The men are beginning to awaken now, before the
call. They have missed the moment of parting. They awaken to—destination
unknown, route unknown, life even for an hour ahead unknown. The great ship
throws her bow into the Atlantic.
On the boat deck two early-rising mountain boys
are standing, looking in wonder at the incredible sea. One of them says, “They
say she’s salty clear down to the bottom.”
“Now you know that ain’t so,” the other says.
“What you mean, it ain’t so? Why ain’t it so?”
The other speaks confidently. “Now, son,” he
says, “you know there ain’t that much salt in the world. Just figure it out for
yourself.”
SOMEWHERE IN ENGLAND, June 22, 1943—The
first morning on a troopship is a mess. The problem of feeding thousands of men
in such close quarters is profound. There are two meals a day, spaced ten
hours apart. Mess lines for breakfast form at seven and continue until ten.
Dinner lines start at five in the afternoon and continue until ten at night.
And during these times the long, narrow corridors are lined with men, three
abreast, carrying their field kits.
On the first day the system does not take
effect. There are traffic jams and thin tempers. At ten in the morning a
miserable private in chemical warfare whines to a military policeman, who is
keeping the lines shuffling along. “Please, mister. Get me out of this line. I
have had three breakfasts already. I ain’t hungry no more. Every time I get out
of one line I get shoved into another one.”
Men cannot be treated as individuals on this
troopship. They are simply units which take up six feet by three feet by two
feet, horizontal or vertical. So much space must be allotted for the physical
unit. They are engines which must be given fuel to keep them from stopping. The
products of their combustion must be taken care of and eliminated. There is no
way of considering them as individuals. The second and third day the method
begins to work. The line flows smoothly and on time, but that first day is a
mess.
The men are rested now and there is no room to
move about. They will not be able to have any exercise during this voyage.
There are too many feet. The major impression on a troop ship is of feet. A
man can get his head out of the way and his arms, but, lying or sitting, his
feet are a problem. They sprawl in the aisles, they stick up at all angles.
They are not protected because they are the part of a man least likely to be
hurt. To move about you must step among feet, must trip over feet.
