Under serene skies on the morning of July 20th, seventeen ships, assembled in Halifax harbor, made final preparations to steam forth to the highways of the broad Atlantic.

At 9:30 o'clock that morning the convoy maneuvered into battle formation with a U.S. cruiser leading the convoy while four small sub chasers circled about in high speed and an army dirigible flew overhead. Each ship was directed in a zig zag course, a new angle of the zig zag being pointed every few minutes, a course of propellation that continued the entire route of the water way.

Good-byes were waved from ships stationed along the several miles of water course that marked the harbor's length, until the open Atlantic was reached, then the sub chasers and the dirigible turned about, leaving the seventeen transports and supply ships under the wing of the battle cruiser that proceeded to pick out the course across the ocean, to where bound no one on board, save the captain of the ship, knew.

Clad in their life preservers the soldiers idled about the decks as the convoy sped on. It was a source of delight to stand at the deck rail and watch the waves dash against the steel clad sides of the ship. On several occasions when the waves rolled high, many on board experienced the sensation of a sea bath, the stiff sea breeze carrying the seething foam high over the rail on to the deck.

To see the waves roll high created the impression of mightiness of creation; the impression of mountains rising magic like at the side of the vessel. Suddenly the ship rises to the crest of the wave and the recedence leaves one looking down into what appears like a deep cavern.

When the sun was rising in the direction one was thrilled by the beauties of the rainbow observed in the clearness of the waves, when, at the height of dashing resplendence the surging sprays descend in fountain semblance, drinking in, as it were, the very beauty of God's handiwork.

The same position on deck the boys found none the less attractive when the shades of night had fallen. On one of the first nights out the ship passed through an atmosphere of dense fog, suddenly to emerge into elements of star lit splendor, the moon, in full radiance, casting a silvery luminous path on the sparkling waves. It was a phenomena worthy of the tallest submarine risks to witness. The full moon and the very repleteness of things aesthetic gave opportunity for those who were able to portray an attitude of indifference, to tell gravely how the radiance of the night fully exposed the convoy to the U-boats that were lurking in every wave.

Established routine of transport duties and formations was continued during the ocean voyage. Ship-abandon and fire drills were a daily feature of life aboard. Each outfit had a specific place to congregate when the signal for ship-abandon drill was sounded. All that was necessary was to stand at the appointed place while the coolies, comprising the crew, scampered to the life-boats and made miniature attempts at hacking the ropes and dropping to the waves.

The promenade deck, both port and starboard sides, was in use each day accommodating group after group for half-hour periods of physical exercise. The tossing of the vessel lent itself in rhythm to the enjoyment of the calisthenics, or else it was physical exercise enough in trying to maintain an equilibrium while the arms and legs were raised alternately in eight counts.

Guard duty was firmly established on board. A guard roster numbered more men than a guard detail at Camp Meade ever required. The significance of the precise guard forms another of the mysteries of Battery D. No one went A.W.O.L. while enroute and when it came to challenging after taps, a sentry in most cases could not be greeted by the customary answer, "a friend," although the challenged party was a friend indeed, also a friend in need. How could he answer when he had his hand over his mouth and his primary object was to get to the rail quick. After several days out, however, a majority of the boys "got their sea legs," as evinced by the mess line three times daily.

A schedule of formations, similar to Camp Meade routine, was promulgated on board. Reveille was set for 7 o'clock each morning. When the time came to assemble on deck the space was so small and the crowd was so large that many a recruit slept-in until the last mess line was treading the beat. Reform measures were instituted and extra duty lists published, offenders being added to the regular details that were selected to daily wash up the deck and clean up the hatch.

A permanent submarine guard was detailed, the members of this detail landing state rooms for the journey; living next door to the officers. During the trip this guard sighted several score of "subs" but generally their "object port-bow" proved to be a keg that had become prohibition and therefore found itself abandoned in mid-ocean.

Outside of bunk inspection, medical inspection, feet inspection, several kinds of arm inspection, with details, drill formations and exercise periods, the life of the American soldier aboard a transport was an idle one. The ship's canteen did a big business during office hours. A world's series bleacher crowd had nothing on the canteen line of the Morvada. A place in the line commanded a high premium, which led to speculation in canteen supplies.

The afternoon of July 21st was attendant by a high wind, making it very cool on deck, while the wind lashed the waves with great fury. The cold wind blew all day July 22nd, the day when the first wireless reports were posted on board, telling of the Germans being driven over the Marne and thousands of prisoners captured.

The sea became calm on Tuesday, July 23rd, the gale having died down. The ship was traveling East and each morning watches had to be readjusted to correspond to the change in longitude.

At 3 a. m. on the third morning out a great commotion was occasioned on board. Everybody was awakened by a loud rumbling. A majority thought a submarine had been encountered. Several dashed up the steps of the hatchway to be ready for action. Someone shouted, "Don't get excited, but make room for me to get out first." Later it was ascertained that the noise was caused by the ships' anchor slipping several rods of anchor chain.

The first taste of real excitement was occasioned at 1 o'clock on the afternoon of July 25th when a strange craft was sighted on the distant horizon. The cruiser of the convoy was all action immediately. Warning flashed to all the convoy party and a wild series of zigzagging ensued while the cruiser chased pell-mell in the direction of the sighted craft. A shot was fired from the cruiser in the dash, but only a mountain of water was blasted by the discharge.

The convoy continued Eastward while the cruiser investigated. Finally the cruiser returned to the convoy and reported everything O.K. The troops never learned the official identity of the strange vessel that sent the first sub-chasers up the vertebrae of many.

Word was passed about on Saturday, July 27th, that the convoy was approaching the imaginary line in the ocean that Germany had established as the dead-line, past which her U-boats were operating in unrestricted warfare. The approach of the danger zone was the signal for all on board to remove no article of clothing while asleep at night and to carry a canteen of fresh water strapped to the belt at all times. In this manner everybody was prepared to take to the waves at a minute's sub-warning.

As the journey continued the officers of Battery D instituted a series of battery lectures, also took up plans for the organization of a permanent battery commander's detail.

Sunday, July 28th, found the sea calm in the morning, but a strong gale set in at noon, followed by a heavy rain during the afternoon. A dense fog enveloped the convoy. Fog horns came into play and it was a miserable night aboard for everybody. Standing at the deck rail one could not pierce the fog, although it was known that within a short radius all the other ships of the convoy were groping their way through the darkness; each creeping as a black monster through the gloomy night, depending upon the fog-horn to keep aloof from their sister convoy ships; a sense of loneliness enshrouded the scene. It was a wild night for the timid with sub-scares, especially when the information leaked out that the sub-chasers which were scheduled to meet the convoy and escort it through the danger zone, were overdue and still missing.

Fog still lay close to the water on the morning of Monday, July 29th, as eager watch was kept for the new convoy. The transports had reached the danger line and the destroyers were not in sight.

Finally at 10 a. m. on the morning of the 29th, the first of the sub-chasers was sighted. It was not long before others appeared, bobbing up and down. The waves dashed high about the light craft and at times seemed to submerge the shells as they bore down upon the groups of transports. Eight sub-chasers appeared on the scene. A great shout went up from the transports as the convoy was sighted. They circled the transports and the last and most dangerous lap of the journey was started.

Thoughts strange and varied filled the minds of the majority aboard as they tossed in their bunks on the night of July 29th. Realization of location in the danger zone was keen. Those who were at ease sufficiently to sleep were annoyed and disturbed by the noises of whistles and signal horns as the ships and the convoy kept ever alert for submarines.

On the morning of July 30th the eight sub-chasers encircled the convoy party in closer proximity. The dash through the danger zone continued unmolested until 3 o'clock in the afternoon when the first real periscope was discovered by the look-outs.

The cruiser at the head of the convoy lurched forth; fired a shot and tossed up the waves in answer. The resonance against the steel sides of the transport rang out clear, bringing hundreds scampering out of the hatches and state rooms of the ship, on to the decks, to peer out over the rail and watch in awe the great drama that was being enacted in serious reality upon the waves of the ocean.

The sun was shining brightly. Every transport in the party struck out at full speed, while the zigzagging was increased in comparison. Eight sub-chasers cut the waves with frantic speed. The circle-convoy formation was abandoned. The destroyers cut short to make for the scene of action, which held forth and was witnessed to good advantage from the starboard side of the Morvada.

As the transports fled under full steam the cruiser and sub-chasers snorted and crashed and roared in the vicinity the periscopes had been discovered. Depth-bombs came into play. Those missiles of destruction were hurled from the destroyers as they combed the waves for miles and miles around the spot where danger threatened. Each discharge of depth-bomb raised an avalanche of water; the deadly bombs blasting the depths for great distances, while the reverberation shook the transports, creating the impression that the transport was in direct contact with each explosion.

For fully an hour the detonations continued as the depth-bombs were discharged. Finally the destroyers swept back and the convoy formation was resumed. The news was spread that the final result of the battle was success, as vouched for by films of oil the destroyers saw appear on the water's surface. General report had it that five submarines composed the attacking party and that wreckage and oil coming to the surface gave evidence of two having been destroyed.

The convoy continued on its journey. Sailing orders were executed in detail. It was 4 o'clock, one hour after the sub-battle, that the convoy parted, the various ships bound for different ports of debarkation, which were soon to loom in sight.

At 6 p. m. that same day the soldiers on board the Morvada sighted land. Throughout the night the ships sped on but land was dimly discernible, the rugged outline appearing through the shadows of the night, while the appearance of fishing smacks, which the transport passed without fear or sign, created the impression that friendly shores were near.

Unable to ply their nets at their life's occupation as fishermen the sturdy shoresmen of Brittany's coast gave of their time and their smacks to the perilous task of combing adjacent water for mines and explosive obstacles.

It was these the Morvada passed out in the darkness of night, on the eve before landing and setting foot on foreign soil. The Morvada crept on, the contrasting stillness of the waves showing that channel waters had been reached. But few on board knew, or could rightly guess what shore was to greet their eyes on the dawn of the morrow.