Sunday, May 20, 1917:
Some of the fellows are sick today and a lady across from us was sick all night. The water is very quiet, however, and the day perfect. Physically I feel fine, but my heart aches for Dorothy. I have read two of the steamer letters she wrote and it made me hate myself for leaving America. It made me curse this war with its sorrows and heart rendings. Dorothy has grown dearer to me than anything I have ever wanted or possessed. I hope these 6 months will go quickly.
My fur coat has proved very practical and a constant companion. I have slept flat on my back on the forward deck in the sun this P.M. and have read some of Robert Service which Dorothy gave me. This trip is going to be a great rest, I’m sure.
I forgot to say that there are about 350 passengers aboard and easily 300 of these are Ambulance Drivers, some units from colleges and some individuals as myself. There are a number of Dartmouth boys aboard, Harvard, Williams and Columbia -- also M.I.T. is pretty well represented.
At night the windows are covered and the deck in pitch blackness. The fellows congregate in crowds and sing to the accompaniment of mandolins and ukuleles.
We had good fried chicken for dinner tonight. We can’t possibly complain of food so far. It is well cooked and of great variety,
Tish and I sat alone in the dark on deck for 2 hours this evening listening to the music of the mandolin and groups of men singing. Went to bed about 10:30.
The "steamer letter" was a byproduct of the great era of ocean travel. Friends and lovers would write a letter or postcard to their loved one for each day of an ocean voyage, noting the day on which the letter could be opened and read. This is the 1st steamer letter that Dorothy Houghton wrote to Grant:
Steamer-letter no. 1
I am going to write you a letter for every day that you’ll be on board—that is for the first week—if you’re much longer than that you’ll have to resort to repetition. So although you must be Post office, postmaster and receiver, all in one, you must play fair and not read them all at once, but save one for each day. Or you would be like the little girl whose brother told her not to swallow her candy too quickly ’cause he couldn’t get it up again! Of course on ship-board many things do come to the surface which one never expects—so this rule may only hold good on land! You can tell me someday how it worked.
First of all, according to the custom of all steamer letters, I wish you, Deacon-lover, “Bon voyage”. And in this particular case, a very happy busy six months of service for your country and mine, and a speedy return to the good old U.S.A. and me! You know—and this is not said in most steamer letters—that I am waiting for you. Furthermore I am thinking of you and praying for you all the time. I have put you in God’s hands, and I am not afraid, for He can take far better care of you than even I could do, though I want to so much.
You know too that I love you—I feel as if I always had and know I always will—no matter what happens. So please, for my sake don’t run any unnecessary risks just for the glory & adventure of this new experience. I wish you were not to be stationed right along the battle front—sometimes I shall get awake at night and think of you in that long convoy of ambulances way over there across the waters, picking your way out in the dark, or by the occasional fire of the big guns. That’s when I’ll cease to be brave and perhaps choke myself with some red-hot tears, for I’ll want you so—just as I used to have you with your big strong arms around me. But I’m going to work hard and keep busy and therefore happy, and the first thing we know summer will have come and gone, and you’ll be home again. And the very best Christmas present I’ll ever have—will be your own dear self.
I wish I were going to meet you again today at Broad St. Station (and you may safely bet I’ll keep on wishing it) but instead I’m going to beat my way out on the trolley. It’s a heavenly day and the ride of an hour & a half won’t be half bad—even if I can’t get an open car; and then (here’s evidence of my economical nature) I’ll only spend 10¢. Think of it!
Your telegram arrived about noon, and made me laugh. I believe you are in love, Deac-dear. You seemed to forget more than you remembered. I love to bring them though for somehow it makes me feel very domestic and near you. I feel that way too when I sew or embroider things for future use. That’s something I haven’t told you—I’ve already started a “hope-chest”. Marion has one, so you must know what they are;--but you can’t know how exciting it is to make & save things for them. I have enough now for very light house-keeping—a luncheon set, two silver forks from Senior Parlor (V.C.) and a half dozen spoons (we’d never use knives!); also a goodly assortment of towels, not to mention my own personal belongings—any of which seeming unnecessary I stowe away. Well, I must go—this will be enough for one day.
All yours,
For Saturday only.
Friends Select School
Friends Select School
May 17, 1917
Dear Other Part of Me,-
I am going to write you a letter for every day that you’ll be on board—that is for the first week—if you’re much longer than that you’ll have to resort to repetition. So although you must be Post office, postmaster and receiver, all in one, you must play fair and not read them all at once, but save one for each day. Or you would be like the little girl whose brother told her not to swallow her candy too quickly ’cause he couldn’t get it up again! Of course on ship-board many things do come to the surface which one never expects—so this rule may only hold good on land! You can tell me someday how it worked.
First of all, according to the custom of all steamer letters, I wish you, Deacon-lover, “Bon voyage”. And in this particular case, a very happy busy six months of service for your country and mine, and a speedy return to the good old U.S.A. and me! You know—and this is not said in most steamer letters—that I am waiting for you. Furthermore I am thinking of you and praying for you all the time. I have put you in God’s hands, and I am not afraid, for He can take far better care of you than even I could do, though I want to so much.
You know too that I love you—I feel as if I always had and know I always will—no matter what happens. So please, for my sake don’t run any unnecessary risks just for the glory & adventure of this new experience. I wish you were not to be stationed right along the battle front—sometimes I shall get awake at night and think of you in that long convoy of ambulances way over there across the waters, picking your way out in the dark, or by the occasional fire of the big guns. That’s when I’ll cease to be brave and perhaps choke myself with some red-hot tears, for I’ll want you so—just as I used to have you with your big strong arms around me. But I’m going to work hard and keep busy and therefore happy, and the first thing we know summer will have come and gone, and you’ll be home again. And the very best Christmas present I’ll ever have—will be your own dear self.
School is over now—I started this in Study Hall early this morning. It’s Thursday, my day to stay here until 4.00 so I’ll have a nice long visit with you. We had a lecture on Birds by Schuyler Matthews from 1-2 o’clock. And as usual I wished for you. It was awfully good for Mr. Matthews imitated the different bird-calls so cleverly. Each song is individual and yet each means practically the same thing, in English:- “I love you—come to me”. How wonderfully this whole big scheme of things is worked out. Who could love & study nature and not believe that a Great Mind had planned it all? I love the trees, birds and flowers, and I want to know more about them. For even if I haven’t you, there will still be beauty. That reminds me of our friend, Sara Teasdale:- “Ah, beauty, are you not enough? Why am I unsatisfied and crying after love?” Why indeed? When we are made that way. I’ll never forget how surprised I was to learn, during a course in psychology at college, that the little lights we love to watch in summertime under the trees,--i.e. lightning bugs or “glow-worms” to be more poetical,--were all for a definite purpose. I had always thought they were just to look pretty, and not tiny beacons to light the way to each other. Yet how natural and simple it all is. At first, I’ll admit, the idea wasn’t pleasing—I felt that it wasn’t quite nice, and it rather disgusted me. But I’ve learned a lot since then—about myself & other things.
I wish I were going to meet you again today at Broad St. Station (and you may safely bet I’ll keep on wishing it) but instead I’m going to beat my way out on the trolley. It’s a heavenly day and the ride of an hour & a half won’t be half bad—even if I can’t get an open car; and then (here’s evidence of my economical nature) I’ll only spend 10¢. Think of it!
Your telegram arrived about noon, and made me laugh. I believe you are in love, Deac-dear. You seemed to forget more than you remembered. I love to bring them though for somehow it makes me feel very domestic and near you. I feel that way too when I sew or embroider things for future use. That’s something I haven’t told you—I’ve already started a “hope-chest”. Marion has one, so you must know what they are;--but you can’t know how exciting it is to make & save things for them. I have enough now for very light house-keeping—a luncheon set, two silver forks from Senior Parlor (V.C.) and a half dozen spoons (we’d never use knives!); also a goodly assortment of towels, not to mention my own personal belongings—any of which seeming unnecessary I stowe away. Well, I must go—this will be enough for one day.
All yours,
Dot
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