tide, for it was already running out, and consequently the races would have to be pulled against the tide. The midshipmen were to row the first race and before they left the ship, Lt. Commander Briggs, our executive officer stuck his head out of the quarterdeck hatch and solemnly assured us all that unless we won, there would be no more liberty for us on this cruise.
When the crew shoved off, we gave them a cheer and they headed for the starting line, a mile and a half away.
Our ship was located just on the finish line, which was between us and the yacht club building. Our skeleton mast was exactly on the line and from the mast we got a fine view of the whole race. A cannon was fired on shore when the race started but we were too far away to distinguish the boats. About a minute later our commodore, Coontz, came on board, for the Iowa and the Massachusetts were too far up the bay to see the race from.
It was impossible to distinguish boats, but we could see that at the start one boat which had the outside course, in addition to having to row against the strongest tide, was so far out that it would have to row a diagonal course to cross between the finish boats.
When the boats were about a half mile from the finish, we could make them out, and it was our boat which had the outside course. We could see that the inside boat, the Iowa, had a big lead and that theMassachusetts was behind us. As the boats came down the stretch, we closed up until the Iowa only had a length’s lead, but we couldn’t make up any more before all the boats crossed the line. The Massachusettsfinished three lengths behind us. I believe that with a straight course we might have won.
The second race was for local four-oared shells. Three boats entered. It was a close race between two of them, a crew in pink finally winning out over a crew in green by half a length.
The last race was for the bluejackets. Our crew shoved off at about eight PM, as it was growing dusk. Unfortunately, we got the same position in this race as we did in the first one, and the remainder of this race was but a repetition of the first race, only that the Massachusetts was beaten worse this time. We lost again by about a length. I cannot understand how it was that we had to start both times so far out on the course.
The Iowa received both the cups.
The band from the Iowa played in the bandstand on the promenade during the races.
We did not receive any liberty this morning. I wanted a viewbook of Queenstown so I paid a boatman sixpence to go ashore and get it for me.
We got underway this afternoon at about half past one. As we were the nearest to the harbor entrance, we led the way out with the pilot. Everybody in Queenstown was out to see us off, and they certainly gave us a fine send off. As the houses in Queenstown are built in terraces, rising one above the other, we could see the front of every house, and from the quays to the ridge in the rear of the town, people were waving flags and handkerchiefs at us as we passed. They cheered us loudly all the time, and as we moved slowly along the shoreline, the band in the admiral’s house on the side of the hill commenced to play. It certainly thrilled us all as they played the Star Spangled Banner, and as we moved farther away, we heard the strains of Auld Lang Syne floating after us. A moment later we got a last view of Queenstown, nestling against the side of the hill and looking very beautiful. We certainly had a good time there.
As we passed out of the harbor, we passed four sailing vessels at anchor who dipped their colors to us as we passed – a salute which we returned. A little farther along we passed within a hundred feet of theIvernia. Her sides were discolored and rusted from their immersion in the harbor, and she looked rather disreputable. I think all her interior will have to be rebuilt, for the water must certainly have spoiled her cabins.
Just opposite the Ivernia was a British mine-planter with two large openings in her stern just above the water line to drop the mines into the water. She had two long rows of mines on her main deck. These mines are in the form of globes, about five feet in diameter, and contain a heavy charge of explosives.
A few minutes later we passed thru the narrow entrance to the harbor and into the open sea. I could distinguish four large guns mounted on the top of one of the hills to defend the entrance. After getting thru, we dropped our pilot, a small pilot boat taking him off. A short time later, the other ships left their positions in line, in order to swing the ship to determine the compass deviations.
For a while, the ships were so far separated that we could barely make out the mastheads of the other ships, but soon we reformed the column with the Iowa in the lead.
June 29 I was so busy yesterday that I didn’t get a chance to write anything. On account of the height of the Irish coast, we kept land in sight for several hours. We headed due south from Queenstown in order to pass clear of the Scilly Islands.
As luck would have it, I hit the midwatch the very first night, so I had to go on the bridge at midnight for the signal watch. On account of our long stay in port, I guess I wasn’t used to standing midnight watches again, and no watch ever seemed so long to me. I was very sleepy, and twice I all but went to sleep.
During the watch, we picked up a light just visible above the horizon which I think was the Eddystone light-house. We immediately changed our course and started to head eastward in the English Channel. We could not see any land.
I went off watch at four. When I rose again in the morning, we were well into the channel, and could see land off the port bow, but soon lost sight of it again. We began to meet a large number of ships. The one which caused the largest amount of excitement was a French battleship, the Danton which passed very close to us. She is the largest ship in the French navy, having been completed only recently. She was returning from the coronation.
When she passed us, she was flying an American flag on her mainmast which was about four times as large as the French flag on her foremast. As soon as she passed us, she fired a salute of fifteen guns.
The Danton is the largest battleship that I’ve seen yet, for while we have some which are larger, I haven’t yet met them. She had five smokestacks, three forward and two aft – a larger number of stacks than any other battleship in the world. Altogether, she had a rather queer look, but she certainly was large. I got a picture of her which I think will turn out good.
Besides the Danton, we passed about six liners, mostly English or German, bound for New York apparently. They all dipped their colors to us.
Last night we received permission to scrub clothes, but I only managed to wash two suits. I have about ten more to wash. The mess boys are willing to wash our work suits for a quarter a suit, but at that price, I would soon be busted. Washing clothes is about the only real exercise we get on board, so I prefer to scrub my own.
This morning I went on watch at 4 AM. A little later we sighted Beachy Head, and anchored a little way from it was a lightship with “Royal Sovereign” painted on it. We now began to pass ships of all kinds, steamers, liners, tugs, fishing smacks, and all sorts of sailing ships. As many as ten ships would be in sight at one time. We had to dip our flag so frequently in answer to their dips that the skipper detailed two men to stand by the colors. We passed about three liners early in the morning. We passed a warship also but she was so far away that we couldn’t make her out. At one time, we passed two liners at the same time, a North German Lloyd on the starboard side and a Cunard boat on the port side.
We passed rather close to land, only about a mile from the coast of England, so that we could see the chalk cliffs and the houses on the shore plainly. The water was shallow, the leadsmen only getting eight fathoms in the chains.
We passed Dungeness light-house, and here instead of cliffs they had a sandy beach. We could see a life-boat placed on a track up the beach. Near by, a large fleet of fishing vessels was anchored. After passing Dungeness, we entered the Straights of Dover, the narrowest part of the channel, but the weather was so cloudy that we could not see the coast of France. We soon passed through the straights and entered the North Sea.
A strange part of our passage through the English Channel was the smoothness of the water. You may have heard about the roughness of the channel, which makes everybody seasick. When we passed through it the water was scarcely rough enough to make the ships roll at all. Outside of our passage down Chesapeake Bay, it was the smoothest part of our trip so far. The North Sea is also very smooth, and is quite unlike the Irish Sea. When we were passing through the Irish Sea on our way to Queenstown, about fifteen miles from shore we passed a little rowboat with two men in it, and half the time we couldn’t see the boat because it was in the troughs of the sea. The other half of the time, the boat was on top of the crests and looked as if it were going to turn over.
We have a large number of mascots on board since we left Queenstown. Coming across the ocean, nine lives were lost when a cat fell overboard, but we still had three cats left. In Queenstown, an officer bought two Irish setters and some sailors bought two more. The prize acquisition, however, is a young goat which a party of sailors and marines picked up on a trip to Blarney Castle. Besides these, one of the sailors owns two white mice.
We had a drill in the eight-inch turret today, using real shells and dummy charges of powder. Instead of powder, the powder bags were filled with beans. I was second loader and my job consisted of ramming the shell home in the gun with a rammer, and seeing that the compressed blower in the bore of the gun worked properly. We couldn’t get up much speed in loading. In the fleet, they load an eight-inch gun in seven seconds, but the best we could do was thirty-five. One of the powder bags burst and scattered beans all over the turret. Fortunately, no one was killed by the explosion.
June 30 While we were passing thru the channel yesterday, although we couldn’t see land for a time, we knew we were close to it, for the water was a light green in color. As we passed out of the channel into the North Sea, the water changed to a dark green, and today the water is again blue as it was out in the ocean.
Everything is running along smoothly now. I’m used to standing watch again. Some of the fellows surprised us by getting seasick on our first day out of Queenstown, but I did not.
We passed a large number of sailing boats yesterday, most of them being fishing vessels. We counted sixteen of them in sight at the same time. We came near to having a collision with a ship last night. When we first saw her, she was traveling the same course we were, and was about four hundred yards off the starboard bow. She was not carrying any lights. A minute later she tacked and started to cross our bows. The officer of the deck woke up the skipper and blew the whistle, at the same time sheering off. We missed her about thirty yards and she rapidly dropped astern. The officer of the deck started to tell how it happened, but the skipper refused to get excited. “Well, we missed her, “ he said, and went back to bed. It wouldn’t have hurt us if we had collided with her, for our bow has a heavily armored ram on it, but it would have put that sailing ship on the bums.
I met a sailor today who spent about four days in Denver when he came east after spending about seven years on the China station. He says that he liked Denver so well that he intends to ask to be assigned to the recruiting station there when he ships over next October.
The goat is already beginning to furnish us some amusement. We would throw a piece of wood down near the goat, and when one of the dogs would run to get it, the goat would put down his head and ram him. The goat is so young that his horns are only an inch long so the dogs didn’t mind it any.
During quarters today, the sailors and midshipmen manned all the rails. I think they were preparing for a review at Kiel. We are going north all the time and the weather is getting cooler all the time. I had to keep rolled up in my two blankets last night to keep warm.
We had to write up a description of the steering engine yesterday. A modern battleship is not steered by wheel-ropes anymore, but when the man at the wheel turns it, he opens a valve in the steering engine, and the engine throws the wheel over. There are also five wheels located in different parts of the ship so that if any one is shot away, they can steer with the others. Three of the wheels are located under the armored deck.
July 1 I was on watch last night from eight to twelve. It is certainly getting cool as we go north. I don’t see how the people manage to live up here, if it is as cold as this in summertime. As the Bulletin remarked in a cartoon published last year, the uniform for liberty in Bergen may be reefers, while those going on duty may wear blankets. It will be necessary if it gets much cooler.
We saw two lighthouses last night, the first land since we lost sight of England a few days ago. The first light would show for a moment and then go out. About ten miles farther along, we began to see flashes just below the horizon, and when we got closer, we could see that it was a lighthouse with a revolving light. The reflector as it went round would show three beams of light passing across the sky and then would be dark for about fifteen seconds. We saw this light when we were about ten miles from it.
About half an hour later the operator in the wireless room called up the bridge to say that he had picked up the New Hampshire by wireless. The New Hampshire is one of the ships in the second division of the Atlantic Fleet. Admiral Badger, who was superintendent of the academy a few years ago, is in command of it.
This division was visiting in Kiel a few days ago, and when we got them by wireless, both fleets were going north on opposite sides of Denmark.
This morning at about seven o’clock we sighted the fleet rounding the northern end of Denmark. They came around and passed us, they going south and we going north. I looked at them through the glasses, and each of the ships seemed about twice as long as ours. They have two skeleton masts apiece instead of one.
About three minutes after passing them, we turned sharply to starboard and started to pass through the Cattegat. We could see land on both sides then, but only for a short time. We kept close enough to the Swedish shore to distinguish its lighthouses, but we couldn’t see much of the shore.
In the afternoon we passed pretty close to the Cyclops, the collier which coaled the second division. She is one of the largest colliers in our fleet. The Cyclops was going north at slow speed.
A few minutes later the Iowa hoisted a signal for a pilot but we couldn’t get any, so to avoid being left after dark in the channel here, we put on reserve speed for a while. We soon passed a rocky island, with its shores rising up straight from the sea about five or six hundred feet. It was a very beautiful looking island with a small village built on the southern side. After passing the island, we emerged into a wide channel and we are now running down it. We ought to arrive at Kiel about one o’clock tonight, but as we can’t enter in the night-time, we will probably anchor until tomorrow morning.
The squadron commander issued a new order for liberty in Kiel and Berlin. We will get liberty in Kiel from 1 to 9:30 PM. No one will be allowed to go to Berlin who has twenty- nine demerits or more for June. This will prevent about thirty men from going. We will be allowed four pounds besides our railroad fare when we go to Berlin.
Fortunately, I have only eight demerits. I got five at the academy, and three a few days ago for being on the gun deck when it was supposed to be cleared.
July 2 I’ve got a new detail this week. I’m aide to the officer of the deck. The job is easy for I only have to chase around with his orders once in a while. The Iowa wasn’t able to pick up a pilot last night, so after running along until eight o’clock, we came to anchor in the middle of the channel. The channel here is only a few miles wide, and as there are islands and shoals and reefs all around, the commodore didn’t think it safe to navigate at night. We cast the lashings off the anchor so that it was only held in place by one change (Ed: chain?). A sailor stood by it with a sledge hammer and when the captain gave the order, “Let go the starboard anchor,” he knocked out the pin which held the chain and the anchor hit the water with a large splash. There was only about ten fathoms of water in the channel, so we didn’t have to let out much chain.
We heaved up the anchor and got underway at two o’clock, for it gets light very early here. The sun rises at about three o’clock.
We kept passing lighthouses about every mile. It sees to me that the Danish government would go broke running them all.
All the islands here are very green and are covered with trees. They look very beautiful rising out of the water. We can see villages on them, and we passed one large town with a number of large chimneys. The most striking feature of the landscape, however, is the windmills. We can see them as we go by, with their large arms slowly revolving. They look like the pictures of the Dutch windmills.
The wind was blowing a gale when I came on duty this morning at four AM. While it lasted, it was the strongest wind that we’ve met so far. It fairly whistled through the masts. The wind calmed down after a few hours.
We steamed along until about two o’clock and then as we saw land everywhere but in back of us, we knew we were approaching Kiel. We soon passed two lightships and then started to go through two lines of buoys into the channel leading to the harbor. A little German steam launch came alongside while we were still underway, and we were boarded by a German lieutenant who took the ship into the harbor. We all had to stand at attention along the rails while we passed in. We saw a large amusement park and bathing beach on one side, labeled “Kurhaus Laboe,” and we passed another one a little farther along. As we entered the harbor, we could see a large traveling crane and a dockyard on the port side, while on the starboard side were about ten German warships, all painted gray. They fired a salute for us as we entered and another when we came to anchor, which the Iowa answered. A band on the German flagship played the “Star Spangled Banner.”
We passed about six excursion steamers which were going out all crowded, and the passengers waved their handkerchiefs at us. One of the steamers had a band which started to play as they passed us. I couldn’t make out the tune, but the performance reminded me of “Dot leetle German band.”
From where we are anchored, Kiel seems to be a rather large city. We ought to have a very good time here. We are not anchored nearly as close to the shore as we were at Queenstown, however.
I drew my four pounds today. It seems queer that in Queenstown, which is a British port, they should pay us in American gold, and here they should hand us out English money in a German port. Two of my sovereigns have Queen Victoria’s head on them, and the other two have King Edward’s head.
It rained very hard a short time before we entered the port and hailed also for a few minutes, but at the present time the weather is clear.
I went up in our military mast and took a look at the harbor and the city. I counted twenty-four German warships at anchor here. The town is large, but as we are anchored about a mile from the business part, I couldn’t see much of it. Our anchorage in Queenstown was much better, as it was very close to shore.
The Von der Tann, the German battleship at the coronation is anchored only three ships from us.
A party of ten German sailors from the battleship Deutschland came on board about five-thirty in the afternoon. We have quite a number of fellows on board who speak German, who spoke with them. I made a stab at it myself and was surprised to find that I could remember a number of German words and phrases. Whenever I couldn’t think of the German word I wanted, I had trouble to keep from sticking in its Spanish equivalent. The German sailors stayed for supper and we had an especially good supper tonight, ending with mince pie for dessert. I hear the German sailors and soldiers don’t get very good food at their own messes, and it certainly seemed so, for you should have seen them dig into that pie and the rest of the supper. After supper, our bluejackets passed cigars out to them and the whole bunch are having a fine time.
According to the dope, the Kaiser will visit us tomorrow.
About twenty gasoline launches tried to come alongside, but a big gyrene prevented them. All the Germans in the launches were very polite, for they lifted their hats before trying to come up the gangway.
July 3 I went off watch at twelve last night and had to get up at six this morning. We had breakfast at seven o’clock, a half hour earlier than usual. Immediately after breakfast, we had to shift into our blue service uniforms and a little later we were assembled at quarters on the quarterdeck. I was a little late in getting there. Just after I fell in, I saw an immense yacht coming into sight and then the buglers blew four ruffles and we came to a salute. The yacht was the Hohenzollern, the imperial yacht, and the Kaiser was on board. She passed close to us but I was unable to distinguish the emperor. The yacht itself was the largest and finest that I’ve ever seen. She was painted a creamy white and looked very beautiful. The emperor’s flag, yellow with a black cross and some other embellishments was flying on the main. A small tender, which itself was large enough to equal some American yachts I’ve seen, followed the Hohenzollern a few yards astern.
The yacht was going at a pretty good clip, and as soon as she passed us, we dropped our hands. As she passed the Iowa, the band on the Iowa played America.
Four torpedo boats, very low in the water, but fast, went out of the harbor this morning. I also saw a submarine going out. She was much larger than our submarines, but I don’t think she was capable of sinking very far. She was running on her gasoline engines and the exhaust was going up through a long, thin pipe, looking a good deal like smoke.
There are more than thirty German warships here. I believe that the entire German navy, with the exception of some torpedo boats, is right here in this harbor.
The spots on this page were caused by a rain which started suddenly while I was writing this on the superstructure deck.
July 4 We got our first liberty in Kiel yesterday afternoon. There was some misunderstanding about a visit from the Kaiser yesterday, so instead of going ashore at one o’clock, no one got away until four, and all the youngsters had to wait an hour more because someone didn’t put on enough boats to take all of us in one trip. I finally got ashore at five o’clock.
We landed about a mile down the harbor from the ships, at the Hanna Brucke, I guess it was. A park was just opposite us, and coming out of the park were three German soldiers, guns on shoulder, marching with a corporal in front. They wore helmets with a spiked top, coats trimmed with red braid, and heavy shoes with hob-nails. Their uniforms weren’t nearly as good looking as the English uniforms we saw in Ireland.
A few yards farther along, they marked time, doing the goose-step, which seems to consist of throwing the leg straight out from the hip, keeping the knee stiff, and trying to scrape a hole in the pavement with their hob-nails when the foot is brought back. One of the soldiers fell out and mounted guard in a little sentry box painted red, white, and black. I afterwards saw many of these sentries right in the town. Along the harbor there were sailors standing guard.
I walked along the driveway near the water, into the city. All the shops here kept postcards. Hofs and beergardens were rather frequent. The Fischhalle was a large brick building with little shops on the outside, and inside were several large cement tanks full of fish. Many people were in there buying them.
A few blocks farther along, I came to the principal business street. It was fairly wide, and though it was winding, that did not detract from its beauty. It was lined on both sides with stores, hotels, and restaurants. It was a beautiful looking street, and what struck me most was the fact that everything was clean and shining. A street-car line ran down the street. Its cars were about like American cars, only shorter.
I had a hard time to keep from buying everything in sight when I went down that street, for everything in the stores seemed so tempting and cheap.
As I walked along, I passed many restaurants in which orchestras were playing, and they were surely playing fine music. I finally went into one place for supper. I got a fine supper at about half of what it would cost in Cork. The waiter was surprised when I didn’t take anything but coffee to drink, for everyone here drinks, especially with meals. Across the room was a German with his wife and a little son, and each had a tall glass of beer in front of them. Another good thing is that I’m not likely to go broke tipping for it takes 100 pfennig to make a mark, and a mark is only a quarter, and when you give a waiter ten pfennig, which is only two cents, he thinks he is getting something. The Germans have no copper coins, everything less than a mark being made of nickel. The smallest coin is the five pfennig piece.
There were many stores which sold only postcards and views. They have many fine pictures of the German fleet and of the town here. The people seem to be rather enterprising for though we only arrived Sunday afternoon, when I went ashore Monday afternoon, I found at least twenty stores where pictures of our ships, printed on postcards, which were taken right here in the harbor were for sale.
There were hundreds of German sailors ashore, and I saw numbers of them going around town arm-in-arm with our sailors. Difference in language doesn’t appear to be an impediment. I passed one hack carrying two sailors, one American and one German, both of whom were singing “Love me and the worruld is mine,” at the top of their voices.
One rather perplexing thing is that there doesn’t appear to be a sharply defined line between the uniforms of the German officers and those of the men, and as the German sailors salute even their own petty officers, it is hard for us to tell when we ought to salute. I think I must have passed many officers without saluting.
A German salute looks queer to me. They begin to salute about three paces away and keep the hand up for three paces after passing. The hand is placed with the palm to the left, the hand itself straight up and down, and instead of placing the hand on the right of the right eye as we do, they place it directly in front of their noses. If they only extended their thumb backward, the result wouldn’t be a salute but a courtmartial.
Moving pictures are popular here. I saw many places where they were shown.
The German kids like highly sensational literature, for the Buffalo Bill, Nick Carter, and the other novels were all here, only printed in German. They had the same old colors, though.
Today we are going to celebrate, and the Germans are going to celebrate with us. Every ship in the harbor, including the kaiser’s yacht, has full-dressed ship, and it looks beautiful. The burgomaster wants to help, so the town is giving a gala performance in the opera house today in honor of the Fourth, and the sailors of the fleet have been invited.
One thing would show us that we are in Germany, even though nothing else did. An order was passed that no midshipmen would be allowed to take their cameras ashore. It seems that the kaiser is afraid that we might get some of his military secrets, so he is taking the necessary precautions. He may be justified, for Kiel is the most important German naval base. Here they have their dockyards and build and repair their ships. There is one floating drydock in the harbor now, with a battleship in it which has been lifted clear out of the water.
July 5 I didn’t expect to go ashore till one o’clock yesterday, but at one o’clock, the word was passed that there would be no liberty until after the kaiser left the harbor with his yacht. There didn’t seem to be any prospect of the kaiser’s leaving soon, so things looked bad for us, but at one-thirty, Coontz thought better of it and we got ashore about two o’clock. The kaiser’s yacht by the way, didn’t sail till early this morning.
The base ball teams of the Iowa and the Massachusetts were to play a game, so I took a car and rode out with them to the park. There was a large grass-covered field there with one of those large sheds used to shelter the Zeppelin type of airships. It seems that an aviation meet was held here only a few weeks ago.
I didn’t stop to see the game, but started to walk back to the town. I walked through a part of the residential section, though not the most fashionable part, and saw some very beautiful houses and avenues.
A few blocks nearer the center of the city, I ran across a miniature Coney Island in full swing. It covered only a few squares, but was crowded with merry-go-rounds and other amusement devices, though it contained nothing very elaborate. Toy balloons were plentiful, and so were frankfurters. I took a chance in the shooting gallery at five pfennig a shot and broke about six balls out of ten, which was doing pretty well.
I passed the new city hall, rathaus, or rat house it seemed to me according to the spelling, and then started toward the Reichshalle where the performance was to come off.
When I entered, an usher took me in tow and led me to a box right in front of the stage. The bluejackets were given the orchestra seats, first a row of German sailors and then a row of our sailors. The German officers themselves acted as ushers, and it looked queer to see officers showing sailors around. Fastened to the back of every seat, in the place where opera glasses or boxes of candy are usually placed in American theaters, were little racks and on every one stood a glass of beer. Waiters flitted around carrying more beer and cigarettes and I suppose everyone got all he wanted. The sailors were soon all talking or trying to talk with each other.
The burgomaster started the ball rolling with a speech in German, from the box next to mine. While I couldn’t get all he said, I caught references to what the Fourth of July meant, the friendship between Germany and America, and how glad they were to see us. At the end, he proposed three cheers for us and at each “Hoch,” the German sailors came down with it in perfect unison.
The orchestra which was directly in front of my box started out the program with the “American Patrol” and then played the “Star Spangled Banner” during which everybody stood up.
When they finished, one of our sailors stood up on his seat and shouted “Three cheers for the Kaiser!” and we all gave them loudly. Then he said, “Three cheers for the German sailors!” and we came down with those also. After which he subsided.
The performance itself was fine. It was a better vaudeville show than I think I’ve seen in Denver. All the acts but one were in German, but no knowledge of German was necessary to appreciate the show. Two acts, one a circus and the other a musical act, were especially good.
Between the various acts, I talked with a young German officer, an ensign, who was seated in my box. We spoke in English, which he could speak well.
Well, everybody there had a fine time. Before the performance was over, the smoke from cigars in that theater was so thick that I am doubtful whether those in the rear could see. Before we left, souvenir programs were passed out to us, so that we would have something to remember the hospitality of the city of Kiel.
The salute for the Fourth was fired yesterday at noon. In the morning, at about 11:30, I climbed to the top of the skeleton mast in order to get a picture of the fleet saluting, but assembly for dinner was sounded at five minutes to twelve, so I had to come down without getting it. We formed on the quarterdeck and waited.
Promptly at eight bells, the Iowa fired the first gun, and then commenced a cannonade on all sides that for noise had any Fourth of July that I’ve ever seen before lashed to the mast. Every warship in the harbor, German and American, fired twenty-one guns in honor of the flag, and as the whole German fleet was there, the flashing of the guns and the noises of the discharges coming across the bay were enough to satisfy anyone. The whole harbor in a few minutes was covered with smoke, which obscured the ships themselves, but every instant we could see a red flash as another gun went off.
A thing to remember Kiel by is the chocolate. It has a most delicious flavor and is exceedingly rich.
Today we went to Berlin. I spent part of the morning emptying the things out of my suitcase that I didn’t want to take with me. We had an early dinner and at twelve o’clock, the liberty party fell in on the quarterdeck. About six sorry looking mutts that couldn’t go, stood around and watched us leave. We marched in no order at all from the wharf to the depot, and took the train. Our party was the first one to arrive at the station, so we had our choice of the seats. This train had the Irish outdone, for the compartments were luxuriously furnished, and it was a pleasure to ride in them. I believe that that train was more comfortable than an American train even.
We left Kiel at one-thirty, and started south. There was nothing of a distinctively German character in the scenery except the large windmills with their slowly revolving sails. We arrived in Berlin at seven-thirty.
When we disembarked in the depot and started out, there was a great deal of confusion, for most of us didn’t know where we wanted to go. I got a hotel card for the Hotel Janson from a man in a silk hat, and went there in a taxi-hack. The taximeter only registered ninety pfennig when I arrived, but the driver said it was by the mark one, so I paid. A stately person took my suitcase, and I entered the hotel. The proprietor said he had a good room for three marks, so I went up the lift and looked at it. It was a very finely furnished room and suited me very well, so I took it.
I left my suitcase and rainclothes in the room and went out to see Berlin. As it was rather late, I looked for a café in which to dine. My hotel is only two squares from Unter den Linden Strasse, so I went there. There were a number of fine cafés there, all open to the street and there I ate supper while watching the crowd pass.
After supper, I walked around the streets until eleven o’clock. For the first time since I entered the academy, there was no one to tell me when I must go to sleep, so I didn’t intend to go early. Almost all the stores were closed, only cafés, theaters, and restaurants being open, though the windows in most of the places were lighted up. There were plenty of lights in the streets also, so that it was about as light as day.
Everywhere people were sitting at small tables, consuming wine and beer. I didn’t care to let them get ahead of me, so I drank chocolate which is as fine here as in Kiel.
One of the features of Berlin is the Automaten Restaurants. Here you drop a ten pfennig piece in a slot machine and get a beer, a sandwich, an egg, or anything else in the food or drink line which you may desire.
At eleven o’clock, I started to return to the hotel, and though I easily found the street and the block, I had some difficulty in locating my hotel, but a German gentleman kindly helped me out. Just as I was about to enter, a young fellow with a music roll accosted me, and asked me if I wasn’t from the American squadron at Kiel. He said that he was from the United States, but was studying in Germany.
I wrote up this account until 11:45 and then went to bed. As this is the first time in a month that I sleep in a bed, the lord knows how it will feel.
July 9 I was too busy or too tired while I was in Berlin to write anything. I believe that I only wrote three postcards while I was there, and no letters at all.
I didn’t wake up until ten o’clock on my first morning in Berlin. I rang the bell and had breakfast served in my room. After breakfast, I went around to Unter den Linden and bought a ticket for a trip in a coach around Berlin. There were about five midshipmen in the party, besides a few other Americans, so the guide gave his explanations in English as well as in German.
We went down the Unter den Linden to its end. It is a most beautiful street, about two hundred feet wide with a strip about fifty feet wide in the middle filled with benches, forming a sort of park. It is lined on both sides with fine looking buildings of about six stories each. Generally, the stores along it are cafes. One of the things that adds greatly to the beauty of Berlin is the fact that there are no skyscrapers. Almost all the buildings are of a uniform height, and as the streets are wide, the effect is beautiful.
At the end of the street, we passed under the Brandenburg Gate into the Tiergarden. The gate is surmounted by the Car of Victory, which Napoleon took to Paris when he captured Berlin in 1807, and which Blucher brought back when he took Paris in 1814.
The Tiergarden is a very large park, containing many monuments and a few buildings. The Reichstag is at one side, and facing it is the beautiful Column of Victory. A large marble statue of Molthe, and the bronze statues of other Prussian generals surround the column. One of Berlin’s three opera houses stands facing the monuments.
An avenue through the park, leading to the monuments, is lined on both sides by thirty-two statues of Prussian rulers, which were presented by the kaiser.
We passed through the park, past five bronze groups representing various hunts, out to the city again. Nothing can surpass the beauty of a Berlin residence street, for the pavement which is of some material like asphalt, actually glistens, it is so smooth and clean. Here and there, in the gardens of the houses we passed, are statues in bronze or marble, and the houses themselves were generally works of art. Many Berlin houses are covered with stucco, and various designs are made into the walls themselves.
We passed a zoological garden with a large gate, in Chinese style, with a statue of an elephant on each side. The effect was very fine.
We soon passed from Berlin to Charlottenburg. There is no real dividing line between the two cities, and I think they will eventually be consolidated. In Charlottenburg, we passed down Bismarck Street, which is probably the most beautiful street in Berlin. It has a strip down the center which contains well-kept lawns and beautiful flower-beds.
We rode out along this road to the tomb of the grandfather and great-grandfather of the kaiser. A large marble statue stood in the entrance, and on the inside, were four marble figures, each a recumbent statue marking the graves of the two kings and their wives. A deep purple light was shed on the figures by the colored roof, giving to the room a rather weird appearance.
We returned to the city by another route. We passed the department store of Wertheim, the largest in Berlin. It was a very large building covering an entire square, but it was not built in the style of American department stores.
We arrived at the other end of Unter den Linden. Here are the museums and the palaces of the kaiser and the crown prince. The kaiser’s palace, which is an old building, has an unpretentious exterior. It is built in various styles, for part of the building dates from the fourteenth century. Facing the palace is the national monument to Kaiser Wilhelm the First. It consists of a colossal figure of the kaiser, and at the foot of the monument are four immense lions standing on various weapons of war.
We witnessed guardmount at the palace. Three companies of infantry and a band marched up, and the guards were changed. We then returned to our starting place and disembarked.
In the afternoon, I started out on foot to see some of Berlin. I visited the Friedrich Wilhelm Museum, containing a large collection of old paintings. Many of them were fine, but I couldn’t find anything beautiful in the greatest number of the old masters. If they had only given Christ and his saints a rest, I think they would have done much better.
In the evening, I went to hear Lohengrin in the opera house in the Tiergarden. The music was fine, but as I couldn’t understand the German singing and couldn’t remember very much of what the opera was about, I didn’t get very much out of it. Between the acts, I went down into the garden where a Prussian military band was playing and refreshments were served.
After the opera, I walked around for a while in search of more amusement. I finally wandered into the Eis-Arena, a place with three galleries running around an open space in which was an ice-skating rink. As usual, refreshments were being served in all three galleries, and an orchestra handed out the music. It seems impossible in Berlin to find a place where you can’t get beer and music. The music is always fine, but I don’t know about the beer.
That was enough for that night so I went to the hotel and went to sleep at about twelve o’clock. I woke up at half past eight and started out for another day.
I bought a ticket for an automobile excursion to Potsdam. The ticket, which cost twelve and a half marks, covered all the expenses of an all day excursion and was, I believe, the best spent money in Berlin. We started out at ten o’clock in a great big automobile with a large Dutchman, who also spoke English, for a guide. He gave his explanations in both English and German, but as he wanted to satisfy everybody, he asked if there was anybody there who didn’t understand. It developed that one of the party spoke Danish only, so the guide was up a tree, for he said he couldn’t speak that.
We got into Charlottenburg and started to speed down Bismarck Street. It was queer how fast that auto went. It was a large heavy one, and when we started to hit it up, there was something doing. About a hundred times on that trip, I thought that we were certainly going to have a collision, but the driver always managed to steer clear.
We passed a regiment of soldiers marching into Berlin from their maneuver grounds, a five-hour’s walk, the guide said. They were marching at ease when we saw them.
After getting off Bismarck Street, we turned and started down a German country road. It had no curb, but it was asphalted for the greater part of the way, and was always smooth without ruts or bumps. A large part of the way, it was lined with forests in which we could see women gathering bundles of fagots. Part of the way, we had to travel along the side of the road for every fifty yards, four stones were placed in the middle of the road. The authorities probably thought that the sides needed more travel, so they took that means to keep us off the middle.
We passed Wannsee and in a few minutes came to Potsdam. Our wagon stopped in front of one of the palaces and we disembarked. The first thing we saw when we entered were two five-inch field pieces and a machine gun presented to the kaiser by the Krupps. The guns were never meant for use, for the wheels were of mahogany and the guns themselves had a brilliant finish.
We went up the staircase, and after we passed through some of the rooms, I got a new idea of what a palace is. The floors were of the finest woods, and the walls were covered with splendid tapestries and inlaid wood. Large numbers of oil paintings hung on the walls, which seemed to me better pictures than those in the museums. We saw the rooms which were occupied by Frederick the Great and other kings.
One of the corridors had a row of about twenty pictures painted by one of the Prussian kings who died insane. The first picture was one of an Elector, with a circular cut all around the head where it had once been cut out. The guide said that the painter had put the wrong head on this man, and as the painting of the body was all right, he didn’t care to do it all over again so he merely cut out the head and put a new one in. In another room we saw a picture of Diana painted by this same king, and it looked like it. The king was drunk when he painted it, I suppose, for the lady had two left feet.
After finishing this palace, we rode over to a hotel where the whole party had a fine dinner on the verandah overlooking the river.
After dinner, we reembarked and went out to Sans Souci palace, built by Frederick the Great. On the way out we passed the new palace and another palace. I think the kaiser has a hard time deciding which palace he wants to stay in.
At Sans Souci, we saw three clocks which were presented to Frederick by Madame Pompadour. There was a large number of paintings and some statues. There were two busts in black marble of negro ambassadors from some African state to Frederick’s court, and a large marble statue of Frederick in his last moments, made by a Chicagoan.
Passing out of the palace, we went into the gardens and down the terraces. Five flights of steep steps lead to the bottom. The crown prince, who has the reputation of being a reckless rider, rode his horse down them.
After getting out of the grounds we entered the mausoleum where Kaiser Wilhelm the First and his wife are buried. It was a fine looking building on the inside, though not as beautiful as the one we saw in Berlin. About twenty wreaths of roses and laurel, given by different German regiments, were placed around the tomb.
After leaving this place, we went to the church where Frederick the Great and his father are buried. The church was built by Frederick’s father as a garrison church. On one side of the pulpit, which is made of one large piece of white marble, is an hour glass placed there by Frederick, who was an atheist. The guide said that Frederick didn’t care to listen too long to the minister, so he had the hour glass placed there and whenever the sand ran out, the preacher had to quit.
The tomb of Frederick, quite unlike those of the other kings which we saw, was a simple whitewashed room under the pulpit. Frederick’s body rests in a small bronze coffin, while that of his father lies in a larger wooden one. The guide said that Napoleon made a pilgrimage here, and swiped Frederick’s sword from the coffin.
We stopped again for refreshments, and then embarked on a small sixty foot motor-boat for the trip back to Wannsee, on the lake. The trip reminded me of Killarney, for while there were no mountains, the scenery was very beautiful. We passed many small yachts all under sail, and a large bathing beach under water.
One of the passengers with us was a little kid, dressed in the uniform of a first class boatswain’s mate, with “U.S.S. North Dakota” on his hat-band. He was a lively little fellow and furnished us a lot of amusement.
From Wannsee, we rode back to Berlin in the motorcar, and disembarked at about five-thirty. We all tipped the guide as we went out. He certainly earned the money, for he was right there with his stories about the things we passed. He said he had been to America twice. He warned us about the stories of the kings which he told us. “Those which are true,” he said, “are no good, and those which are good are lies.”
In the evening, I went to the Wintergarden to see a vaudeville show. One of the acts, in English was swell. All the others were good. Our chaplain and three other officers had a box in front of us. During one of the pauses, Jimmy the Flea, so called on account of his whiskers, (he is our navigator), turned around and spied some other officers in the rear. Instantly the whole bunch stood up and started to wave their handkerchiefs at each other. As usual, the waiters were kept busy. After the show, I went back to the hotel and went to sleep.
The next morning after breakfast, I went out to see the Old and New Museums. They have a fine collection of old Roman and Grecian sculptures, and other relics there. What particularly interested me were two huge statues of Apollo. As the museums were very large and I could only spend an hour and a half in them, I saw most of the things while I went through the various rooms on a fast walk. I then beat it back to the hotel, seized my suitcase which I had packed the day before, and descending to the ground floor, paid my hotel bill and looked around for the waiter to tip. No one was in sight but the elevator boy, so I gave him some money, and going outside, called a cab and went to the station. When I got there midshipmen were arriving in great profusion from all directions in all sorts of vehicles. We soon filled up the train, and they had to couple on more coaches. We pulled out at twelve-twenty PM, a rather quiet bunch at first.
I believe that Berlin is certainly the most beautiful city in the world. The city contains hundreds of beautiful buildings, public and private, thousands of statues, artistically placed, and the streets themselves are a pleasure to look at. I spent most of my time when I wasn’t sightseeing or theater-going, wandering up and down Friedrich Strasse and Under den Linden. Friedrich Strasse is lined with fine stores and cafes. Whenever I got tired of walking, I would take a motorbus, a two-decker, and ride on the topside from one end of the street to the other.
I think I spent about a third of my money in Berlin for chocolate and cakes, for every few minutes I would drop into some café and get some. Somehow the marks just seemed to fly off of me in Berlin, but I managed to get away from the city with ten dollars out of about thirty seven. I only spent about nine dollars a day while I was in Berlin.
I didn’t have much trouble with the language in Berlin. Not many people spoke English, but my German held out, and I think that in about a week I could learn to speak German there well.
I didn’t spend much time in my hotel while I was in Berlin. I never visited it at all during the daytime, and during the nighttime I was only in for about eight hours.
On the train coming back, we stopped at about every station, and cleaned out the refreshment stands. I think we made more stops than were scheduled, for we didn’t get to Kiel until 8:30 PM. We had supper on board at nine o’clock, and had to lie awake half the night listening to various fellows reciting their adventures.
July 11 I was on duty Sunday so I didn’t go ashore. We received notice that fifty midshipmen would be sent from each ship to visit the German naval academy, about two hours ride from here on the train. We drew lots to see who should go, and I wasn’t one of the lucky ones. Those who won went yesterday and say that they had a fine time there as all the German midshipmen could talk English fluently.
I went on liberty in Kiel in the afternoon and after imbibing more chocolate, I decided to take an ocean trip on the Hafendampfer Moltenort to one of the bathing beaches which line the entrance to the harbor. The fare was only twenty-five pfennigs. The steamer was very crowded with excursionists going out. On the trip I made the acquaintance of three young German kids, about twelve years of age, whom I talked with in German. The conversation, of course, was not very animated. We dropped off at the first beach, where I rented a suit for five pfennigs and we went in.
I dived off the platform and the next second I got an awful jolt on the head for the water was only two feet deep there. It just about knocked me silly, and when I came up, I began to spit blood. It seems that I must have jarred my teeth up, for the gums were bleeding. I got over the shock and swam around for a few minutes, but the water was rather cold, being only 18º cent., so I went out. The kids walked out with me, and we walked to the next beach, about a kilometer away.
On the way over, we saw a torpedo boat fire a torpedo. It dropped into the water and started to shoot across the bay. Either by accident or design, the torpedo did not travel as far beneath the surface as it would in war, and we could mark its course by the clouds of spray which would shoot up into the air about every thirty yards as the torpedo plunged through the waves. The torpedo was making remarkable speed, for though the torpedo boat went after it as fast as it could, it was left far behind. At the end of its run, the torpedo stopped and floated on the surface where it was picked up.
A torpedo can be set so that it will stop at any given distance. When it is loaded and fitted with a warhead, the torpedo then sinks, but as torpedoes cost $2500 each, the torpedoes used in practice are fitted so that they will float at the end of their run.
At Moltenort, I took another steamer and went back to Kiel. One of the kids asked me to send him a post card from Bergen, which I promised to do.
In Kiel, I went to a moving picture show. The price list read “Admission 50 pf. Kinder und soldaten, 25 pf.” I noticed the same thing in Berlin. Many things are much cheaper to soldiers and sailors, doubtless on account of their munificent salaries, which are five cents or twenty-two pfennigs a day. The show seemed to be a continuous performance, for though I didn’t enter till eight o’clock, I saw some midshipmen who had been there since six, and they were still seeing different pictures. The pictures themselves seemed much clearer than those we see in America, for there was no flicker.
I left at nine o’clock and started back for the boat. At nine-fifteen, I met a bluejacket, a boatswain’s mate, who has been in Denver, and he invited me to have something with him. As the boat didn’t go till nine-thirty, and he is a pretty good fellow, I accepted. He ordered some lemonade for me, and when it came, it was a beautiful pink color. He told me once how they had had pink lemonade served to them in Shanghai. I had to drink the lemonade in a hurry and hike for the boat, though I was sorry to have to leave him in such a hurry.
About everybody on board is down to his last pfennig, so not very many fellows went ashore on liberty today. I have spent about all I intend to in Kiel, but I’m going anyway.
July 12 I made my last liberty in Kiel yesterday afternoon. About every store I passed, I dropped into and bought a post-card or two which I put in my hat. Before I got back to the ship, I had quite a weight on my mind. I didn’t see much more of Kiel. I got very close to some of their land batteries once and saw about five large guns mounted in earthworks which bore on the harbor. I didn’t stay long, but left before I was requested to do so.
The very latest German battleship, the Helgoland of 23,000 tons, had her finishing touches completed, and steamed out of her dock yesterday morning for her first spin. She has twelve twelve-inch guns, firing six ahead and six astern, but only eight on the broadside. Our new battleships can fire all their guns on either broadside.
I had intended to make my last liberty on thirty-five pfennigs, but when I got ashore, I found I couldn’t do it so I had a two dollar bill changed and spent four hundred and ten pfennig out of that before I finally got away. I got back to the dock at nine PM when the boat was supposed to leave, but the boat wasn’t there yet. While I was waiting, I saw something else I wanted to buy, but hadn’t, so, as the boat wasn’t near the wharf yet, I took a chance and ran back about four blocks to get it. Unfortunately, all the stores were closed so I couldn’t get it. I ran all the way back and managed to get the last boat before it left.
As we floated away from the wharf, a large crowd of sailors and others waved us farewell, and we yelled back “Auf Weidersehn.” We got back to the ship at about nine-thirty.
We pulled out of Kiel promptly at eight AM. We all lined up on the quarterdeck, and the minute colors sounded, the Iowa hoisted her speedcones, and we were off. The German flagship played the “Star Spangled Banner” and the Iowa’s band answered with “America.” As we passed out, various battleships sounded attention, and we reciprocated with four ruffles.
July 13 As we were leaving the harbor, we saw about six objects in the water, shaped like torpedo-boats which were evidently meant for targets. We passed the red lighthouse which marks the entrance to the harbor, and the steel bridge over the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal, and started north along the coast. We saw theVon der Tann anchored a short distance away with three or four torpedo-boats around her.
A few hours later, although we couldn’t see anything, we heard heavy guns being fired at frequent intervals, which Lt. Brown, our divisional officer, said were the reports of the German ships at target practice.
We passed many small boats on our way, all of which dipped their flags. We saw about all the light-houses which marked the course, and as the Iowa took on a pilot before we left Kiel, we didn’t have to anchor at night. I had the lookout from two to four AM, and kept busy reporting sails and lights. It was daylight at about two-thirty, and for about the first time on the cruise, we could see the sun rise straight out of the sea. On every other morning when I saw the sun rise, there were always clouds on the horizon, so we couldn’t see the sun till after it rose. The sunrises and sunsets which I have seen at sea are not as beautiful as those in the mountains.
The sea has been smooth since we left Kiel, it being smoother than we’ve seen yet on the cruise.
This morning at quarters, Lt. Brown said to me, “Did you write that article in the Naval Institute?” and when I answered in the affirmative, he said, “I think it’s very fine,” and then he loaned me his copy of the magazine so that I could see it. My own copy seems to have gone astray, for there is always such a bunch of newspapers and magazines in every mail that half of them get thrown overboard without the owners ever seeing them.
At about eight o’clock this morning, we passed the most northern point of Denmark at about where we sighted the Atlantic fleet two weeks ago, and headed into the open sea. This afternoon, we are again out of sight of land.
I had some good and some bad luck today. I was due to hit the pap this morning for ten demerits for being absent from yesterday morning’s breakfast formation, but though the mate of the deck put the other fellows who were also late, on the pap, he left my name off the list, thus saving me from coming close to getting on the grade.
On the other hand, a package containing some souvenirs of Kiel, to the value of about two dollars, disappeared from my locker today, and I can’t account for it. There is not much hope of ever seeing them again.
This evening the wind is blowing hard, and though no large sea is running, the wind blows spray all over the decks, giving everybody a shower.
This morning when we mustered at quarters on the quarterdeck, it happened that Lt. Commander Briggs, our exec., was asleep on a hatch cover on which he had sat down to rest. Nobody woke him, but a second-classman sneaked back to the gundeck, got a camera, and then snapped Briggs asleep at the switch. The exec didn’t wake up till after we left the deck, and he is still unaware of what happened.
We sighted Norway off the starboard bow at about five o’clock this afternoon. The land sticks quite a distance out of the water.
In Kiel, the sailors traded our Irish goat for a German one which is a trifle huskier. We also acquired a dachshund there.
July 14 I stood the life-buoy watch from six to eight this morning. I couldn’t see much of the shore because it was rather foggy all the time.
Instead of drilling this morning, Lt. Brown gathered us all on one side of the gundeck and read us Cook’s guide to Bergen. He gave us a lot of information about it.
At twelve o’clock, when it was so foggy that no land could be seen, the Iowa made a sharp turn to starboard, and we stood straight onto the coast until we got close enough to make it out. We saw a lighthouse on a rock, and then in answer to the Iowa’s signal, a pilot boat headed for us. A small boat took a pilot aboard each ship. Generally, only the Iowa takes a pilot, but here the coast is so rocky, that three are needed.
A short distance away from us, and apparently where deep water should be, although no rocks could be seen, we saw breakers forming which showed that there was a hidden rock close to the surface. In the night time, a vessel could easily hit it.
About five miles farther along, we turned into a narrow fiord, thirty miles long, which leads to Bergen. The scenery was of a rugged, mountainous kind, bare rocks and cliffs rising straight out of the water, with mountains on all sides. No one would think that the water here was deep enough to float a battleship, yet we finally came to anchor in sixty-five fathoms.
The need of three pilots soon became apparent, for the course was very winding, and we frequently had to pass close to the cliffs. We saw little houses perched on the water’s edge, each with a little light in front of it, which were intended for light-houses, I imagine.
There was very little earth that we could see, and on the whole trip in, we saw but two small hay fields. Every house, however, had its boat, and fishing seems to be the real industry of everybody. We passed many large oil-tanks, but, unless they fill them with fish-oil, I don’t see what they are for.
We finally came to the end of the fiord where Bergen is situated, at about 3:30 PM. The Iowa fired the usual salute. The first thing the Iowa did was to lose one of her anchors, and her men are now fishing for it. As it weighs 13,000 lbs., they will know they got something if they ever manage to hook onto it. The depth of the water makes it a hard job.
One of the negro mess-boys slashed one of the sailors in Kiel for some reason or other. They took him and put him in the brig just before we got to Bergen, so as to be sure that he doesn’t desert before he’s tried.
Bergen itself doesn’t seem to be a very large city from our position. We only get one pound to spend here, so I think no one will be extravagant.
July 16 There is a German cruiser anchored here, and about three yachts, one American and two English. I think I’ve seen that American yacht in Crabtown before.
Bergen doesn’t impress the sailors very favorably. In every other port, they get overnight liberty, but here it seems they ring a curfew at ten o’clock and then everyone must be off the streets. Yesterday morning an order came from the flagship, that as the city authorities had requested that no sailors be permitted ashore after ten o’clock, liberty for all sailors would be up at ten PM instead of at eight the next morning. This doesn’t affect us, as we have to be back at 9:30 anyway, but all the bluejackets broke out their most fluent expletives to say what they thought of the city fathers.
I made my first liberty yesterday afternoon at one o’clock. We aren’t far from the dock, but still not as close as at Queenstown.
On disembarking, the look of the town didn’t impress me favorably. All the houses were of wood, and the streets were rocky and crooked, without any beauty. I finally came to the center of the town, and there they have one broad street about four blocks long, decorated by two statues. Here the buildings were of brick and looked a little better. There were about four or five tourist stores, and most of the others handled dry goods.
At one end of this street at the foot of the dock, was the fish market. Here the fish are spread out on stands right in the middle of the street, for sale. Everybody buys fish.
There was a large number of steamers in the dock, mostly English. On one side was a number of warehouses, and at the end of the row was the Hanseatic Museum, containing memorials of the Hanseatic League which used to control all the trade in this locality.
I next went to an exchange office, and changed an American two-dollar bill, an English half sovereign, and a German three mark piece into Norwegian kroners. I am quite cosmopolitan in money matters now, and I can think in cents, shillings, marks, and kroners. A kroner is about twenty-seven cents. After walking up and down the main street about six times, I went into some of the stores and learned that Bergen takes the cake for high prices. I didn’t buy anything.
There are two or three good hotels in the town, and many more restaurants. The food seems to be the only thing here that is reasonable.
I went through the Industrial Arts Museum. The first floor, admission free, contained exhibits of merchandise from the Bergen stores. The second floor, admission 25 ore, contained a lot of ancient furniture and Scandinavian ornaments. The brilliant and flashy colors with which most of the articles were painted almost pained the eye. The furniture reminded one strongly of barbarians. On the third floor, admission 50 ore, was an exhibition of Scandinavian paintings. There were two there that were good. One represented a Norwegian woman sitting on a pile of furniture, with her two children hanging to her skirts, while in the background her husband gropes in the smoldering ruins of their home. The other picture showed two Vikings skiing through a snowstorm, while one holds a little child behind his shield. Many of the other pictures were fair, but a large number were absolutely rotten. There was one room full of pictures, which looked as if the painter had slobbered the paint on the canvas with the end of a stick. It made me sore to think that in the Berlin galleries, which had hundreds of fine paintings, I had to go through in a few minutes, while here I had a whole afternoon to spend looking at this collection.
I went to a hotel about six o’clock, for supper. I ate it in an open garden, set with a lot of tables, where a large number of bluejackets and midshipmen were seated. An orchestra of about six supplied the music. The first piece was the Star Spangled Banner, and of course we all rose. However, I wasn’t quite sure whether we weren’t making a mistake, for I had much difficulty in recognizing the piece. The dinner was good and only cost two kroner.
I saw a bronze statue of Ole Bull in Bergen. The people here evidently thought a lot of him. Later in the afternoon, I went through the cemetery and ran across two youngsters seated on a bench, and earnestly regarding a large copper urn about eight feet high, set in an oval flowerbed about ten feet long, with the name “Ole Bull” in bronze letters on its face. They told me that they were trying to figure out whether the jar contained Ole Bull’s ashes, or whether he was buried in that oval flowerbed. I couldn’t decide the question for them.
I took a car ride through a part of Bergen. This part reminded me of Idaho Springs, for a high mountain came right down to the street.
For the first time on the cruise, I got back to the wharf about two hours before the last liberty boat left, and returned to the ship on an earlier steamer. About twenty other fellows were also there, so it seems that Bergen by night didn’t have any attraction for us. One first classman had three turns of a handkerchief around his head and over his left eye. He said that he slipped while descending one of the mountains, and went down quite a distance on his face.
The pap sheet has been decorated lately by some heavy paps. One second classmen got stuck for disregard of orders, - taking a camera ashore in Kiel. Two other second classmen hit it for smoking in the streets of Kiel.
July 18 I was on duty Sunday and didn’t go ashore. I stood the anchor watch Sunday night from eleven to one, on the quarterdeck. I believe that I walked two or three miles up and down that deck during my watch. I had to keep clear of the port side in my walk, for that formed the ceiling of the cabin where the captain was sleeping, and the tramp up and down the deck might have affected his slumber. When we sleep, about forty men are always walking over our heads, and they man the ash-whip right alongside, every two or three hours, and nobody notices it, but with the captain it is different.
About eleven o’clock, the steam launch came alongside with the shore patrol and one sailor who was an hour late returning from liberty. The shore patrol consists of four bluejackets and a petty officer, who go ashore when the sailors go on liberty and act as an aide to the shore police. Whenever a sailor gets arrested, it is their duty to get him out of jail before the ship sails. Thus in Queenstown, a sailor, who said a jaunting car driver was overcharging him, smashed the jaunting car to get even. He was arrested and fined nine pounds. The paymaster paid the money, to be deducted later from the bluejacket’s pay, and the shore patrol took the man back to his ship.
About an hour later, the steamer made its last trip and came back with the paymaster’s clerk who had gone ashore in cits, with a straw hat and a fancy cane. As he stepped out of the boat onto the gangway ladder, a wave lifted up the boat and to save himself, he grabbed the ladder with both hands, letting his cane go and losing his hat at the same time. The coxswain of the steamer managed to fish both the hat and the cane out of the water with a boathook about five minutes later, but I guess our pay clerk won’t ever wear that hat again.
A few minutes later, the men threw the steamer’s boiler fires into the harbor and then turned in for the night.
It was now about half past twelve, but in spite of the hour, we could see everything quite plainly, for on account of our high north latitude, it did not get dark here. If we had arrived about a month earlier, it would have been almost as light as day all the time.
The navigator, Lt. Riddle, served a lunch to the men on watch at 12:30 AM. We had some sandwiches and coffee.
I was relieved at one o’clock and went below to my hammock to turn in. Everybody else on board had to wake up at four o’clock to coal ship, but they allowed the men who had been on watch, to sleep in, so I slept until seven, and didn’t start to coal until after breakfast.
On account of my previous experience, I now knew how to dress for coaling, and as a result, I managed to keep coal dust from going down my neck or getting into my shoes. When I finished coaling, although my head and hands were as black as a negro’s, the rest of my body was comparatively clean.
I stayed in the bunkers of the Vulcan all day. She has six coal bunkers, starting from the bow and running aft to her engine room. Each bunker extends from the deck clear to the bottom, and from one side of the ship to the other. The bunkers were about fifty feet square and about forty feet deep. When we started coaling from her at Queenstown, we were at the very top of the bunkers, but we had taken so much coal out of the Vulcan that now we were way down in a sort of coal mine about thirty feet from the top. It seemed strange to think that we had shoveled that much coal out of her.
As usual, thick clouds of coal dust hung around the bags, but we worked rather fast and sent the bags up as fast as they could handle them on deck. We knocked off at ten o’clock and had some sandwiches and coffee. We had another intermission at twelve for dinner, and after dinner I explored the after part of the collier. Her engine room was beautiful to look at, for everything there was shining brightly.
We commenced coaling again at one and kept it up till six. After supper, we coaled again until eight-thirty, when we knocked off for good. We took about nine hundred and fifty tons on altogether, which will last us until we get to Gibraltar. I think that they could have coaled the steam launch with the coal that I must have inhaled.
I ran for the washroom and managed to get there before the crowd. It only took me an hour to get clean, though of course some rings of coal dust were left around my eyes which I couldn’t remove till next day.
Just before I finished washing, the exec took a look into the washroom, and seeing the floor covered with about four inches of water, shut off the water. I was finished then, but a large crowd of fellows were left there covered with dirt and without any water. They didn’t get washed till about ten PM.
Last time we coaled, I threw my clothes away, and some of the firemen took them for steaming clothes, but this time I thought I’d save them for coaling again in Gibraltar so I put them on top of my locker. When I got back from the washroom they had disappeared, so I guess another fireman has some more steaming clothes.
I learned yesterday that the crews of colliers are not bluejackets but merchant sailors. The captain and officers are officers from merchant ships and don’t belong to the navy. They wear an “N.A.S.” on their caps, meaning Naval Auxiliary Service. The crews are shipped for three years, but can quit after one year if they wish.
This morning the crew is having a field day, scrubbing and holystoning the decks. I tried holystoning as an experiment. The holystone consists of a rough brick with a small hole in the top. A mop stick fits into the hole, and by means of the stick, the operator moves the holystone back and forth across the deck, which has previously been sanded. By this process, the top of the deck planks is worn clean. Holystoning didn’t seem a hard task to me, but if I had kept it up for a few hours, I guess my back would have felt the effects.
We are going to take an all day excursion to Finse Thursday. Finse, which is about 120 miles from here, has the finest scenery in Norway. It lies where the snow is perpetual. The order about the trip finished up with the following sentence – “As part of the trip will be warm, and the other part cold, midshipmen will dress themselves accordingly.”
I finished up my last roll of films today. They sell Eastman’s films ashore here, as they have in every place that I have seen so far.
There was a rather large passenger steamer, the Otranto, in port yesterday, and today another one, a little smaller, came in.
July 19 I didn’t go ashore on liberty yesterday either. I intended to, but an order was published saying that there would be a ball on board the Iowa in the afternoon. A certain number of first-classmen were detailed to go, and four youngsters were detailed to go in case they were needed, that is, if the supply of ladies at the ball was sufficient. I was one of the four lucky youngsters, and so when the rest of the bunch went on liberty, we stayed aboard.
At four o’clock, the first-classmen shoved off for the Iowa. About twenty minutes later, the Iowa signaled over for the reserves, so our youngsters embarked and shoved off for the Iowa. On the way over, we picked up the Massachusetts party, and then proceeded to the flagship.
The Iowa's quarterdeck was beautifully decorated. An awning was spread from the stern to the top of the twelve-inch turret, and on its underside were fastened flags of all nations. The twelve-inch turret was draped on one side with a large American flag, and on the other by a large Norwegian flag. Various-colored signal flags hung from the awning down the sides by the rail, making the entire quarterdeck an enclosed ball-room. Chairs from the wardroom were placed along the rails.
The deck itself was waxed and polished until it was as slippery as could be desired.
When we came aboard, Commodore Coontz met us at the gangway and said that as it was impossible to introduce us, we shouldn’t let any formalities deter us, but should butt right in on any lady with whom we wished to dance. We took his advice and waltzed away on the next dance.
Almost all of the ladies there could talk English. Some could talk it quite well, but most had a very limited vocabulary. There were three or four American girls present who had come in on the steamers the day before. The wife of Commander Marvell was also present.
The difference in language didn’t inconvenience us very much, but I made one fox (sic) pass (sic), as the Lucky Bag has it. The second girl I danced with talked English quite well, much better than most of the young ladies present, so I thought I’d compliment her upon it, for excepting a decidedly Swedish accent, she could talk almost as well as we. “You speak English quite well,” I said to her. “Oh, yes,” she replied, “I only came from Minnesota two days ago.” I’m afraid that she wasn’t much pleased with the compliment.
The difference in the style of dancing was a greater inconvenience. The waltz is about the only thing that they dance over here, but most of the girls picked up the two-step easily. However, there were some there who couldn’t dance at all with us, and the midshipmen who got them were in hard luck, for they couldn’t get any one else to take them. One youngster had one of these and had to keep her for he couldn’t hand her over to anybody. At the end of his fourth dance with her, he came over and said to me in desperation, “For Heaven’s sake, come over and relieve me!” but I had to refuse.
I got stung that way myself a few times, for, as I was walking along, a first-classman stopped me, said “Allow me to introduce Miss Nordenskold,” and then walked away without another word, leaving the girl with me. The second girl that I got in that manner was a rotten dancer, and so I tried to turn her over to someone else but couldn’t manage it. At the end of the second dance I had enough, so I said, “Pardon me a moment,” and then beat it.
These were exceptional cases, however, for most of the girls danced well, and I had a fine time.
About ten of the army and the naval officers of Norway were present. Their uniforms didn’t look as well as the full dress that our own officers wore, but they were a fairly decent looking bunch. One of them was wearing spurs.
Our own officers seemed to be having a better time than anyone else. Commodore Coontz danced every dance, and it didn’t make any difference to him what sort of a dance it was. I saw him once dancing away between the guns with a Norwegian lady, and evidently she wasn’t getting the step very well, for Coontz was counting aloud in German, “Eins, zwei, drei; eins, zwei, drei,” as they waltzed around the ventilators.
Refreshments were served in the officers’ wardroom and in the captain’s cabin by the messboys. We had chocolate ice-cream, chicken salad, salted almonds, and cakes, of which, unfortunately, I didn’t get very much. The ice-cream was the best I’ve tasted since June 1.
In one of the staterooms, I saw our officers serving out some liquid refreshments to the Norwegian officers, but no midshipmen strayed into that room.
A large number of shore boats filled with people from the town were clustered around the ship, listening to the music which the Iowa’s band, perched in the first top of the skeleton mast, was lining out. About half of the selections must have been Norwegian, for I never heard of such a tempo before, and they were rather difficult to dance to. One of the Norwegian dances went very well with that music. It consisted in walking backwards with your partner in a sort of swinging step, with never a turn.
The piece which made the biggest hit with our visitors was, “My wife’s gone to the country,” which they applauded so much that the band repeated it.
Our dance broke up at eight o’clock. All the steamers from the three ships came over and carried the guests ashore. The four commanding officers lined up and shook hands with them as they went over the side and were taken away.
I devoted the half hour which it took to speed the departing guests, to an examination of the Iowa. She is a much larger ship than the Indiana, having larger decks and more space all around. She also has balanced turrets, while ours are unbalanced. The two Queenstown cups were shown in a glass case.
We finally got back to the Indiana about 8:30. As the lunch which I got on the Iowa didn’t allay my hunger, and as supper had been served on the Indiana two hours before, I asked the officer of the deck, Lt. Treadwell, for permission to go ashore to get something to eat.
“It’s too late to go ashore,” he said. “Tell the steward that I order him to get some supper for you,” so I went below and chased up the steward. The steward collected a meal from the officers’ pantry which was better than the midshipmen usually get, and he also brought forth some coffee and some real cream. It was a swell meal, which I fully appreciated.
I finally turned in an hour after taps.
July 20 I went ashore yesterday and had a much better time than I did when I went before. I first went to the Bergen Museum, a large building with a fine collection of Norwegian records and relics from prehistoric times to the present, and a collection of stuffed animals from all countries which is very large and interesting.
The collection was arranged in chronological order, and as I went through I saw bronze shields and swords, from all over Scandinavia and relics from the various churches. What particularly interested me were the arms and armor. There was a suit of it.
July 21 Armor complete with a helmet, body, arm, and leg armor. I revised my opinion of a knight in armor immediately. I always thought that the armor they wore was about a quarter of an inch thick, but it wasn’t, it was only a thirty-second. One good wallop with a heavy sword ought to crack it anyway. I saw some swords there that were evidently capable of doing it. They were two-handed affairs, about eight feet long, with a heavy double-edged, pointless blade about six feet long, and a hilt with a separate grip for each hand, about two feet long. I believe the man who used them had to swing them around their heads to get up some force, somewhat after the manner of throwing the hammer, before they could do anything. One blow would certainly have cut through the armor.
The chief object of interest in the animal collection was the skeleton of a whale seventy feet long.
From the museum I went to the aquarium. The aquarium itself wasn’t very large, but it had some interesting fishes. Outside was a large artificial pond containing two seals and a sea lion. It was a pleasure to watch the sea lion swimming under water, for although he fairly shot through the water, he rarely used his flippers but only moved his tail gracefully from side to side. Every moment he would come up, take a breath, close his nostrils, and then go down again. A few times he came close to the bank and then stood up on his tail with his head out of water, watching us.
The seals were much smaller, but shaped about the same. They were of a dark yellow color with small brown spots.
From the aquarium, I crossed over to the other side of the town to see Valkendorf Tower and Haakonshalle. Valkendorf Tower dates from the sixteenth century having been built about the same time as Blarney Castle, which it much resembles. I paid 25 ore to get in, and a small boy took me in tow. The circular stone staircase leading to the top was much better preserved than Blarney’s, as was also the rest of the Tower. From the battlements on the top I got a good view of the town. My guide next led me down into the dungeons, reached by a narrow stone stairway. There were two dungeons, one large and one small. The larger one was about twenty feet square with a cylindrical roof and a dirt floor. It was damp and absolutely dark except for the light which we carried. A few rocks on the floor formed the bed. The other dungeon was about the same only much smaller. A thick wooden door with a small square hole, fastened with a rusty bolt, closed the only entrance to each dungeon. A lock about six inches square was used to secure each bolt.
Haakonshalle, or King’s Hall, has been almost entirely restored. Large cement pillars arching so as to form the ceiling, took up most of the space. In the cellar was a dark and dirty stone pit about ten feet square and six deep that was used as a bathtub by the king.
I saw the outside of St. Mary’s church, a structure dating from the 13th century. It looked it. Two small square towers rose up in front, making it look like the old Spanish mission churches in Mexico.
June 5 We got underway this morning. We were roused at 4 AM, and went on deck. A few minutes later, the anchor was hoisted, and at 5 AM, we started out. A fine rain started to fall and the spray and the rain make the decks pretty wet. The Iowa is leading, and we bring up the rear. The ship moves so smoothly thru the water that you wouldn’t know she was moving. The leadsmen are heaving the lead in the chains, to see that we keep in deep water. The atmosphere is foggy, but it is possible to make out the shores of the bay. The speedcones are hoisted clear up. I go on signal duty at eight bells. Somebody took my rainclothes already. That’s a fine start.
8 PM I found my raincoat already. The weather cleared off about noon. The Massachusetts kept changing her position from side to side. About 3 PM, we passed what was left of the Texas after they finished using her as a target. She is sunk in the mud, but all her upper works are visible. The lookout called out at 5 PM “Sail ho.” “Can you make it out?” “Yes, it’s a lighthouse.” About 6 PM, we passed a school of porpoises. It was the first time I ever saw any. They were about six feet long. The porpoises kept jumping out of the water, and some went clear out. It was a beautiful sight. A little later, we struck the groundswell and the ships began to rock gently.
At 7:30 PM, we sighted Cape Henry, and soon left it behind. We are now headed straight out into the Atlantic and land is out of sight. We won’t see it again for fourteen days. I don’t think I’ll get seasick.
We passed several four-masted schooners going up the bay. I go on watch tonight at 12.
June 6 Went on watch at twelve. Bumped my head against the deck when I awoke. After dressing, I went on the bridge. It was fairly light from the moon, but I had a job keeping awake. We saw the lights of a steamer crossing our bows. I practiced signaling for a while. We soon ran into a thick fog, and the ships began tooting their fog horns, for the running lights couldn’t be seen. The searchlights were lit when the fog thinned and we could see those of the ships ahead. I went off watch at four and turned in. Woke up at seven. It is still foggy. I went into one of the eight-inch turrets and a Negro petty officer explained some of the parts to me.
June 9 I was so seasick for two days that I couldn’t do a thing but lay on the deck. Vomited frequently and didn’t eat a thing from Tuesday noon till Thursday night. I can understand all the seasick jokes now. At the present time, I have recovered and now feel all right. I made up at noon today what I’ve missed in the grub line. The food is still fine.
The Massachusetts had some trouble with her anchors last night and dropped so far astern we could barely see her truck light. She came back to position today. We had signal drills today and beat the Massy. About ten o’clock this morning, we sighted an ocean liner coming up astern. She traveled much faster than we and soon caught up. She was the Majestic, from Boston to England, of the White Star Line. She passed pretty close to us and I got a good view of her. She is the first vessel I’ve seen since we cleared the capes. The time seems to pass very fast.
At present we are east of Newfoundland. The weather is generally cloudy. It rained a little today. We had to write up an eight-inch turret today.
Quite a bunch of the fellows, together with some of the sailors, are still seasick.
I took a salt water shower this morning. The water was certainly salty.
7 PM. We struck heavier weather in the afternoon and all the ships pitched a good deal. The Massachusettswas pitching heavily, and looked fine as she did so. Her stern nearly came clear out of the water sometimes. A few large waves broke over our forecastle and the first one soaked four seamen before they could get away. I was on duty on the bridge at 6 PM, and the rolling made me seasick. Another midshipman was keeping the bucket occupied, so I had to vomit on the bridge. So many fellows got seasick up there that the officer of the deck said “Bos’n’s mate, provide two buckets for use on the bridge.” I go on duty at 4 AM tomorrow.
We had to write a description of an ammunition hoist today.
June 10 I stood the graveyard watch from 12 to 4 AM this morning. The sky was mostly clear, and it was rather light all the time. This morning it was pretty cold and windy. We passed a steamer bound for New York at noon. She wasn’t very large, and didn’t come closer than a couple of miles. She had only one stack. About five o’clock this afternoon the Iowa suddenly sheered way off to port as if her helmsman had lost control and started off at right angles across the column. The Massachusetts veered off to keep from ramming her. They got her back on her course in a few minutes.
Everybody who carries anything around here always goes in a terrible hurry, although the passages are narrow. Two mokes will grab a pan of hot water, and yell “Coming through!,” and then go shooting down the deck like a cyclone.
I find it less trouble to turn out at twelve AM, or four AM, to go on watch, than I ever did to turn out at reveille at 6:30 back at the academy. We have been at sea for one week now, but it doesn’t seem so long. The sea is still rough, but the pitching of the ship doesn’t affect me in the least any more.
I’ve learned to signal by four different methods now: - the International flag system, the Ardois, the semaphore, and the wig-wag. We signal with the other ships every day.
The weather is always cool out here. It seems more like autumn than summer. We wear sweaters almost all the time.
June 11 We sighted a passenger steamer, the George Washington, bound for Europe, at 4:30 AM. She was a large boat, and looked pretty fine. About 7 AM, we sighted an oil-tank steamer bound for New York. She belonged to Standard Oil. She was a long, low boat with one funnel aft.
We all attended church services this morning on the gundeck. The chaplain is a young fellow and I guess this is the first ship he’s had.
We had a chicken dinner today, which was a darn sight better than many Sunday dinners we had back at the academy. The food on this ship is certainly a surprise. Most of the fellows who took last year’s cruise on some of the other ships can’t account for it. I guess they think we ought to give the commissary a medal.
It rained hard for a while this afternoon. During the rain, I stood my first lookout in the crowsnest, perched at the head of the forward mast, away above everything. The ship certainly looks queer from that position. While on the lookout, I sighted an iceberg and reported it. The column veered to port, so as not to come too close, and we passed about a mile from it. It was a beautiful light blue, with a rugged front face. It looked like a large pillow resting in the water, for the top and sides had been smoothed by melting. The iceberg was about one hundred yards square and perhaps fifty feet high.
June 12 We had a moving picture show last night on the superstructure deck. The chaplain ran it, and it was quite a success. He ran off three reels of film, mostly scenes in foreign cities. A large part of the crew attended. An orchestra of one banjo and one guitar furnished the music. It rained hard during the performance, but an awning was spread over us. Most of the audience had to sit on the deck. The sailors kept the crowd amused by their jokes on the pictures. In one picture of New York, two sailors appeared, and one in the crowd yelled “Hey, liberty is up at eight in the morning!” I think it takes a sailor to appreciate the joke, however.
It was very cold this morning.
We had a drill this morning in loading and aiming one of the eight-inch guns. The gun-crew had seven men in it. I was sight-setter. These drills are very interesting, even though we don’t actually fire the guns. Our division officer, Lt. Treadwell, is a swell fellow all around.
I was out on the gallery by the side of one of the turrets watching the waves. The wind is blowing hard now, and it is rather cold now, for we are steadily going northward, but the coldness gives one a lively feeling. The waves are higher than any we’ve encountered yet, but I’m a regular old salt now. No more seasickness for me. Many of the waves washed way up on the decks and the spray wet everything. These waves are very beautiful to watch. Some are a dark gray, all wrinkled up and look like an elephant’s skin, but most of them, especially along the crests where the sun shines thru, have beautiful colors, fine light greens and blues mixed up with white foam which makes them look like turquoise. The whole face of the sea is covered with white caps.
I stood the life-buoy watch from 8 to 10 PM. This is a watch kept on each side of the ship by a large life-buoy in order to release it when anyone falls overboard. The life-buoy is not made of cork, but is a large hollow metal ring with an attachment consisting of a torch which lights up as soon as it hits the water and burns for hours.
I stood the watch on a gallery of the superstructure deck. The wind was almost behind us, but as I was on the weather side of the ship, I got the benefit of its force. The waves rose high and all of them washed the deck. One big one rose clear up to the gallery, and though I tried to back away, it caught me and soaked me thru. My shoes filled up with water which squashed every step I took.
June 13 The waves were still high this morning. One big one swept across our bow so that we could only see the top of the Iowa’s military mast over it. If this wind keeps up, we ought to get to Queenstown (Ed: Queenstown is now known as Cobh) a day ahead of schedule, for it is right behind us and adds a couple of knots to our speed.
I hiked out on the forecastle to try to get a picture of the Iowa with the waves over her. I just about froze, and missed getting soaked a couple of times, but the waves refused to do it again, and while I was still waiting, the Officer of the Deck sung out from the bridge for me to get off the forecastle, so I didn’t get the picture. Two or three fellows got seasick again today, but not I. The ships did some heavy rolling today. Sometimes we could almost see the Massy’s keel, and the next minute, we could look down her smokestacks.
June 14 It was raining this morning. I stood watch from two to four AM, on the annunciator. It was very cold and I wore a sweater, a reefer, and a raincoat. I spent the two hours from twelve to two when I wasn’t on the bridge, sleeping on the lee side of the after smokestack. It was quite warm there. We didn’t have any drill this morning.
I acted as aide to Lt. Treadwell today when he made a big inspection of the crew’s clothing. A bunch of them hit the pap.
This afternoon, we sighted some smokestacks dead ahead. The ship came on fast, and we soon made her out to be a British cruiser. We hoisted our colors and they hoisted their’s.
She was a fast boat, but I don’t believe that she was much larger than some of our destroyers. She had a six-inch gun mounted on her bow.
The ship was painted black, and as she started to pass our beam, she made a fine picture. I trained my camera on her, but the thing was empty and I had to stop to put in a new roll. In my hurry, I put the cover back on wrong and as I couldn’t distinguish the film numbers, I couldn’t get a picture.
The chief carpenter had a large blue print of the Indiana, a section on the fore and aft line, on the deck today and was explaining it to us. The drawing showed the forward magazine, and the carpenter was explaining that the paints were kept far forward, away from the magazine, as they might cause a fire. One of the youngsters, Howe, said, “Well here’s a magazine aft, too.” “Yes,” said the carpenter, “they have one aft.” “Well,” asked the youngster, “where would be a safe place to go in case of fire?” “Overboard,” the carpenter told him.
We’re learning quite a bit about the different parts of the ship now.
June 15 That British cruiser yesterday signaled to us by semaphore while she was passing, “The captain of his majesty’s ship, the Cornwall, wishes the squadron a pleasant cruise.”
Today we had a field day, but not the kind they have at Boulder (Ed: Ellsberg spent a year at the University of Colorado in Boulder). We broke out all our dirty clothes. And with a pail, a bar of salt water soap, and a ki-yi, which is a small scrubbing brush, we all scrubbed clothes. The forecastle was covered with soapsuds and clothes all day. I scrubbed six suits of works besides some underwear and other things.
One of the youngsters on the bridge today astonished the whole crew by striking nine bells, a thing as unusual as a clock striking thirteen. The Officer of the Deck said that it was the first time in his life that he had ever seen it happen.
Last week when most of us were seasick, one youngster was rolling on the deck as sick as any of us. Somebody asked him, “Howe, are you seasick?” “Oh, no,” replied Howe, “my stomach is a little out of order, that’s all.” We get all night in tonight.
June 16 We are steaming right along, and at our present gait, we should strike Queenstown Sunday noon. We are to take a trip to Killarny from there.
We passed a three-masted sailing vessel this morning, the first sailing ship we’ve seen since we left.
Quite a number of fellows have hit the pap lately for having articles in the Lucky Bag. Whenever anybody leaves anything lying around the decks, the master-at-arms, called the jimmy-legs, grabs it and sticks it in the Luck Bag, and if you want it back, you have to hit the pap.
My washing dried out fairly well, and cleaner than I expected, but some of it that was hung in the starboard gallery to dry, got pretty well covered with soot from the stacks, which didn’t help it any.
The deck watch had drill with the searchlights last night, but I didn’t see it.
June 17 We are only 250 miles from Queenstown now. I guess that’s the reason we sighted five ships today, a ship, two brigs, a schooner, and a tramp.
Everybody on board is writing letters today. I guess the mail orderly will have a heavy load when he goes ashore.
We had a bit of excitement this afternoon. A bunch of life preservers placed on a rack forward of the forward stack caught fire in some way and made a merry blaze.
The cooks were peeling onions near us, and the odor of them was so strong that for a while we couldn’t smell the smoke. When we finally saw the fire, some sailors and I started to pull down the preservers, to get at the fire, but before we got very far, the bugle sounded fire quarters and the bells began to ring. A minute later they turned on the water and finished the fire in no time. No serious damage was done. I got a piece of one of the burned preservers.
We haven’t learned yet whether Howe thought it necessary to jump overboard to find a place of safety.
The paymaster paid us our liberty money for Queenstown today. I drew down one large ten dollar gold piece.
The sea is smoother today than any day since we’ve left the bay. The ships hardly roll at all.
One of the things which seems strange to a landsman is the ease of going to sleep onboard. I don’t believe I could do it on land, but here I find no difficulty in lying down on the deck, with no mattress or blanket and going to sleep on the soft side of a hard plank. Last night, I should have gone below from the deck watch at midnight to turn in in my hammock, but I was sleeping so soundly on the deck, that if some water hadn’t finally dripped thru the awning on my face (for it was raining) at one o’clock in the morning and waked me up, I would have slept all night there. And yet there was no covering of any sort, just an exposed deck with only an awning above.
The boats are being got ready for port, both the steamers and all the small boats have been given a fresh coat of the slate-colored paint with which everything on board is covered, for battleships are no longer painted white.
I passed a pleasant hour last night on the starboard life-buoy watch, listening to three chief petty officers relate a few of their adventures afloat and ashore. They had a large number of stories.
June 18 I had the lookout from 12 to 2 last night. The weather was as calm as the night we started and it looked about the same. The navigator had it doped out that about two AM we ought to sight a lighthouse on Cape Clear, the southern point of Ireland, so we were all on the lookout for it. About two o’clock we saw the light, but it turned out to be a steamer, and I went off the lookout before land was sighted. They finally located it about three AM. Meanwhile as they couldn’t get the light, they had to run on soundings so from two to four AM I was on the sounding machine.
This machine invented by Sir William Thompson is used to take soundings in deep water. It consists of a glass tube, closed at the upper end and coated inside with silver chloride. When the glass is sunk by a weight, the pressure causes the water to rise in the tube, and the contact with the water changes the silver chloride, leaving a line on the inside of the tube to show how high the water rose. The tube is then placed on a scale to read the depth.
Well we had to let go of 1200 feet of wire before we got bottom, and then we had to reel it in again which was not a cinch. I helped to take four soundings.
I slept just four and one half hours last night. The chaplain had a moving picture show on the quarterdeck till ten o’clock. He had some pretty good moving pictures, and ran off three reels. Then I had to turn out at twelve to go on watch. I got back in my hammock at half past four and then had to get up at seven, making four and a half hours for the night. But I get all night in every night this week.
The night wasn’t very long last night. It was light until nine o’clock PM, and then at about two-thirty AM, it was light enough to be day again.
At about three AM we could see land off the port bow. It rose straight up from the water, consisting of cliffs about a hundred feet high. At five o’clock we were sailing in close to shore, headed for Queenstown. We passed some large houses with towers which looked like old castles. We passed about four liners in close succession.
The land didn’t appear green at all where we first sighted it, and there were no trees, but as we went north, the landscape began to look better. We took on a pilot, that is, the Iowa did, and kept on going. Soon the land began to look like a checkerboard, and after passing Daunt light-ship, we turned sharply to port and steered straight for a cleft in the cliffs. The channel passed close to the starboard shore, and we started to enter the harbor between two forts, one on each side of the narrow channel. The forts weren’t large buildings, but consisted of embrasures built into the face of the rocks. As we passed the forts they began to fire a salute of twenty-one guns, and when they had finished, the Iowa hoisted a British flag on the fore and returned it. A British cruiser in the harbor also saluted us.
Led by the Iowa, we entered the harbor. Our course took us past some tramp steamers, the collier Vulcanfrom which we are to coal, some fine square-rigged ships, and four old dismasted ships now used as coal scows, right up to a fine anchorage in front of the town, about three hundred yards from shore. From our anchorage, it seems as if we were in a lake, for the harbor is entirely landlocked. The town of Queenstown rises up directly opposite us, on the side of a steep hill sloping down to the water. The part we can see of it doesn’t look very large, but they say the greater part of the town is over the ridge. There is a large number of trees in the town, and the houses are well scattered. We can read the names of the hotels from the ships. The railroad station is close by the landing. It only takes twenty minutes by train to get to Cork, which is a large city. I’m going to go there.
On the other side of us, is a large dock with a cruiser in it. There is a large number of government buildings there. A number of small torpedo boats is anchored nearby.
All afternoon, shore boats have been surrounding us, but no bumboatmen have been allowed to come on board. I got some London papers from a newsboy in a boat, but they didn’t impress me favorably.
A bunch of little Irishmen, kids of about ten years, came out in a boat and stopped alongside the forecastle. The sailors and midshipmen gathered at the rail and had a lot of fun talking to them. They didn’t talk the way Irishmen in vaudeville do, but it was a great deal queerer. They had a strange sounding English, rolling their r’s and talking quickly. That was a rather wise bunch of kids, for most of the jokes the fellows tried to work off on them were returned with interest. The kids were all Irish looking, - freckle-faced but intelligent. All the men who came out in boats to look at us looked like idiots or bums.
A number of British soldiers, in their queer hats, looking like a soft hat, creased in the middle, with the brim cut off, also came out. Some boats with English bluejackets also passed.
No one went ashore today but some officers and chief petty officers. I get liberty tomorrow.
There was quite a large number of small steamers in the harbor. They were small side-wheelers, and were certainly as wide from wheel to wheel as they were long. The Flying Fish and the Flying Fox lay at the same wharf, while the America and the Ireland were end to end. Just back of them was the O’Driscoll Hotel. These steamers were certainly Irish, for their upper works were painted dark green and their hulls light green.
All the houses in Queenstown seem to be pretty well made of brick, but coming into the harbor, we passed a number of typical Irish shanties with thatched roofs.
It started to rain a bit after we anchored.
June 20 We had our first liberty yesterday, and I guess it takes a sailor on liberty to make a splurge. I could write this whole book full of our first liberty.
At ten o’clock, the liberty party consisting of three-fourths of the midshipmen and half the bluejackets laid aft on the quarterdeck, and after being mustered, we embarked in two sailing launches and were towed by the steamer to the naval pier where we disembarked. Immediately we all hiked across the street to the Bank of Ireland to get our money changed. They gave a pound for a five dollar gold piece, which was decidedly profitable for them. Then I started to walk around the town, but quit and took a jaunting car instead. It was a fine car with good springs, so the ride was comfortable in spite of the roads. After going down the main street, we ascended a steep hill and stopped in front of the cathedral. They have a large and beautiful cathedral here, but I can’t say that I like cathedrals. We then passed a lot of broken down houses, almost ruins but still inhabited and went out into the suburbs. The country there was beautiful with fine hedges and trees and large houses. We passed many very old women, for Ireland, they say, is a country of old women and young children.
Coming back, we stopped on a high embankment over the harbor and got a fine view of the harbor and our ships. Near the entrance of the harbor lay the sunken Ivernia, with only her red stack showing. She passed too near to Daunt Rock a few weeks ago and a hidden reef tore her bottom out. They managed to get her here before she sank. They are trying to salve her now.
We passed down the road and entered the town again. Here I left the car and met a Grand Army man with his badge and buttons. After entertaining me with his history, I was touched for two shillings.
I got some fine strawberries, cake, and chocolate in the town, but I couldn’t recommend the hotel where I ate dinner.
This was about all of Queenstown, so I took the train for Cork, about twenty miles inland. The river Lee, navigable for large steamers, joins Cork to Queenstown. Cork is a large town of about forty thousand people.
On the way up, we passed many sailing ships anchored along the shores. We passed Blackrock Castle and some other castle also. I guess their builders must have been only small barons for the castles, while having towers and turrets, were no larger than a ten room house. Both were built right at the water’s edge.
Travelers in Europe go in three classes, first, second, and third. A native never rides first. I bought a third-class ticket, costing one shilling for the round trip. The trains, of course, are divided into compartments, entered at the sides. I guess one Pennsylvania Pullman would outweigh our whole train.
In the same car, they have first, second and third class compartments. In the first class compartments, the cushions reach the ceiling; in the second class compartments, they are fairly high; and in the third class compartments, they have ordinary plush cushions like the forward end of a street car. Otherwise the compartments are alike, except that each has painted on its door, its class. The first class fare is just twice the third class.
The first thing I saw in Cork was a streetcar, called a tram. It had seats on top, but was only half as long as an American car. The fare was one penny and I took a ride on the top side thru Cork.
American sailors were everywhere, but especially in the jaunting cars. They were all having a swell time to judge by their faces. The real hit of the day were the negro sailors. I guess they rarely see a negro in Ireland, for a crowd of about fifty kids were following one about. About ten others were touring the town in a crowd on bicycles. I guess the saloons did a good business but I didn’t see any sailors drunk. I rode on the car alongside of an Irish petty officer in the English navy, and had a great time hearing him talk. They talk so queer, it’s hard to get what they say, the first time. We met a herd of sheep going thru the street, baaing and herded by three Irishmen with sticks. In another place, we met a bunch of hogs. In the center of the town was a monument erected to the Irish rebels who died in the various rebellions. It’s a wonder the English allowed the thing to be erected, for it contains an inscription asking their children to follow their example.
We crossed the river Lee. It had only six feet of water, for the tide was out. On the other side, we started thru the residence section. All the large houses were situated in small parks, each one having some name.
The Irish women wear large hats, for several had quite a job squeezing theirs thru the car door, or up the stairway.
I walked back with two other midshipmen. A crowd of small boys followed us, begging us for “apenny,” one cent in English money. Hart threw them one every once in a while.
There were bunches of shops along the street. We dropped in at one place to look at some caps, and then I felt like kicking myself. Just before I left Crabtown, I bought a cap for $1.50. Here they had some for two and six (two shillings sixpence or 60 cents) that were twice as good. Many fellows bought them. Some other fellows took chances on Irish lace, paying five and six dollars for small pieces. That’s one thing I know nothing about.
Every once in a while, we’d drop into some place and get some strawberries and cake. In one place they had ice cream, something rarely seen in Europe. I got some for sixpence, a dark brown mixture which tasted pretty good, but they didn’t give very much of it. Nothing in the food line but cake is cheap over here.
Many of our officers went to Cork, but they didn’t wear their uniforms. One of our Dago instructors, Arturo Fernandez, got permission from the Navy Department to take the cruise with us. He was at Cork also, with the front of his cap sticking up, and looking as hard as nails.
I can’t say much for the Irish women. We saw large numbers of them in the streets, but you would have to stretch your imagination to call them beautiful. Most of them had red cheeks, but it was a queer sort of redness. It looked as if they had been drinking, and the redness had gone to their cheeks instead of to their noses.
The men were worth seeing though. I saw some of them with knee-breeches, and heavy woolen stockings, shoes that weighed about a ton and had no shape, and faces that were the limit.
You see all sorts of whiskers here. I’ve seen some very perfect specimens of paint-brush whiskers, and I don’t believe that any cartoon could ever caricature the Irishmen you meet in Cork and Queenstown.
The British soldiers are the goods, though. Most of them are pretty good looking young fellows, though their uniforms are queer. You see a soldier, a corporal or sergeant, going around, walking very stiffly, with a little box hat, secured by a chin strap, a monocle, a tight fitting red coat with gold lace chevrons, and plaid trousers. To complete the picture, most of them carry a little swagger stick, held under their arm.
The Irish cops are large men, with dark green uniforms and large, flat caps. They were very polite and were all anxious to show us anything.
There are no large buildings in Cork. The highest could not have been more than six stories.
I left Cork at seven PM and took the train back to Queenstown. The door of our compartment was locked, so we crawled in thru the window.
When we got to Queenstown, we saw our skippers in their dress uniforms landing. I suppose they were going to some entertainment here for them, for there is a British rear-admiral on this station.
One of the things we noticed here were the Irish names. In one block, there were three saloons with Murphy over the door, though I don’t know whether it was the same Murphy.
Near the seawall there was a small amusement park, with a merry-go-round, a shooting gallery, and a roulette wheel. I invested tuppence in the merry-go-round, and then watched them whirl the wheel. A lot of sailors and British soldiers were playing it. No bets were higher than a penny. The house seemed to be losing pretty steadily, it appeared to me. Then I went to the shooting gallery. One youngster, “Tex” Vaughn from Texas was making the Irish stick out their eyes, watching him shoot at little bottles and flying balls. He rarely missed, and made some fancy shots, with his rifle upside down, with one hand, and from his left shoulder. I shot some myself and broke more bottles than I missed. I spent every last penny that I’d brought ashore in this gallery, spending about a shilling and a half, the shots being a penny apiece. I spent three and a half dollars ashore today, and at this rate my ten dollars won’t last me for this week. All I have to show for it is about six postcards. After going broke there, I went down to the pier and caught the last boat for the ship at nine o’clock. Everybody was happy, and when we got back to the ship, it was an hour before we quieted down enough to get to sleep. We had as much liberty in one day yesterday, as the fellows last year got in three. I was quite well stuffed from all the things I had eaten during the day.
When we got back, the mail was waiting for us. I received two letters. The record for one man was five.
This cruise is certainly being well managed.
I didn’t go on liberty today for we have to stay on board one day in four to stand watch, man the boats, etc. The midshipmen are divided into four sections, and three go on liberty while the fourth stays aboard. Today is our day to remain on the ship.
So far the only thing I’ve had to do yet today was to pull bow oar in the running boat for the one trip which it made today.
We rowed to the Massachusetts and the Iowa and brought them some letters which had been misdirected. The Massachusetts is coaling today from the Vulcan, and everything on her is dirty.
The bugler has been busy all day blowing calls for the steamers, the side-boys, and special details. We fired a salute this morning when the consul boarded us. Later in the after, they lined four side-boys up at the rails, while an English officer, a captain, came on board. Our officers must be having a great time entertaining.
Some of the bluejackets have obtained leaves of absence for three and four days and hiked for different parts of Ireland to see relatives who live here.
One man I knew left this morning for Limerick on three days’ leave with a large package of tobacco for an uncle of his, he said.
I am rather glad I can’t go ashore today, for it gives me an opportunity to rest up from yesterday and prepare for tomorrow.
They are rather wrought up over here about the coronation, which occurs in two days. I don’t know just how the Irish feel about it. In this part of Ireland they seem to be loyal; yet from some articles in the papers which I read, all of Ireland isn’t satisfied.
The Irish here seem to think that we call ourselves Yankees. One Irish kid said to Hans, who is German, “Be you a Yank?” and in Queenstown, one old woman said to me as I passed, “Long live the Yankee nation!” for which I thanked her.
June 22 Yesterday morning, we rose at about five and had an early breakfast before going to Killarney. At 6:30, all the midshipmen embarked in two launches and were towed by the steamer to the landing, where we met half of the Massachusetts bunch.
We had a special train and we all rode first class. Commander Coontz, the squadron commander, Commander Nulton, our skipper, and Commander Marvell, the skipper of the Massy, accompanied by his wife, were in charge of the party.
Killarney lies in the western part of Ireland, about sixty miles from Queenstown, so we had to cross all the southern part of Ireland. We stopped only at Cork and one or two other places, so we made good time, considering the sort of engine we had hitched onto us. The trip took about two and a half hours.
We passed through typical Irish scenery on the way. We saw plenty of whitewashed sod cottages with thatched roofs, and hundreds of stone cottages, now uninhabited, with the roof fallen in. We must have passed the ruins of at least ten castles, and two or three abbeys.
The country was hilly all around, and very well cultivated. Everywhere were little patches of farms, about ten acres in size, surrounded by hedges. Stone walls were also plentiful, and ran everywhere. Every road had stone walls, old and moss-covered, on each side. The roads themselves were remarkable. They were probably only thirty feet wide, but every road seemed to be made of crushed stone, hard and smooth. We passed many two-wheeled donkey carts, loaded with garden truck being driven along by old women.
Another noticeable feature was the peat bogs, which don’t look like bogs at all but simply like ordinary fields, covered with grass. In places, however, where the grass was cut away, a dark black earth was exposed, and in hundreds of fields we could see blocks of this peat cut out and laid in rows to dry. The levels of many of the fields have been lowered by five or six feet by this process of cutting off the top.
We arrived at Killarney at about ten-thirty and we were immediately taken in charge by a bunch of Cook’s Tour agents who steered us to the Glebe Hotel where we had a light lunch before going to the lakes. About eleven o’clock coaches began to arrive, and we left in groups of eleven for the lakes.
We all rode on the tops of the coaches, and while we had no horns, we looked like a regular old English coaching party (perhaps). We passed thru the town and out into the country, and soon began to get into the mountains. We passed by many large estates, which were really beautiful, owned mostly by some lord or other. We finally came to the mountains and started along the road winding along the side of the lakes. The mountains here appear very high and steep, though they are all green, being covered with moss. The trees growing by the road had moss on them a few inches thick. There was a large number of holly trees in the forests. Our driver, Patrick Foley, was as Irish as they make them, and helped along by relating stories. We reached the head of the lakes at one o’clock and disembarked. We had to wait here for an hour, and it rained heavily part of the time. However, there was plenty of shelter under the trees.
At the end of this time, boats containing half of our crowd began to arrive, for we made the trip up in the coaches, while the Massy bunch and part of ours, came up the lakes in boats. We now took the boats and they took the coaches and we started back again.
The trip back was better than the one going up, for now we had a better view of the lakes and the scenery. I came down in the same boat with Commander Coontz and the other officers. We had four oarsmen in the boat, all Irish, to pull us back, while Commander Coontz steered. It seemed quite strange to see the admiral of our fleet steering a little rowboat down the lakes.
There are three lakes. The mountains rise from their shores, which are very rocky. We often scraped the rocks in going thru, and twice we had to get out to let the boat go down some rapids. We passed many little islands rising from the waters, all green and rugged.
The water of the lakes has a peculiar color, something between a dark brown and a black. It is very cold, and evidently pure, for the rowers often dipped a glass into it and drank the water from the lake. One of them evidently thought an apology was necessary when he took his first drink for he said, “It’s a little weak.” Possibly he expected Coontz to dig out a bottle of whisky.
We stopped at one cottage and one of the fellows got out and bought some crackers and cheese, which all of us, including Mrs. Marvell, ate.
Every once in a while, the stroke oarsman, a typical Irishman, gave us some information on the things we passed, for all this country has a history. He showed us one little island, which had nothing on it but moss.“That island,” he said, “was used by Cromwell to keep prisoners of war on. They got very little bread but plenty of water.”
After traveling fourteen miles down the lakes, we came to our destination, Ross Castle. When close to it, one midshipman lost his cap overboard, so Coontz gave the order, “Back water!” and fished it out with a boat-hook just before it sank.
We came up to the landing and disembarked. The stroke oar asked us not to forget the sailors, so we passed the hat for them and collected about eight shillings, which we gave him. They deserved it, for it takes a man who has pulled a cutter himself to appreciate the hard work in a fourteen mile pull.
Ross Castle was the largest castle we saw. It is now an ivy-covered ruin. The guide said it was the last Irish castle to fall in Cromwell’s time.
The carriages were waiting for us here, and hustled us to the hotel where we had dinner at five. After dinner, we had about an hour left before the train left, so I strolled around the town.
Killarney isn’t especially beautiful. The streets are narrow and crooked, and most of the houses are rotten. A bunch of men tried to sell us things, but shillalahs found the only sale.
I met a young Irishman who had heard of America and possibly thought he knew a great deal about it. He asked me whether I didn’t come from West Point. Fawncy coming all the way to Ireland to be asked a question like that! However, he asked me to go and have a drink with him, an invitation which I was obliged to decline.
At six-thirty, we took the train back to Queenstown in a heavy rain. In the depot when we disembarked, we gave Coontz a four N yell, for everyone had a fine time.
We got back to the ship about nine-thirty. No one had a chance to spend much on this excursion, for the entire cost of the trip, railway fare, coaches, boats, meals, etc., was included in the four dollars which were deducted from our accounts to pay the costs. It was well worth it.
When I got back to the ship, I found four letters, and a check for twenty-five dollars from the Naval Institute, waiting for me.
Today is Coronation Day, and I get all day liberty.
June 23 Yesterday at 12:30, I went to Cork. I walked around in the rain there for a while, and finally at four o’clock, I took a train from there to Blarney Castle, to kiss the Blarney Stone. It rained all the way but stopped just before we disembarked at four forty-five PM. I bought an entrance ticket to the park and the castle, which cost three pence. When I got to the entrance gate, as I handed my ticket to the gatekeeper, I asked him when the next train for Cork left. He said it left at seven o’clock. Well, I nearly fell over, for the last train which I could take from Cork to Queenstown in order to get back at nine o’clock PM to the ship, left Cork at seven PM, and it takes forty-five minutes to get to Cork from Blarney. The penalty for returning late from liberty is the loss of one day’s leave for each hour’s absence after the expiration of liberty, that is, after nine PM, and the loss of all further liberty and about seventy-five demerits. I hiked back to the railroad station, and found that the train I came on wouldn’t return for fifteen minutes yet, so I had that much time to see Blarney Castle. The castle was only about a quarter of a mile from the station, so I decided to take a chance. I sprinted to the castle, around to the front entrance and started to climb the stone stairs inside which lead to the top of the tower. These are narrow stone steps, built as a circular staircase. The stones are all out of plumb and well worn.
I beat it up those steps, passing a lot of people on the way. The interior of the tower was dark, save where a loophole thru the wall let in a little light. From what I could see of the castle as I ascended, it wasn’t a very comfortable place to live in.
At last I reached the top and went out on a narrow platform built on the inside just below the embrasures. The Blarney Stone was built into the outside wall on the other side of the tower. To reach it, one must lie flat on his back, and then while someone hangs onto his legs, he slides straight out so that only the part of his legs below the knees rest on anything. When he gets out far enough, he can look down and see the rocks way below him. The Blarney Stone is just above, and he reaches up his head and kisses it.
I had expected that there would be some guides or persons stationed there to hang on, but the only person there when I arrived at the top was a young Englishman. He didn’t want to hold me, but when I hurriedly explained the circumstances to him, he was willing. I took off my coat and while he hung on, I slid out and kissed the stone. I didn’t have time to take a look at the scenery from that position, so he pulled me in again and I grabbed my coat and started for the bottom. When I reached it, I ran along the road to the train, but after running a few hundred yards, I ran up against a barb-wire fence, so I knew I had the wrong road. Well, I thought it was all up with me and the train, but I turned around and ran back to the castle and got started out on the right road. I was nearly dead from running then, but I kept it up, and as I neared the station, I could hear the engine puffing, though I couldn’t see the train. I sprinted, and got to the train about fifteen seconds before it pulled out. I didn’t recover my breath until we reached Cork.
I think I made a new record for the Blarney Stone. To paraphrase Julius Caesar, I came, I kissed, I caught the train, - all in fifteen minutes.
Just before I left Cork for Blarney, I stopped in Shandon Cathedral for a few minutes. They were holding services there on account of the coronation. The music was very beautiful. Just after I left, the Bells of Shandon commenced to ring. You probably have heard the poem about the
"Bells of Shandon
Which sound so grand on
The pleasant waters
Of the River Lee"
The bells sounded sweet enough, though I couldn’t make out what tune they played.
After returning from Blarney, I took a jaunting car to the Imperial Hotel of Cork, the best hotel in the city. I ate dinner there at six. It was a fine dinner undoubtedly, with about six courses, but the price was also undoubtedly fine, for they handed me a bill for eight and six, which is $2.15. I don’t believe I’ll dine there any more.
After dinner, I caught the seven o’clock train for Queenstown. I came down in the same compartment with eight members of the band of a Lancashire regiment, who were to play that night on the waterfront at Queenstown in honor of the coronation. They were all English, with a poor opinion of Ireland.
In Queenstown, I heard the band play. It was a pretty good band. They played a number of American pieces, - Dixie, The Star Spangled Banner and others.
At nine o’clock I returned to the ship. The ships, and ours especially were covered with electric lights. At nine-thirty they were lit, and I believe that this illumination was the most beautiful part of Queenstown’s coronation celebration. British and American flags were hoisted on the masts, and the searchlights played upon them. I could see the other ships, which looked fine, but I’m sorry that I couldn’t get a view of our own ship from the shore. Strings of lights were placed along the waterline, along the deck, up and down the masts, and along the yardarms, while we had six searchlights working on the flags. I got to sleep about half past ten.
June 24 Yesterday, we turned out at four o’clock in answer to the call, “All hands coal ship!” I dressed in an old white dress service jacket and a pair of old white trousers, without underwear, put on an old white hat, and jumped into the forward coal bunker of the Vulcan. At first I only held the coal bags while the others shoveled. Clouds of coal dust were soon rolling up, and before long we were all as black as negroes. The dust was choking, so I tied a handkerchief over my nose. After a while I shoveled coal myself. We knocked off at seven for breakfast. I had to wash a place around my mouth in order to eat. After that, I went back to the coal and shoveled until ten, when we had some sandwiches and coffee. From ten to twelve, I worked on the deck, hauling bags of coal around on trucks. We had a fine dinner, and then worked all the rest of the afternoon to finish coaling the ship. We got thru at five o’clock. By that time, coal dust was about two inches thick on the decks, and we were all tired.
It took me fully three hours to get clean again, washing myself steadily. The clothes weren’t worth anything, and I threw them away. I couldn’t throw away my shoes, so I paid a moke a quarter to clean them up again.
Coaling ship is an interesting operation. You take a large canvas bag, holding half a ton, and two men hold it out while others shovel coal into it. All this takes place in the coal bunkers of the collier. When the bag is full, a second bag is placed alongside of it, and that one is also filled, then a hook is fastened to the top of the bags and a man on deck hoists them out with a derrick. As the bags go up, they swing around as if they were going to drop down on us again. When the bags clear the deck, they are swung across to the battleship and dropped on her deck. Half the bags are emptied into coal chutes on the port side, where the collier is, and the other half are hauled on trucks to the starboard side and emptied there.
An accident occurred in the forward bunker about two hours after we started coaling. They were hauling four bags of coal up at once, a weight of two tons, when the drum in the derrick slipped and the bags swung back into the bunker again. As they swung across, they caught a youngster named Balsley, and lifting him clear off his feet, slammed him against the side of the bunker about ten feet away, where his head struck against a projecting bracket. His limbs shook for a minute and then he dropped.
We suspended operations for about half an hour while the surgeon removed him from the bunker.
The doctor says that it’s a wonder he wasn’t more seriously injured. He says that Balsley has only a slight concussion of the brain and no fracture. They expect him to recover in about a week.
The sailors cleaned up the ship after coaling. Now everything is painted and I can’t sit down anywhere, for everything is covered with fresh paint.
June 25 I got liberty again yesterday morning and went to Cork. I soon discovered that the cathedral which I thought was Shandon, in which I entered a few days ago, wasn’t Shandon Cathedral but St. Finbarr’s, so I set out to hear the real Shandon Bells. I reached another church which seemed to be Shandon, so I climbed up its circular stairs and finally reached the top. Unfortunately, the bell-ringer wasn’t there, so I couldn’t hear the bells. I descended again with the sexton, and long before I reached the bottom, it seemed to me that I was standing still and those circular stairs were revolving under my feet. When I reached the bottom I handed the sexton three pence for his trouble and after thanking me, he said, “You really ought to see Shandon Cathedral. It’s the one over there,” and he pointed out another church about a block away. By this time, I was determined to hear those Shandon Bells or die, so I hiked over to the other cathedral. This time I struck it right, for this one was really Shandon Cathedral. I was rather tired from climbing up the tower of the other church, but nevertheless I climbed up this tower and saw the real Shandon Bells. The bell-ringer was there, and he played Annie Laurie for me. The chimes sounded pretty good. After descending I registered in the book they keep there, and then departed.
I wandered around Cork for a while, and ate dinner at the Tivoli Restaurant, which claims the distinction of having served King George when he was Prince of Wales. I got a fine dinner there.
Almost every store in Cork is a purveyor to his majesty, the king. It seems that when you pay the royal steward about fifteen or twenty pounds, he hands you a certificate which makes you a cobbler by royal appointment.
I stumbled against a Carnegie Library in Cork. Carnegie gave 10,000 pounds to built it. It seems to fulfill its mission, for it was crowded with a large number of working men.
I saw an election notice posted on a wall in Cork. It gave a list of nine persons who were candidates for some city office, and after the name of each one, it gave his occupation. The fourth person on the list was described as follows:
Bridget Grady...Spinster,
And the next one was,
Michael Aherne...Gentleman.
The occupations of the other candidates ranged from that of a stevedore to that of a banker.
About every fourth store in Cork is a spirit store or a bar. There are no saloons, except hair-cutting saloons. Over the door of every liquor store is the sign “Beamish and Crawford’s Ale and Stout.” It happens that the right honorable Mr. Beamish is the high sheriff of Cork.
I got back to Queenstown at about eight o’clock. Someone has fixed up a baseball series between enlisted teams of each ship. The first game was called at the end of the first inning on account of rain.
The city of Queenstown seems determined to entertain us, for they have offered a beautiful silver cup to be raced for by midshipmen crews from each ship next Monday. There is also a prize for enlisted crews to be rowed for in a separate race.
I didn’t go ashore today for it was my day to go on duty. I am on the signal watch. There is hardly anything to do. I stood the watch from twelve to four this afternoon, and I will stand another from eight to ten tonight. The only thing to do was to watch the other ships for signals.
Almost everybody in Queenstown is out visiting the ships today. The sailors and the midshipmen are showing them around and answering all sorts of foolish questions. One lady laid her hand upon an eight-inch turret, and then said to her guide, “Is this a boiler?” All the boats are busy bringing visitors on board and taking them back again.
We had a fine dinner on board today, much better than some I’ve had on shore.
All the little beggars in Cork chase us around. A little kid will run up in front of a midshipman and salute with one finger, and say “Copper, sir, copper?” or “Give a penny to get a buon (sic)?” You would think that all the little kids in Cork live on penny buns.
I got back to the wharf at nine. The Iowa’s boat took off her midshipmen first and left. About a minute later, a midshipman from the Iowa came running down, but he was much too late. He hired a shore boat to take him to his ship, but I don’t know whether he got back in time to escape being reported for returning late from liberty.
June 26 The chaplain had another moving picture show on the quarterdeck last night, but as I had to stay on the bridge, I couldn’t see it.
When I went ashore on liberty this morning, I only had about half a dollar to spend, so I determined not to be extravagant.
I went to the office of the admiral commanding the Queenstown naval station and received a pass from him to visit the dockyard in the harbor. I went out to the yard on a naval tug, and had to show my pass before I could land. I was guided around the grounds by different policemen, being handed over from one to another at the end of each beat. They were to see that I didn’t visit any forbidden places, I suppose. They were fairly good guides, and gave me information of the buildings we passed.
They have a large dry-dock in the yard which was recently enlarged. The cruiser Talbot was in the dock undergoing extensive repairs. I went through her, accompanied by my policeman. She was a very long vessel for her beam, and I think she must have been capable of good speed. All her guns were hoisted out and were laid on the wall alongside.
It is impossible to realize how large the underbody of a vessel is until she is seen in a drydock. The under water body of the Talbot was much larger than the portion of the hull which is ordinarily seen.
All the buildings in the yard were built by convict labor. My guide, the policeman, being an Irishman, wasn’t especially in love with those buildings, for he said that most of the prisoners had been sentenced on account of their agitation and political principles.
I went back to Queenstown and had lunch. In the afternoon, I walked along the road leading to the top of the hill overlooking the harbor. I got a fine view of the entire harbor from there.
The Ivernia which was sunk in the harbor, is now floating again. Divers patched up her hull, and when the water was pumped out, up she came. She will soon be taken to Liverpool to be docked and repaired. A sailor told me that after she had been entirely fixed up, she would probably be renamed for a boat which has once sunk has a bad reputation among superstitious passengers, such as immigrants.
I saw a ball game this afternoon between teams composed of both midshipmen and bluejackets representing the Iowa and the Indiana.
The Iowa had the academy battery, and three other first team men, while we didn’t have a single one. Our pitcher, a sailor, pitched a good game, but he got rotten support. The Iowa won, 12 to 0. The feature of the game was the rooting of the Iowa sailors. They were the most vociferous bunch that I’ve ever seen.
There will be a regatta this evening. The city of Queenstown has offered a fine silver cup for the midshipmen, and a beautiful silver mounted drinking horn for the bluejackets. The race will be rowed at the turn of the tide. There is a difference of about ten feet in the height of the water between two tides.
One of the midshipmen named Deming, who evidently paid some stiff prices for meals in Cork, has a scheme to get even in Berlin. He says that he is going to go to the finest hotel he can find in Berlin and wash his hands there. Then he intends to go to some cheap restaurant and dine on a five cent sandwich.
June 27 The Iowa has the Indian sign on us as one of the sailors remarked about nine o’clock last night.
At seven o’clock last night, the boatswain called away the racing crew. There had been a mistake about the tide, for it was already running out, and consequently the races would have to be pulled against the tide. The midshipmen were to row the first race and before they left the ship, Lt. Commander Briggs, our executive officer stuck his head out of the quarterdeck hatch and solemnly assured us all that unless we won, there would be no more liberty for us on this cruise.
When the crew shoved off, we gave them a cheer and they headed for the starting line, a mile and a half away.
Our ship was located just on the finish line, which was between us and the yacht club building. Our skeleton mast was exactly on the line and from the mast we got a fine view of the whole race. A cannon was fired on shore when the race started but we were too far away to distinguish the boats. About a minute later our commodore, Coontz, came on board, for the Iowa and the Massachusetts were too far up the bay to see the race from.
It was impossible to distinguish boats, but we could see that at the start one boat which had the outside course, in addition to having to row against the strongest tide, was so far out that it would have to row a diagonal course to cross between the finish boats.
When the boats were about a half mile from the finish, we could make them out, and it was our boat which had the outside course. We could see that the inside boat, the Iowa, had a big lead and that theMassachusetts was behind us. As the boats came down the stretch, we closed up until the Iowa only had a length’s lead, but we couldn’t make up any more before all the boats crossed the line. The Massachusettsfinished three lengths behind us. I believe that with a straight course we might have won.
The second race was for local four-oared shells. Three boats entered. It was a close race between two of them, a crew in pink finally winning out over a crew in green by half a length.
The last race was for the bluejackets. Our crew shoved off at about eight PM, as it was growing dusk. Unfortunately, we got the same position in this race as we did in the first one, and the remainder of this race was but a repetition of the first race, only that the Massachusetts was beaten worse this time. We lost again by about a length. I cannot understand how it was that we had to start both times so far out on the course.
The Iowa received both the cups.
The band from the Iowa played in the bandstand on the promenade during the races.
We did not receive any liberty this morning. I wanted a viewbook of Queenstown so I paid a boatman sixpence to go ashore and get it for me.
We got underway this afternoon at about half past one. As we were the nearest to the harbor entrance, we led the way out with the pilot. Everybody in Queenstown was out to see us off, and they certainly gave us a fine send off. As the houses in Queenstown are built in terraces, rising one above the other, we could see the front of every house, and from the quays to the ridge in the rear of the town, people were waving flags and handkerchiefs at us as we passed. They cheered us loudly all the time, and as we moved slowly along the shoreline, the band in the admiral’s house on the side of the hill commenced to play. It certainly thrilled us all as they played the Star Spangled Banner, and as we moved farther away, we heard the strains of Auld Lang Syne floating after us. A moment later we got a last view of Queenstown, nestling against the side of the hill and looking very beautiful. We certainly had a good time there.
As we passed out of the harbor, we passed four sailing vessels at anchor who dipped their colors to us as we passed – a salute which we returned. A little farther along we passed within a hundred feet of theIvernia. Her sides were discolored and rusted from their immersion in the harbor, and she looked rather disreputable. I think all her interior will have to be rebuilt, for the water must certainly have spoiled her cabins.
Just opposite the Ivernia was a British mine-planter with two large openings in her stern just above the water line to drop the mines into the water. She had two long rows of mines on her main deck. These mines are in the form of globes, about five feet in diameter, and contain a heavy charge of explosives.
A few minutes later we passed thru the narrow entrance to the harbor and into the open sea. I could distinguish four large guns mounted on the top of one of the hills to defend the entrance. After getting thru, we dropped our pilot, a small pilot boat taking him off. A short time later, the other ships left their positions in line, in order to swing the ship to determine the compass deviations.
For a while, the ships were so far separated that we could barely make out the mastheads of the other ships, but soon we reformed the column with the Iowa in the lead.
June 29 I was so busy yesterday that I didn’t get a chance to write anything. On account of the height of the Irish coast, we kept land in sight for several hours. We headed due south from Queenstown in order to pass clear of the Scilly Islands.
As luck would have it, I hit the midwatch the very first night, so I had to go on the bridge at midnight for the signal watch. On account of our long stay in port, I guess I wasn’t used to standing midnight watches again, and no watch ever seemed so long to me. I was very sleepy, and twice I all but went to sleep.
During the watch, we picked up a light just visible above the horizon which I think was the Eddystone light-house. We immediately changed our course and started to head eastward in the English Channel. We could not see any land.
I went off watch at four. When I rose again in the morning, we were well into the channel, and could see land off the port bow, but soon lost sight of it again. We began to meet a large number of ships. The one which caused the largest amount of excitement was a French battleship, the Danton which passed very close to us. She is the largest ship in the French navy, having been completed only recently. She was returning from the coronation.
When she passed us, she was flying an American flag on her mainmast which was about four times as large as the French flag on her foremast. As soon as she passed us, she fired a salute of fifteen guns.
The Danton is the largest battleship that I’ve seen yet, for while we have some which are larger, I haven’t yet met them. She had five smokestacks, three forward and two aft – a larger number of stacks than any other battleship in the world. Altogether, she had a rather queer look, but she certainly was large. I got a picture of her which I think will turn out good.
Besides the Danton, we passed about six liners, mostly English or German, bound for New York apparently. They all dipped their colors to us.
Last night we received permission to scrub clothes, but I only managed to wash two suits. I have about ten more to wash. The mess boys are willing to wash our work suits for a quarter a suit, but at that price, I would soon be busted. Washing clothes is about the only real exercise we get on board, so I prefer to scrub my own.
This morning I went on watch at 4 AM. A little later we sighted Beachy Head, and anchored a little way from it was a lightship with “Royal Sovereign” painted on it. We now began to pass ships of all kinds, steamers, liners, tugs, fishing smacks, and all sorts of sailing ships. As many as ten ships would be in sight at one time. We had to dip our flag so frequently in answer to their dips that the skipper detailed two men to stand by the colors. We passed about three liners early in the morning. We passed a warship also but she was so far away that we couldn’t make her out. At one time, we passed two liners at the same time, a North German Lloyd on the starboard side and a Cunard boat on the port side.
We passed rather close to land, only about a mile from the coast of England, so that we could see the chalk cliffs and the houses on the shore plainly. The water was shallow, the leadsmen only getting eight fathoms in the chains.
We passed Dungeness light-house, and here instead of cliffs they had a sandy beach. We could see a life-boat placed on a track up the beach. Near by, a large fleet of fishing vessels was anchored. After passing Dungeness, we entered the Straights of Dover, the narrowest part of the channel, but the weather was so cloudy that we could not see the coast of France. We soon passed through the straights and entered the North Sea.
A strange part of our passage through the English Channel was the smoothness of the water. You may have heard about the roughness of the channel, which makes everybody seasick. When we passed through it the water was scarcely rough enough to make the ships roll at all. Outside of our passage down Chesapeake Bay, it was the smoothest part of our trip so far. The North Sea is also very smooth, and is quite unlike the Irish Sea. When we were passing through the Irish Sea on our way to Queenstown, about fifteen miles from shore we passed a little rowboat with two men in it, and half the time we couldn’t see the boat because it was in the troughs of the sea. The other half of the time, the boat was on top of the crests and looked as if it were going to turn over.
We have a large number of mascots on board since we left Queenstown. Coming across the ocean, nine lives were lost when a cat fell overboard, but we still had three cats left. In Queenstown, an officer bought two Irish setters and some sailors bought two more. The prize acquisition, however, is a young goat which a party of sailors and marines picked up on a trip to Blarney Castle. Besides these, one of the sailors owns two white mice.
We had a drill in the eight-inch turret today, using real shells and dummy charges of powder. Instead of powder, the powder bags were filled with beans. I was second loader and my job consisted of ramming the shell home in the gun with a rammer, and seeing that the compressed blower in the bore of the gun worked properly. We couldn’t get up much speed in loading. In the fleet, they load an eight-inch gun in seven seconds, but the best we could do was thirty-five. One of the powder bags burst and scattered beans all over the turret. Fortunately, no one was killed by the explosion.
June 30 While we were passing thru the channel yesterday, although we couldn’t see land for a time, we knew we were close to it, for the water was a light green in color. As we passed out of the channel into the North Sea, the water changed to a dark green, and today the water is again blue as it was out in the ocean.
Everything is running along smoothly now. I’m used to standing watch again. Some of the fellows surprised us by getting seasick on our first day out of Queenstown, but I did not.
We passed a large number of sailing boats yesterday, most of them being fishing vessels. We counted sixteen of them in sight at the same time. We came near to having a collision with a ship last night. When we first saw her, she was traveling the same course we were, and was about four hundred yards off the starboard bow. She was not carrying any lights. A minute later she tacked and started to cross our bows. The officer of the deck woke up the skipper and blew the whistle, at the same time sheering off. We missed her about thirty yards and she rapidly dropped astern. The officer of the deck started to tell how it happened, but the skipper refused to get excited. “Well, we missed her, “ he said, and went back to bed. It wouldn’t have hurt us if we had collided with her, for our bow has a heavily armored ram on it, but it would have put that sailing ship on the bums.
I met a sailor today who spent about four days in Denver when he came east after spending about seven years on the China station. He says that he liked Denver so well that he intends to ask to be assigned to the recruiting station there when he ships over next October.
The goat is already beginning to furnish us some amusement. We would throw a piece of wood down near the goat, and when one of the dogs would run to get it, the goat would put down his head and ram him. The goat is so young that his horns are only an inch long so the dogs didn’t mind it any.
During quarters today, the sailors and midshipmen manned all the rails. I think they were preparing for a review at Kiel. We are going north all the time and the weather is getting cooler all the time. I had to keep rolled up in my two blankets last night to keep warm.
We had to write up a description of the steering engine yesterday. A modern battleship is not steered by wheel-ropes anymore, but when the man at the wheel turns it, he opens a valve in the steering engine, and the engine throws the wheel over. There are also five wheels located in different parts of the ship so that if any one is shot away, they can steer with the others. Three of the wheels are located under the armored deck.
July 1 I was on watch last night from eight to twelve. It is certainly getting cool as we go north. I don’t see how the people manage to live up here, if it is as cold as this in summertime. As the Bulletin remarked in a cartoon published last year, the uniform for liberty in Bergen may be reefers, while those going on duty may wear blankets. It will be necessary if it gets much cooler.
We saw two lighthouses last night, the first land since we lost sight of England a few days ago. The first light would show for a moment and then go out. About ten miles farther along, we began to see flashes just below the horizon, and when we got closer, we could see that it was a lighthouse with a revolving light. The reflector as it went round would show three beams of light passing across the sky and then would be dark for about fifteen seconds. We saw this light when we were about ten miles from it.
About half an hour later the operator in the wireless room called up the bridge to say that he had picked up the New Hampshire by wireless. The New Hampshire is one of the ships in the second division of the Atlantic Fleet. Admiral Badger, who was superintendent of the academy a few years ago, is in command of it.
This division was visiting in Kiel a few days ago, and when we got them by wireless, both fleets were going north on opposite sides of Denmark.
This morning at about seven o’clock we sighted the fleet rounding the northern end of Denmark. They came around and passed us, they going south and we going north. I looked at them through the glasses, and each of the ships seemed about twice as long as ours. They have two skeleton masts apiece instead of one.
About three minutes after passing them, we turned sharply to starboard and started to pass through the Cattegat. We could see land on both sides then, but only for a short time. We kept close enough to the Swedish shore to distinguish its lighthouses, but we couldn’t see much of the shore.
In the afternoon we passed pretty close to the Cyclops, the collier which coaled the second division. She is one of the largest colliers in our fleet. The Cyclops was going north at slow speed.
A few minutes later the Iowa hoisted a signal for a pilot but we couldn’t get any, so to avoid being left after dark in the channel here, we put on reserve speed for a while. We soon passed a rocky island, with its shores rising up straight from the sea about five or six hundred feet. It was a very beautiful looking island with a small village built on the southern side. After passing the island, we emerged into a wide channel and we are now running down it. We ought to arrive at Kiel about one o’clock tonight, but as we can’t enter in the night-time, we will probably anchor until tomorrow morning.
The squadron commander issued a new order for liberty in Kiel and Berlin. We will get liberty in Kiel from 1 to 9:30 PM. No one will be allowed to go to Berlin who has twenty- nine demerits or more for June. This will prevent about thirty men from going. We will be allowed four pounds besides our railroad fare when we go to Berlin.
Fortunately, I have only eight demerits. I got five at the academy, and three a few days ago for being on the gun deck when it was supposed to be cleared.
July 2 I’ve got a new detail this week. I’m aide to the officer of the deck. The job is easy for I only have to chase around with his orders once in a while. The Iowa wasn’t able to pick up a pilot last night, so after running along until eight o’clock, we came to anchor in the middle of the channel. The channel here is only a few miles wide, and as there are islands and shoals and reefs all around, the commodore didn’t think it safe to navigate at night. We cast the lashings off the anchor so that it was only held in place by one change (Ed: chain?). A sailor stood by it with a sledge hammer and when the captain gave the order, “Let go the starboard anchor,” he knocked out the pin which held the chain and the anchor hit the water with a large splash. There was only about ten fathoms of water in the channel, so we didn’t have to let out much chain.
We heaved up the anchor and got underway at two o’clock, for it gets light very early here. The sun rises at about three o’clock.
We kept passing lighthouses about every mile. It sees to me that the Danish government would go broke running them all.
All the islands here are very green and are covered with trees. They look very beautiful rising out of the water. We can see villages on them, and we passed one large town with a number of large chimneys. The most striking feature of the landscape, however, is the windmills. We can see them as we go by, with their large arms slowly revolving. They look like the pictures of the Dutch windmills.
The wind was blowing a gale when I came on duty this morning at four AM. While it lasted, it was the strongest wind that we’ve met so far. It fairly whistled through the masts. The wind calmed down after a few hours.
We steamed along until about two o’clock and then as we saw land everywhere but in back of us, we knew we were approaching Kiel. We soon passed two lightships and then started to go through two lines of buoys into the channel leading to the harbor. A little German steam launch came alongside while we were still underway, and we were boarded by a German lieutenant who took the ship into the harbor. We all had to stand at attention along the rails while we passed in. We saw a large amusement park and bathing beach on one side, labeled “Kurhaus Laboe,” and we passed another one a little farther along. As we entered the harbor, we could see a large traveling crane and a dockyard on the port side, while on the starboard side were about ten German warships, all painted gray. They fired a salute for us as we entered and another when we came to anchor, which the Iowa answered. A band on the German flagship played the “Star Spangled Banner.”
We passed about six excursion steamers which were going out all crowded, and the passengers waved their handkerchiefs at us. One of the steamers had a band which started to play as they passed us. I couldn’t make out the tune, but the performance reminded me of “Dot leetle German band.”
From where we are anchored, Kiel seems to be a rather large city. We ought to have a very good time here. We are not anchored nearly as close to the shore as we were at Queenstown, however.
I drew my four pounds today. It seems queer that in Queenstown, which is a British port, they should pay us in American gold, and here they should hand us out English money in a German port. Two of my sovereigns have Queen Victoria’s head on them, and the other two have King Edward’s head.
It rained very hard a short time before we entered the port and hailed also for a few minutes, but at the present time the weather is clear.
I went up in our military mast and took a look at the harbor and the city. I counted twenty-four German warships at anchor here. The town is large, but as we are anchored about a mile from the business part, I couldn’t see much of it. Our anchorage in Queenstown was much better, as it was very close to shore.
The Von der Tann, the German battleship at the coronation is anchored only three ships from us.
A party of ten German sailors from the battleship Deutschland came on board about five-thirty in the afternoon. We have quite a number of fellows on board who speak German, who spoke with them. I made a stab at it myself and was surprised to find that I could remember a number of German words and phrases. Whenever I couldn’t think of the German word I wanted, I had trouble to keep from sticking in its Spanish equivalent. The German sailors stayed for supper and we had an especially good supper tonight, ending with mince pie for dessert. I hear the German sailors and soldiers don’t get very good food at their own messes, and it certainly seemed so, for you should have seen them dig into that pie and the rest of the supper. After supper, our bluejackets passed cigars out to them and the whole bunch are having a fine time.
According to the dope, the Kaiser will visit us tomorrow.
About twenty gasoline launches tried to come alongside, but a big gyrene prevented them. All the Germans in the launches were very polite, for they lifted their hats before trying to come up the gangway.
July 3 I went off watch at twelve last night and had to get up at six this morning. We had breakfast at seven o’clock, a half hour earlier than usual. Immediately after breakfast, we had to shift into our blue service uniforms and a little later we were assembled at quarters on the quarterdeck. I was a little late in getting there. Just after I fell in, I saw an immense yacht coming into sight and then the buglers blew four ruffles and we came to a salute. The yacht was the Hohenzollern, the imperial yacht, and the Kaiser was on board. She passed close to us but I was unable to distinguish the emperor. The yacht itself was the largest and finest that I’ve ever seen. She was painted a creamy white and looked very beautiful. The emperor’s flag, yellow with a black cross and some other embellishments was flying on the main. A small tender, which itself was large enough to equal some American yachts I’ve seen, followed the Hohenzollern a few yards astern.
The yacht was going at a pretty good clip, and as soon as she passed us, we dropped our hands. As she passed the Iowa, the band on the Iowa played America.
Four torpedo boats, very low in the water, but fast, went out of the harbor this morning. I also saw a submarine going out. She was much larger than our submarines, but I don’t think she was capable of sinking very far. She was running on her gasoline engines and the exhaust was going up through a long, thin pipe, looking a good deal like smoke.
There are more than thirty German warships here. I believe that the entire German navy, with the exception of some torpedo boats, is right here in this harbor.
The spots on this page were caused by a rain which started suddenly while I was writing this on the superstructure deck.
July 4 We got our first liberty in Kiel yesterday afternoon. There was some misunderstanding about a visit from the Kaiser yesterday, so instead of going ashore at one o’clock, no one got away until four, and all the youngsters had to wait an hour more because someone didn’t put on enough boats to take all of us in one trip. I finally got ashore at five o’clock.
We landed about a mile down the harbor from the ships, at the Hanna Brucke, I guess it was. A park was just opposite us, and coming out of the park were three German soldiers, guns on shoulder, marching with a corporal in front. They wore helmets with a spiked top, coats trimmed with red braid, and heavy shoes with hob-nails. Their uniforms weren’t nearly as good looking as the English uniforms we saw in Ireland.
A few yards farther along, they marked time, doing the goose-step, which seems to consist of throwing the leg straight out from the hip, keeping the knee stiff, and trying to scrape a hole in the pavement with their hob-nails when the foot is brought back. One of the soldiers fell out and mounted guard in a little sentry box painted red, white, and black. I afterwards saw many of these sentries right in the town. Along the harbor there were sailors standing guard.
I walked along the driveway near the water, into the city. All the shops here kept postcards. Hofs and beergardens were rather frequent. The Fischhalle was a large brick building with little shops on the outside, and inside were several large cement tanks full of fish. Many people were in there buying them.
A few blocks farther along, I came to the principal business street. It was fairly wide, and though it was winding, that did not detract from its beauty. It was lined on both sides with stores, hotels, and restaurants. It was a beautiful looking street, and what struck me most was the fact that everything was clean and shining. A street-car line ran down the street. Its cars were about like American cars, only shorter.
I had a hard time to keep from buying everything in sight when I went down that street, for everything in the stores seemed so tempting and cheap.
As I walked along, I passed many restaurants in which orchestras were playing, and they were surely playing fine music. I finally went into one place for supper. I got a fine supper at about half of what it would cost in Cork. The waiter was surprised when I didn’t take anything but coffee to drink, for everyone here drinks, especially with meals. Across the room was a German with his wife and a little son, and each had a tall glass of beer in front of them. Another good thing is that I’m not likely to go broke tipping for it takes 100 pfennig to make a mark, and a mark is only a quarter, and when you give a waiter ten pfennig, which is only two cents, he thinks he is getting something. The Germans have no copper coins, everything less than a mark being made of nickel. The smallest coin is the five pfennig piece.
There were many stores which sold only postcards and views. They have many fine pictures of the German fleet and of the town here. The people seem to be rather enterprising for though we only arrived Sunday afternoon, when I went ashore Monday afternoon, I found at least twenty stores where pictures of our ships, printed on postcards, which were taken right here in the harbor were for sale.
There were hundreds of German sailors ashore, and I saw numbers of them going around town arm-in-arm with our sailors. Difference in language doesn’t appear to be an impediment. I passed one hack carrying two sailors, one American and one German, both of whom were singing “Love me and the worruld is mine,” at the top of their voices.
One rather perplexing thing is that there doesn’t appear to be a sharply defined line between the uniforms of the German officers and those of the men, and as the German sailors salute even their own petty officers, it is hard for us to tell when we ought to salute. I think I must have passed many officers without saluting.
A German salute looks queer to me. They begin to salute about three paces away and keep the hand up for three paces after passing. The hand is placed with the palm to the left, the hand itself straight up and down, and instead of placing the hand on the right of the right eye as we do, they place it directly in front of their noses. If they only extended their thumb backward, the result wouldn’t be a salute but a courtmartial.
Moving pictures are popular here. I saw many places where they were shown.
The German kids like highly sensational literature, for the Buffalo Bill, Nick Carter, and the other novels were all here, only printed in German. They had the same old colors, though.
Today we are going to celebrate, and the Germans are going to celebrate with us. Every ship in the harbor, including the kaiser’s yacht, has full-dressed ship, and it looks beautiful. The burgomaster wants to help, so the town is giving a gala performance in the opera house today in honor of the Fourth, and the sailors of the fleet have been invited.
One thing would show us that we are in Germany, even though nothing else did. An order was passed that no midshipmen would be allowed to take their cameras ashore. It seems that the kaiser is afraid that we might get some of his military secrets, so he is taking the necessary precautions. He may be justified, for Kiel is the most important German naval base. Here they have their dockyards and build and repair their ships. There is one floating drydock in the harbor now, with a battleship in it which has been lifted clear out of the water.
July 5 I didn’t expect to go ashore till one o’clock yesterday, but at one o’clock, the word was passed that there would be no liberty until after the kaiser left the harbor with his yacht. There didn’t seem to be any prospect of the kaiser’s leaving soon, so things looked bad for us, but at one-thirty, Coontz thought better of it and we got ashore about two o’clock. The kaiser’s yacht by the way, didn’t sail till early this morning.
The base ball teams of the Iowa and the Massachusetts were to play a game, so I took a car and rode out with them to the park. There was a large grass-covered field there with one of those large sheds used to shelter the Zeppelin type of airships. It seems that an aviation meet was held here only a few weeks ago.
I didn’t stop to see the game, but started to walk back to the town. I walked through a part of the residential section, though not the most fashionable part, and saw some very beautiful houses and avenues.
A few blocks nearer the center of the city, I ran across a miniature Coney Island in full swing. It covered only a few squares, but was crowded with merry-go-rounds and other amusement devices, though it contained nothing very elaborate. Toy balloons were plentiful, and so were frankfurters. I took a chance in the shooting gallery at five pfennig a shot and broke about six balls out of ten, which was doing pretty well.
I passed the new city hall, rathaus, or rat house it seemed to me according to the spelling, and then started toward the Reichshalle where the performance was to come off.
When I entered, an usher took me in tow and led me to a box right in front of the stage. The bluejackets were given the orchestra seats, first a row of German sailors and then a row of our sailors. The German officers themselves acted as ushers, and it looked queer to see officers showing sailors around. Fastened to the back of every seat, in the place where opera glasses or boxes of candy are usually placed in American theaters, were little racks and on every one stood a glass of beer. Waiters flitted around carrying more beer and cigarettes and I suppose everyone got all he wanted. The sailors were soon all talking or trying to talk with each other.
The burgomaster started the ball rolling with a speech in German, from the box next to mine. While I couldn’t get all he said, I caught references to what the Fourth of July meant, the friendship between Germany and America, and how glad they were to see us. At the end, he proposed three cheers for us and at each “Hoch,” the German sailors came down with it in perfect unison.
The orchestra which was directly in front of my box started out the program with the “American Patrol” and then played the “Star Spangled Banner” during which everybody stood up.
When they finished, one of our sailors stood up on his seat and shouted “Three cheers for the Kaiser!” and we all gave them loudly. Then he said, “Three cheers for the German sailors!” and we came down with those also. After which he subsided.
The performance itself was fine. It was a better vaudeville show than I think I’ve seen in Denver. All the acts but one were in German, but no knowledge of German was necessary to appreciate the show. Two acts, one a circus and the other a musical act, were especially good.
Between the various acts, I talked with a young German officer, an ensign, who was seated in my box. We spoke in English, which he could speak well.
Well, everybody there had a fine time. Before the performance was over, the smoke from cigars in that theater was so thick that I am doubtful whether those in the rear could see. Before we left, souvenir programs were passed out to us, so that we would have something to remember the hospitality of the city of Kiel.
The salute for the Fourth was fired yesterday at noon. In the morning, at about 11:30, I climbed to the top of the skeleton mast in order to get a picture of the fleet saluting, but assembly for dinner was sounded at five minutes to twelve, so I had to come down without getting it. We formed on the quarterdeck and waited.
Promptly at eight bells, the Iowa fired the first gun, and then commenced a cannonade on all sides that for noise had any Fourth of July that I’ve ever seen before lashed to the mast. Every warship in the harbor, German and American, fired twenty-one guns in honor of the flag, and as the whole German fleet was there, the flashing of the guns and the noises of the discharges coming across the bay were enough to satisfy anyone. The whole harbor in a few minutes was covered with smoke, which obscured the ships themselves, but every instant we could see a red flash as another gun went off.
A thing to remember Kiel by is the chocolate. It has a most delicious flavor and is exceedingly rich.
Today we went to Berlin. I spent part of the morning emptying the things out of my suitcase that I didn’t want to take with me. We had an early dinner and at twelve o’clock, the liberty party fell in on the quarterdeck. About six sorry looking mutts that couldn’t go, stood around and watched us leave. We marched in no order at all from the wharf to the depot, and took the train. Our party was the first one to arrive at the station, so we had our choice of the seats. This train had the Irish outdone, for the compartments were luxuriously furnished, and it was a pleasure to ride in them. I believe that that train was more comfortable than an American train even.
We left Kiel at one-thirty, and started south. There was nothing of a distinctively German character in the scenery except the large windmills with their slowly revolving sails. We arrived in Berlin at seven-thirty.
When we disembarked in the depot and started out, there was a great deal of confusion, for most of us didn’t know where we wanted to go. I got a hotel card for the Hotel Janson from a man in a silk hat, and went there in a taxi-hack. The taximeter only registered ninety pfennig when I arrived, but the driver said it was by the mark one, so I paid. A stately person took my suitcase, and I entered the hotel. The proprietor said he had a good room for three marks, so I went up the lift and looked at it. It was a very finely furnished room and suited me very well, so I took it.
I left my suitcase and rainclothes in the room and went out to see Berlin. As it was rather late, I looked for a café in which to dine. My hotel is only two squares from Unter den Linden Strasse, so I went there. There were a number of fine cafés there, all open to the street and there I ate supper while watching the crowd pass.
After supper, I walked around the streets until eleven o’clock. For the first time since I entered the academy, there was no one to tell me when I must go to sleep, so I didn’t intend to go early. Almost all the stores were closed, only cafés, theaters, and restaurants being open, though the windows in most of the places were lighted up. There were plenty of lights in the streets also, so that it was about as light as day.
Everywhere people were sitting at small tables, consuming wine and beer. I didn’t care to let them get ahead of me, so I drank chocolate which is as fine here as in Kiel.
One of the features of Berlin is the Automaten Restaurants. Here you drop a ten pfennig piece in a slot machine and get a beer, a sandwich, an egg, or anything else in the food or drink line which you may desire.
At eleven o’clock, I started to return to the hotel, and though I easily found the street and the block, I had some difficulty in locating my hotel, but a German gentleman kindly helped me out. Just as I was about to enter, a young fellow with a music roll accosted me, and asked me if I wasn’t from the American squadron at Kiel. He said that he was from the United States, but was studying in Germany.
I wrote up this account until 11:45 and then went to bed. As this is the first time in a month that I sleep in a bed, the lord knows how it will feel.
July 9 I was too busy or too tired while I was in Berlin to write anything. I believe that I only wrote three postcards while I was there, and no letters at all.
I didn’t wake up until ten o’clock on my first morning in Berlin. I rang the bell and had breakfast served in my room. After breakfast, I went around to Unter den Linden and bought a ticket for a trip in a coach around Berlin. There were about five midshipmen in the party, besides a few other Americans, so the guide gave his explanations in English as well as in German.
We went down the Unter den Linden to its end. It is a most beautiful street, about two hundred feet wide with a strip about fifty feet wide in the middle filled with benches, forming a sort of park. It is lined on both sides with fine looking buildings of about six stories each. Generally, the stores along it are cafes. One of the things that adds greatly to the beauty of Berlin is the fact that there are no skyscrapers. Almost all the buildings are of a uniform height, and as the streets are wide, the effect is beautiful.
At the end of the street, we passed under the Brandenburg Gate into the Tiergarden. The gate is surmounted by the Car of Victory, which Napoleon took to Paris when he captured Berlin in 1807, and which Blucher brought back when he took Paris in 1814.
The Tiergarden is a very large park, containing many monuments and a few buildings. The Reichstag is at one side, and facing it is the beautiful Column of Victory. A large marble statue of Molthe, and the bronze statues of other Prussian generals surround the column. One of Berlin’s three opera houses stands facing the monuments.
An avenue through the park, leading to the monuments, is lined on both sides by thirty-two statues of Prussian rulers, which were presented by the kaiser.
We passed through the park, past five bronze groups representing various hunts, out to the city again. Nothing can surpass the beauty of a Berlin residence street, for the pavement which is of some material like asphalt, actually glistens, it is so smooth and clean. Here and there, in the gardens of the houses we passed, are statues in bronze or marble, and the houses themselves were generally works of art. Many Berlin houses are covered with stucco, and various designs are made into the walls themselves.
We passed a zoological garden with a large gate, in Chinese style, with a statue of an elephant on each side. The effect was very fine.
We soon passed from Berlin to Charlottenburg. There is no real dividing line between the two cities, and I think they will eventually be consolidated. In Charlottenburg, we passed down Bismarck Street, which is probably the most beautiful street in Berlin. It has a strip down the center which contains well-kept lawns and beautiful flower-beds.
We rode out along this road to the tomb of the grandfather and great-grandfather of the kaiser. A large marble statue stood in the entrance, and on the inside, were four marble figures, each a recumbent statue marking the graves of the two kings and their wives. A deep purple light was shed on the figures by the colored roof, giving to the room a rather weird appearance.
We returned to the city by another route. We passed the department store of Wertheim, the largest in Berlin. It was a very large building covering an entire square, but it was not built in the style of American department stores.
We arrived at the other end of Unter den Linden. Here are the museums and the palaces of the kaiser and the crown prince. The kaiser’s palace, which is an old building, has an unpretentious exterior. It is built in various styles, for part of the building dates from the fourteenth century. Facing the palace is the national monument to Kaiser Wilhelm the First. It consists of a colossal figure of the kaiser, and at the foot of the monument are four immense lions standing on various weapons of war.
We witnessed guardmount at the palace. Three companies of infantry and a band marched up, and the guards were changed. We then returned to our starting place and disembarked.
In the afternoon, I started out on foot to see some of Berlin. I visited the Friedrich Wilhelm Museum, containing a large collection of old paintings. Many of them were fine, but I couldn’t find anything beautiful in the greatest number of the old masters. If they had only given Christ and his saints a rest, I think they would have done much better.
In the evening, I went to hear Lohengrin in the opera house in the Tiergarden. The music was fine, but as I couldn’t understand the German singing and couldn’t remember very much of what the opera was about, I didn’t get very much out of it. Between the acts, I went down into the garden where a Prussian military band was playing and refreshments were served.
After the opera, I walked around for a while in search of more amusement. I finally wandered into the Eis-Arena, a place with three galleries running around an open space in which was an ice-skating rink. As usual, refreshments were being served in all three galleries, and an orchestra handed out the music. It seems impossible in Berlin to find a place where you can’t get beer and music. The music is always fine, but I don’t know about the beer.
That was enough for that night so I went to the hotel and went to sleep at about twelve o’clock. I woke up at half past eight and started out for another day.
I bought a ticket for an automobile excursion to Potsdam. The ticket, which cost twelve and a half marks, covered all the expenses of an all day excursion and was, I believe, the best spent money in Berlin. We started out at ten o’clock in a great big automobile with a large Dutchman, who also spoke English, for a guide. He gave his explanations in both English and German, but as he wanted to satisfy everybody, he asked if there was anybody there who didn’t understand. It developed that one of the party spoke Danish only, so the guide was up a tree, for he said he couldn’t speak that.
We got into Charlottenburg and started to speed down Bismarck Street. It was queer how fast that auto went. It was a large heavy one, and when we started to hit it up, there was something doing. About a hundred times on that trip, I thought that we were certainly going to have a collision, but the driver always managed to steer clear.
We passed a regiment of soldiers marching into Berlin from their maneuver grounds, a five-hour’s walk, the guide said. They were marching at ease when we saw them.
After getting off Bismarck Street, we turned and started down a German country road. It had no curb, but it was asphalted for the greater part of the way, and was always smooth without ruts or bumps. A large part of the way, it was lined with forests in which we could see women gathering bundles of fagots. Part of the way, we had to travel along the side of the road for every fifty yards, four stones were placed in the middle of the road. The authorities probably thought that the sides needed more travel, so they took that means to keep us off the middle.
We passed Wannsee and in a few minutes came to Potsdam. Our wagon stopped in front of one of the palaces and we disembarked. The first thing we saw when we entered were two five-inch field pieces and a machine gun presented to the kaiser by the Krupps. The guns were never meant for use, for the wheels were of mahogany and the guns themselves had a brilliant finish.
We went up the staircase, and after we passed through some of the rooms, I got a new idea of what a palace is. The floors were of the finest woods, and the walls were covered with splendid tapestries and inlaid wood. Large numbers of oil paintings hung on the walls, which seemed to me better pictures than those in the museums. We saw the rooms which were occupied by Frederick the Great and other kings.
One of the corridors had a row of about twenty pictures painted by one of the Prussian kings who died insane. The first picture was one of an Elector, with a circular cut all around the head where it had once been cut out. The guide said that the painter had put the wrong head on this man, and as the painting of the body was all right, he didn’t care to do it all over again so he merely cut out the head and put a new one in. In another room we saw a picture of Diana painted by this same king, and it looked like it. The king was drunk when he painted it, I suppose, for the lady had two left feet.
After finishing this palace, we rode over to a hotel where the whole party had a fine dinner on the verandah overlooking the river.
After dinner, we reembarked and went out to Sans Souci palace, built by Frederick the Great. On the way out we passed the new palace and another palace. I think the kaiser has a hard time deciding which palace he wants to stay in.
At Sans Souci, we saw three clocks which were presented to Frederick by Madame Pompadour. There was a large number of paintings and some statues. There were two busts in black marble of negro ambassadors from some African state to Frederick’s court, and a large marble statue of Frederick in his last moments, made by a Chicagoan.
Passing out of the palace, we went into the gardens and down the terraces. Five flights of steep steps lead to the bottom. The crown prince, who has the reputation of being a reckless rider, rode his horse down them.
After getting out of the grounds we entered the mausoleum where Kaiser Wilhelm the First and his wife are buried. It was a fine looking building on the inside, though not as beautiful as the one we saw in Berlin. About twenty wreaths of roses and laurel, given by different German regiments, were placed around the tomb.
After leaving this place, we went to the church where Frederick the Great and his father are buried. The church was built by Frederick’s father as a garrison church. On one side of the pulpit, which is made of one large piece of white marble, is an hour glass placed there by Frederick, who was an atheist. The guide said that Frederick didn’t care to listen too long to the minister, so he had the hour glass placed there and whenever the sand ran out, the preacher had to quit.
The tomb of Frederick, quite unlike those of the other kings which we saw, was a simple whitewashed room under the pulpit. Frederick’s body rests in a small bronze coffin, while that of his father lies in a larger wooden one. The guide said that Napoleon made a pilgrimage here, and swiped Frederick’s sword from the coffin.
We stopped again for refreshments, and then embarked on a small sixty foot motor-boat for the trip back to Wannsee, on the lake. The trip reminded me of Killarney, for while there were no mountains, the scenery was very beautiful. We passed many small yachts all under sail, and a large bathing beach under water.
One of the passengers with us was a little kid, dressed in the uniform of a first class boatswain’s mate, with “U.S.S. North Dakota” on his hat-band. He was a lively little fellow and furnished us a lot of amusement.
From Wannsee, we rode back to Berlin in the motorcar, and disembarked at about five-thirty. We all tipped the guide as we went out. He certainly earned the money, for he was right there with his stories about the things we passed. He said he had been to America twice. He warned us about the stories of the kings which he told us. “Those which are true,” he said, “are no good, and those which are good are lies.”
In the evening, I went to the Wintergarden to see a vaudeville show. One of the acts, in English was swell. All the others were good. Our chaplain and three other officers had a box in front of us. During one of the pauses, Jimmy the Flea, so called on account of his whiskers, (he is our navigator), turned around and spied some other officers in the rear. Instantly the whole bunch stood up and started to wave their handkerchiefs at each other. As usual, the waiters were kept busy. After the show, I went back to the hotel and went to sleep.
The next morning after breakfast, I went out to see the Old and New Museums. They have a fine collection of old Roman and Grecian sculptures, and other relics there. What particularly interested me were two huge statues of Apollo. As the museums were very large and I could only spend an hour and a half in them, I saw most of the things while I went through the various rooms on a fast walk. I then beat it back to the hotel, seized my suitcase which I had packed the day before, and descending to the ground floor, paid my hotel bill and looked around for the waiter to tip. No one was in sight but the elevator boy, so I gave him some money, and going outside, called a cab and went to the station. When I got there midshipmen were arriving in great profusion from all directions in all sorts of vehicles. We soon filled up the train, and they had to couple on more coaches. We pulled out at twelve-twenty PM, a rather quiet bunch at first.
I believe that Berlin is certainly the most beautiful city in the world. The city contains hundreds of beautiful buildings, public and private, thousands of statues, artistically placed, and the streets themselves are a pleasure to look at. I spent most of my time when I wasn’t sightseeing or theater-going, wandering up and down Friedrich Strasse and Under den Linden. Friedrich Strasse is lined with fine stores and cafes. Whenever I got tired of walking, I would take a motorbus, a two-decker, and ride on the topside from one end of the street to the other.
I think I spent about a third of my money in Berlin for chocolate and cakes, for every few minutes I would drop into some café and get some. Somehow the marks just seemed to fly off of me in Berlin, but I managed to get away from the city with ten dollars out of about thirty seven. I only spent about nine dollars a day while I was in Berlin.
I didn’t have much trouble with the language in Berlin. Not many people spoke English, but my German held out, and I think that in about a week I could learn to speak German there well.
I didn’t spend much time in my hotel while I was in Berlin. I never visited it at all during the daytime, and during the nighttime I was only in for about eight hours.
On the train coming back, we stopped at about every station, and cleaned out the refreshment stands. I think we made more stops than were scheduled, for we didn’t get to Kiel until 8:30 PM. We had supper on board at nine o’clock, and had to lie awake half the night listening to various fellows reciting their adventures.
July 11 I was on duty Sunday so I didn’t go ashore. We received notice that fifty midshipmen would be sent from each ship to visit the German naval academy, about two hours ride from here on the train. We drew lots to see who should go, and I wasn’t one of the lucky ones. Those who won went yesterday and say that they had a fine time there as all the German midshipmen could talk English fluently.
I went on liberty in Kiel in the afternoon and after imbibing more chocolate, I decided to take an ocean trip on the Hafendampfer Moltenort to one of the bathing beaches which line the entrance to the harbor. The fare was only twenty-five pfennigs. The steamer was very crowded with excursionists going out. On the trip I made the acquaintance of three young German kids, about twelve years of age, whom I talked with in German. The conversation, of course, was not very animated. We dropped off at the first beach, where I rented a suit for five pfennigs and we went in.
I dived off the platform and the next second I got an awful jolt on the head for the water was only two feet deep there. It just about knocked me silly, and when I came up, I began to spit blood. It seems that I must have jarred my teeth up, for the gums were bleeding. I got over the shock and swam around for a few minutes, but the water was rather cold, being only 18º cent., so I went out. The kids walked out with me, and we walked to the next beach, about a kilometer away.
On the way over, we saw a torpedo boat fire a torpedo. It dropped into the water and started to shoot across the bay. Either by accident or design, the torpedo did not travel as far beneath the surface as it would in war, and we could mark its course by the clouds of spray which would shoot up into the air about every thirty yards as the torpedo plunged through the waves. The torpedo was making remarkable speed, for though the torpedo boat went after it as fast as it could, it was left far behind. At the end of its run, the torpedo stopped and floated on the surface where it was picked up.
A torpedo can be set so that it will stop at any given distance. When it is loaded and fitted with a warhead, the torpedo then sinks, but as torpedoes cost $2500 each, the torpedoes used in practice are fitted so that they will float at the end of their run.
At Moltenort, I took another steamer and went back to Kiel. One of the kids asked me to send him a post card from Bergen, which I promised to do.
In Kiel, I went to a moving picture show. The price list read “Admission 50 pf. Kinder und soldaten, 25 pf.” I noticed the same thing in Berlin. Many things are much cheaper to soldiers and sailors, doubtless on account of their munificent salaries, which are five cents or twenty-two pfennigs a day. The show seemed to be a continuous performance, for though I didn’t enter till eight o’clock, I saw some midshipmen who had been there since six, and they were still seeing different pictures. The pictures themselves seemed much clearer than those we see in America, for there was no flicker.
I left at nine o’clock and started back for the boat. At nine-fifteen, I met a bluejacket, a boatswain’s mate, who has been in Denver, and he invited me to have something with him. As the boat didn’t go till nine-thirty, and he is a pretty good fellow, I accepted. He ordered some lemonade for me, and when it came, it was a beautiful pink color. He told me once how they had had pink lemonade served to them in Shanghai. I had to drink the lemonade in a hurry and hike for the boat, though I was sorry to have to leave him in such a hurry.
About everybody on board is down to his last pfennig, so not very many fellows went ashore on liberty today. I have spent about all I intend to in Kiel, but I’m going anyway.
July 12 I made my last liberty in Kiel yesterday afternoon. About every store I passed, I dropped into and bought a post-card or two which I put in my hat. Before I got back to the ship, I had quite a weight on my mind. I didn’t see much more of Kiel. I got very close to some of their land batteries once and saw about five large guns mounted in earthworks which bore on the harbor. I didn’t stay long, but left before I was requested to do so.
The very latest German battleship, the Helgoland of 23,000 tons, had her finishing touches completed, and steamed out of her dock yesterday morning for her first spin. She has twelve twelve-inch guns, firing six ahead and six astern, but only eight on the broadside. Our new battleships can fire all their guns on either broadside.
I had intended to make my last liberty on thirty-five pfennigs, but when I got ashore, I found I couldn’t do it so I had a two dollar bill changed and spent four hundred and ten pfennig out of that before I finally got away. I got back to the dock at nine PM when the boat was supposed to leave, but the boat wasn’t there yet. While I was waiting, I saw something else I wanted to buy, but hadn’t, so, as the boat wasn’t near the wharf yet, I took a chance and ran back about four blocks to get it. Unfortunately, all the stores were closed so I couldn’t get it. I ran all the way back and managed to get the last boat before it left.
As we floated away from the wharf, a large crowd of sailors and others waved us farewell, and we yelled back “Auf Weidersehn.” We got back to the ship at about nine-thirty.
We pulled out of Kiel promptly at eight AM. We all lined up on the quarterdeck, and the minute colors sounded, the Iowa hoisted her speedcones, and we were off. The German flagship played the “Star Spangled Banner” and the Iowa’s band answered with “America.” As we passed out, various battleships sounded attention, and we reciprocated with four ruffles.
July 13 As we were leaving the harbor, we saw about six objects in the water, shaped like torpedo-boats which were evidently meant for targets. We passed the red lighthouse which marks the entrance to the harbor, and the steel bridge over the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal, and started north along the coast. We saw theVon der Tann anchored a short distance away with three or four torpedo-boats around her.
A few hours later, although we couldn’t see anything, we heard heavy guns being fired at frequent intervals, which Lt. Brown, our divisional officer, said were the reports of the German ships at target practice.
We passed many small boats on our way, all of which dipped their flags. We saw about all the light-houses which marked the course, and as the Iowa took on a pilot before we left Kiel, we didn’t have to anchor at night. I had the lookout from two to four AM, and kept busy reporting sails and lights. It was daylight at about two-thirty, and for about the first time on the cruise, we could see the sun rise straight out of the sea. On every other morning when I saw the sun rise, there were always clouds on the horizon, so we couldn’t see the sun till after it rose. The sunrises and sunsets which I have seen at sea are not as beautiful as those in the mountains.
The sea has been smooth since we left Kiel, it being smoother than we’ve seen yet on the cruise.
This morning at quarters, Lt. Brown said to me, “Did you write that article in the Naval Institute?” and when I answered in the affirmative, he said, “I think it’s very fine,” and then he loaned me his copy of the magazine so that I could see it. My own copy seems to have gone astray, for there is always such a bunch of newspapers and magazines in every mail that half of them get thrown overboard without the owners ever seeing them.
At about eight o’clock this morning, we passed the most northern point of Denmark at about where we sighted the Atlantic fleet two weeks ago, and headed into the open sea. This afternoon, we are again out of sight of land.
I had some good and some bad luck today. I was due to hit the pap this morning for ten demerits for being absent from yesterday morning’s breakfast formation, but though the mate of the deck put the other fellows who were also late, on the pap, he left my name off the list, thus saving me from coming close to getting on the grade.
On the other hand, a package containing some souvenirs of Kiel, to the value of about two dollars, disappeared from my locker today, and I can’t account for it. There is not much hope of ever seeing them again.
This evening the wind is blowing hard, and though no large sea is running, the wind blows spray all over the decks, giving everybody a shower.
This morning when we mustered at quarters on the quarterdeck, it happened that Lt. Commander Briggs, our exec., was asleep on a hatch cover on which he had sat down to rest. Nobody woke him, but a second-classman sneaked back to the gundeck, got a camera, and then snapped Briggs asleep at the switch. The exec didn’t wake up till after we left the deck, and he is still unaware of what happened.
We sighted Norway off the starboard bow at about five o’clock this afternoon. The land sticks quite a distance out of the water.
In Kiel, the sailors traded our Irish goat for a German one which is a trifle huskier. We also acquired a dachshund there.
July 14 I stood the life-buoy watch from six to eight this morning. I couldn’t see much of the shore because it was rather foggy all the time.
Instead of drilling this morning, Lt. Brown gathered us all on one side of the gundeck and read us Cook’s guide to Bergen. He gave us a lot of information about it.
At twelve o’clock, when it was so foggy that no land could be seen, the Iowa made a sharp turn to starboard, and we stood straight onto the coast until we got close enough to make it out. We saw a lighthouse on a rock, and then in answer to the Iowa’s signal, a pilot boat headed for us. A small boat took a pilot aboard each ship. Generally, only the Iowa takes a pilot, but here the coast is so rocky, that three are needed.
A short distance away from us, and apparently where deep water should be, although no rocks could be seen, we saw breakers forming which showed that there was a hidden rock close to the surface. In the night time, a vessel could easily hit it.
About five miles farther along, we turned into a narrow fiord, thirty miles long, which leads to Bergen. The scenery was of a rugged, mountainous kind, bare rocks and cliffs rising straight out of the water, with mountains on all sides. No one would think that the water here was deep enough to float a battleship, yet we finally came to anchor in sixty-five fathoms.
The need of three pilots soon became apparent, for the course was very winding, and we frequently had to pass close to the cliffs. We saw little houses perched on the water’s edge, each with a little light in front of it, which were intended for light-houses, I imagine.
There was very little earth that we could see, and on the whole trip in, we saw but two small hay fields. Every house, however, had its boat, and fishing seems to be the real industry of everybody. We passed many large oil-tanks, but, unless they fill them with fish-oil, I don’t see what they are for.
We finally came to the end of the fiord where Bergen is situated, at about 3:30 PM. The Iowa fired the usual salute. The first thing the Iowa did was to lose one of her anchors, and her men are now fishing for it. As it weighs 13,000 lbs., they will know they got something if they ever manage to hook onto it. The depth of the water makes it a hard job.
One of the negro mess-boys slashed one of the sailors in Kiel for some reason or other. They took him and put him in the brig just before we got to Bergen, so as to be sure that he doesn’t desert before he’s tried.
Bergen itself doesn’t seem to be a very large city from our position. We only get one pound to spend here, so I think no one will be extravagant.
July 16 There is a German cruiser anchored here, and about three yachts, one American and two English. I think I’ve seen that American yacht in Crabtown before.
Bergen doesn’t impress the sailors very favorably. In every other port, they get overnight liberty, but here it seems they ring a curfew at ten o’clock and then everyone must be off the streets. Yesterday morning an order came from the flagship, that as the city authorities had requested that no sailors be permitted ashore after ten o’clock, liberty for all sailors would be up at ten PM instead of at eight the next morning. This doesn’t affect us, as we have to be back at 9:30 anyway, but all the bluejackets broke out their most fluent expletives to say what they thought of the city fathers.
I made my first liberty yesterday afternoon at one o’clock. We aren’t far from the dock, but still not as close as at Queenstown.
On disembarking, the look of the town didn’t impress me favorably. All the houses were of wood, and the streets were rocky and crooked, without any beauty. I finally came to the center of the town, and there they have one broad street about four blocks long, decorated by two statues. Here the buildings were of brick and looked a little better. There were about four or five tourist stores, and most of the others handled dry goods.
At one end of this street at the foot of the dock, was the fish market. Here the fish are spread out on stands right in the middle of the street, for sale. Everybody buys fish.
There was a large number of steamers in the dock, mostly English. On one side was a number of warehouses, and at the end of the row was the Hanseatic Museum, containing memorials of the Hanseatic League which used to control all the trade in this locality.
I next went to an exchange office, and changed an American two-dollar bill, an English half sovereign, and a German three mark piece into Norwegian kroners. I am quite cosmopolitan in money matters now, and I can think in cents, shillings, marks, and kroners. A kroner is about twenty-seven cents. After walking up and down the main street about six times, I went into some of the stores and learned that Bergen takes the cake for high prices. I didn’t buy anything.
There are two or three good hotels in the town, and many more restaurants. The food seems to be the only thing here that is reasonable.
I went through the Industrial Arts Museum. The first floor, admission free, contained exhibits of merchandise from the Bergen stores. The second floor, admission 25 ore, contained a lot of ancient furniture and Scandinavian ornaments. The brilliant and flashy colors with which most of the articles were painted almost pained the eye. The furniture reminded one strongly of barbarians. On the third floor, admission 50 ore, was an exhibition of Scandinavian paintings. There were two there that were good. One represented a Norwegian woman sitting on a pile of furniture, with her two children hanging to her skirts, while in the background her husband gropes in the smoldering ruins of their home. The other picture showed two Vikings skiing through a snowstorm, while one holds a little child behind his shield. Many of the other pictures were fair, but a large number were absolutely rotten. There was one room full of pictures, which looked as if the painter had slobbered the paint on the canvas with the end of a stick. It made me sore to think that in the Berlin galleries, which had hundreds of fine paintings, I had to go through in a few minutes, while here I had a whole afternoon to spend looking at this collection.
I went to a hotel about six o’clock, for supper. I ate it in an open garden, set with a lot of tables, where a large number of bluejackets and midshipmen were seated. An orchestra of about six supplied the music. The first piece was the Star Spangled Banner, and of course we all rose. However, I wasn’t quite sure whether we weren’t making a mistake, for I had much difficulty in recognizing the piece. The dinner was good and only cost two kroner.
I saw a bronze statue of Ole Bull in Bergen. The people here evidently thought a lot of him. Later in the afternoon, I went through the cemetery and ran across two youngsters seated on a bench, and earnestly regarding a large copper urn about eight feet high, set in an oval flowerbed about ten feet long, with the name “Ole Bull” in bronze letters on its face. They told me that they were trying to figure out whether the jar contained Ole Bull’s ashes, or whether he was buried in that oval flowerbed. I couldn’t decide the question for them.
I took a car ride through a part of Bergen. This part reminded me of Idaho Springs, for a high mountain came right down to the street.
For the first time on the cruise, I got back to the wharf about two hours before the last liberty boat left, and returned to the ship on an earlier steamer. About twenty other fellows were also there, so it seems that Bergen by night didn’t have any attraction for us. One first classman had three turns of a handkerchief around his head and over his left eye. He said that he slipped while descending one of the mountains, and went down quite a distance on his face.
The pap sheet has been decorated lately by some heavy paps. One second classmen got stuck for disregard of orders, - taking a camera ashore in Kiel. Two other second classmen hit it for smoking in the streets of Kiel.
July 18 I was on duty Sunday and didn’t go ashore. I stood the anchor watch Sunday night from eleven to one, on the quarterdeck. I believe that I walked two or three miles up and down that deck during my watch. I had to keep clear of the port side in my walk, for that formed the ceiling of the cabin where the captain was sleeping, and the tramp up and down the deck might have affected his slumber. When we sleep, about forty men are always walking over our heads, and they man the ash-whip right alongside, every two or three hours, and nobody notices it, but with the captain it is different.
About eleven o’clock, the steam launch came alongside with the shore patrol and one sailor who was an hour late returning from liberty. The shore patrol consists of four bluejackets and a petty officer, who go ashore when the sailors go on liberty and act as an aide to the shore police. Whenever a sailor gets arrested, it is their duty to get him out of jail before the ship sails. Thus in Queenstown, a sailor, who said a jaunting car driver was overcharging him, smashed the jaunting car to get even. He was arrested and fined nine pounds. The paymaster paid the money, to be deducted later from the bluejacket’s pay, and the shore patrol took the man back to his ship.
About an hour later, the steamer made its last trip and came back with the paymaster’s clerk who had gone ashore in cits, with a straw hat and a fancy cane. As he stepped out of the boat onto the gangway ladder, a wave lifted up the boat and to save himself, he grabbed the ladder with both hands, letting his cane go and losing his hat at the same time. The coxswain of the steamer managed to fish both the hat and the cane out of the water with a boathook about five minutes later, but I guess our pay clerk won’t ever wear that hat again.
A few minutes later, the men threw the steamer’s boiler fires into the harbor and then turned in for the night.
It was now about half past twelve, but in spite of the hour, we could see everything quite plainly, for on account of our high north latitude, it did not get dark here. If we had arrived about a month earlier, it would have been almost as light as day all the time.
The navigator, Lt. Riddle, served a lunch to the men on watch at 12:30 AM. We had some sandwiches and coffee.
I was relieved at one o’clock and went below to my hammock to turn in. Everybody else on board had to wake up at four o’clock to coal ship, but they allowed the men who had been on watch, to sleep in, so I slept until seven, and didn’t start to coal until after breakfast.
On account of my previous experience, I now knew how to dress for coaling, and as a result, I managed to keep coal dust from going down my neck or getting into my shoes. When I finished coaling, although my head and hands were as black as a negro’s, the rest of my body was comparatively clean.
I stayed in the bunkers of the Vulcan all day. She has six coal bunkers, starting from the bow and running aft to her engine room. Each bunker extends from the deck clear to the bottom, and from one side of the ship to the other. The bunkers were about fifty feet square and about forty feet deep. When we started coaling from her at Queenstown, we were at the very top of the bunkers, but we had taken so much coal out of the Vulcan that now we were way down in a sort of coal mine about thirty feet from the top. It seemed strange to think that we had shoveled that much coal out of her.
As usual, thick clouds of coal dust hung around the bags, but we worked rather fast and sent the bags up as fast as they could handle them on deck. We knocked off at ten o’clock and had some sandwiches and coffee. We had another intermission at twelve for dinner, and after dinner I explored the after part of the collier. Her engine room was beautiful to look at, for everything there was shining brightly.
We commenced coaling again at one and kept it up till six. After supper, we coaled again until eight-thirty, when we knocked off for good. We took about nine hundred and fifty tons on altogether, which will last us until we get to Gibraltar. I think that they could have coaled the steam launch with the coal that I must have inhaled.
I ran for the washroom and managed to get there before the crowd. It only took me an hour to get clean, though of course some rings of coal dust were left around my eyes which I couldn’t remove till next day.
Just before I finished washing, the exec took a look into the washroom, and seeing the floor covered with about four inches of water, shut off the water. I was finished then, but a large crowd of fellows were left there covered with dirt and without any water. They didn’t get washed till about ten PM.
Last time we coaled, I threw my clothes away, and some of the firemen took them for steaming clothes, but this time I thought I’d save them for coaling again in Gibraltar so I put them on top of my locker. When I got back from the washroom they had disappeared, so I guess another fireman has some more steaming clothes.
I learned yesterday that the crews of colliers are not bluejackets but merchant sailors. The captain and officers are officers from merchant ships and don’t belong to the navy. They wear an “N.A.S.” on their caps, meaning Naval Auxiliary Service. The crews are shipped for three years, but can quit after one year if they wish.
This morning the crew is having a field day, scrubbing and holystoning the decks. I tried holystoning as an experiment. The holystone consists of a rough brick with a small hole in the top. A mop stick fits into the hole, and by means of the stick, the operator moves the holystone back and forth across the deck, which has previously been sanded. By this process, the top of the deck planks is worn clean. Holystoning didn’t seem a hard task to me, but if I had kept it up for a few hours, I guess my back would have felt the effects.
We are going to take an all day excursion to Finse Thursday. Finse, which is about 120 miles from here, has the finest scenery in Norway. It lies where the snow is perpetual. The order about the trip finished up with the following sentence – “As part of the trip will be warm, and the other part cold, midshipmen will dress themselves accordingly.”
I finished up my last roll of films today. They sell Eastman’s films ashore here, as they have in every place that I have seen so far.
There was a rather large passenger steamer, the Otranto, in port yesterday, and today another one, a little smaller, came in.
July 19 I didn’t go ashore on liberty yesterday either. I intended to, but an order was published saying that there would be a ball on board the Iowa in the afternoon. A certain number of first-classmen were detailed to go, and four youngsters were detailed to go in case they were needed, that is, if the supply of ladies at the ball was sufficient. I was one of the four lucky youngsters, and so when the rest of the bunch went on liberty, we stayed aboard.
At four o’clock, the first-classmen shoved off for the Iowa. About twenty minutes later, the Iowa signaled over for the reserves, so our youngsters embarked and shoved off for the Iowa. On the way over, we picked up the Massachusetts party, and then proceeded to the flagship.
The Iowa's quarterdeck was beautifully decorated. An awning was spread from the stern to the top of the twelve-inch turret, and on its underside were fastened flags of all nations. The twelve-inch turret was draped on one side with a large American flag, and on the other by a large Norwegian flag. Various-colored signal flags hung from the awning down the sides by the rail, making the entire quarterdeck an enclosed ball-room. Chairs from the wardroom were placed along the rails.
The deck itself was waxed and polished until it was as slippery as could be desired.
When we came aboard, Commodore Coontz met us at the gangway and said that as it was impossible to introduce us, we shouldn’t let any formalities deter us, but should butt right in on any lady with whom we wished to dance. We took his advice and waltzed away on the next dance.
Almost all of the ladies there could talk English. Some could talk it quite well, but most had a very limited vocabulary. There were three or four American girls present who had come in on the steamers the day before. The wife of Commander Marvell was also present.
The difference in language didn’t inconvenience us very much, but I made one fox (sic) pass (sic), as the Lucky Bag has it. The second girl I danced with talked English quite well, much better than most of the young ladies present, so I thought I’d compliment her upon it, for excepting a decidedly Swedish accent, she could talk almost as well as we. “You speak English quite well,” I said to her. “Oh, yes,” she replied, “I only came from Minnesota two days ago.” I’m afraid that she wasn’t much pleased with the compliment.
The difference in the style of dancing was a greater inconvenience. The waltz is about the only thing that they dance over here, but most of the girls picked up the two-step easily. However, there were some there who couldn’t dance at all with us, and the midshipmen who got them were in hard luck, for they couldn’t get any one else to take them. One youngster had one of these and had to keep her for he couldn’t hand her over to anybody. At the end of his fourth dance with her, he came over and said to me in desperation, “For Heaven’s sake, come over and relieve me!” but I had to refuse.
I got stung that way myself a few times, for, as I was walking along, a first-classman stopped me, said “Allow me to introduce Miss Nordenskold,” and then walked away without another word, leaving the girl with me. The second girl that I got in that manner was a rotten dancer, and so I tried to turn her over to someone else but couldn’t manage it. At the end of the second dance I had enough, so I said, “Pardon me a moment,” and then beat it.
These were exceptional cases, however, for most of the girls danced well, and I had a fine time.
About ten of the army and the naval officers of Norway were present. Their uniforms didn’t look as well as the full dress that our own officers wore, but they were a fairly decent looking bunch. One of them was wearing spurs.
Our own officers seemed to be having a better time than anyone else. Commodore Coontz danced every dance, and it didn’t make any difference to him what sort of a dance it was. I saw him once dancing away between the guns with a Norwegian lady, and evidently she wasn’t getting the step very well, for Coontz was counting aloud in German, “Eins, zwei, drei; eins, zwei, drei,” as they waltzed around the ventilators.
Refreshments were served in the officers’ wardroom and in the captain’s cabin by the messboys. We had chocolate ice-cream, chicken salad, salted almonds, and cakes, of which, unfortunately, I didn’t get very much. The ice-cream was the best I’ve tasted since June 1.
In one of the staterooms, I saw our officers serving out some liquid refreshments to the Norwegian officers, but no midshipmen strayed into that room.
A large number of shore boats filled with people from the town were clustered around the ship, listening to the music which the Iowa’s band, perched in the first top of the skeleton mast, was lining out. About half of the selections must have been Norwegian, for I never heard of such a tempo before, and they were rather difficult to dance to. One of the Norwegian dances went very well with that music. It consisted in walking backwards with your partner in a sort of swinging step, with never a turn.
The piece which made the biggest hit with our visitors was, “My wife’s gone to the country,” which they applauded so much that the band repeated it.
Our dance broke up at eight o’clock. All the steamers from the three ships came over and carried the guests ashore. The four commanding officers lined up and shook hands with them as they went over the side and were taken away.
I devoted the half hour which it took to speed the departing guests, to an examination of the Iowa. She is a much larger ship than the Indiana, having larger decks and more space all around. She also has balanced turrets, while ours are unbalanced. The two Queenstown cups were shown in a glass case.
We finally got back to the Indiana about 8:30. As the lunch which I got on the Iowa didn’t allay my hunger, and as supper had been served on the Indiana two hours before, I asked the officer of the deck, Lt. Treadwell, for permission to go ashore to get something to eat.
“It’s too late to go ashore,” he said. “Tell the steward that I order him to get some supper for you,” so I went below and chased up the steward. The steward collected a meal from the officers’ pantry which was better than the midshipmen usually get, and he also brought forth some coffee and some real cream. It was a swell meal, which I fully appreciated.
I finally turned in an hour after taps.
July 20 I went ashore yesterday and had a much better time than I did when I went before. I first went to the Bergen Museum, a large building with a fine collection of Norwegian records and relics from prehistoric times to the present, and a collection of stuffed animals from all countries which is very large and interesting.
The collection was arranged in chronological order, and as I went through I saw bronze shields and swords, from all over Scandinavia and relics from the various churches. What particularly interested me were the arms and armor. There was a suit of it.
July 21 Armor complete with a helmet, body, arm, and leg armor. I revised my opinion of a knight in armor immediately. I always thought that the armor they wore was about a quarter of an inch thick, but it wasn’t, it was only a thirty-second. One good wallop with a heavy sword ought to crack it anyway. I saw some swords there that were evidently capable of doing it. They were two-handed affairs, about eight feet long, with a heavy double-edged, pointless blade about six feet long, and a hilt with a separate grip for each hand, about two feet long. I believe the man who used them had to swing them around their heads to get up some force, somewhat after the manner of throwing the hammer, before they could do anything. One blow would certainly have cut through the armor.
The chief object of interest in the animal collection was the skeleton of a whale seventy feet long.
From the museum I went to the aquarium. The aquarium itself wasn’t very large, but it had some interesting fishes. Outside was a large artificial pond containing two seals and a sea lion. It was a pleasure to watch the sea lion swimming under water, for although he fairly shot through the water, he rarely used his flippers but only moved his tail gracefully from side to side. Every moment he would come up, take a breath, close his nostrils, and then go down again. A few times he came close to the bank and then stood up on his tail with his head out of water, watching us.
The seals were much smaller, but shaped about the same. They were of a dark yellow color with small brown spots.
From the aquarium, I crossed over to the other side of the town to see Valkendorf Tower and Haakonshalle. Valkendorf Tower dates from the sixteenth century having been built about the same time as Blarney Castle, which it much resembles. I paid 25 ore to get in, and a small boy took me in tow. The circular stone staircase leading to the top was much better preserved than Blarney’s, as was also the rest of the Tower. From the battlements on the top I got a good view of the town. My guide next led me down into the dungeons, reached by a narrow stone stairway. There were two dungeons, one large and one small. The larger one was about twenty feet square with a cylindrical roof and a dirt floor. It was damp and absolutely dark except for the light which we carried. A few rocks on the floor formed the bed. The other dungeon was about the same only much smaller. A thick wooden door with a small square hole, fastened with a rusty bolt, closed the only entrance to each dungeon. A lock about six inches square was used to secure each bolt.
Haakonshalle, or King’s Hall, has been almost entirely restored. Large cement pillars arching so as to form the ceiling, took up most of the space. In the cellar was a dark and dirty stone pit about ten feet square and six deep that was used as a bathtub by the king.
I saw the outside of St. Mary’s church, a structure dating from the 13th century. It looked it. Two small square towers rose up in front, making it look like the old Spanish mission churches in Mexico.