Page:History of the 305th field artillery (IA historyof305thfi01camp).pdf/96

78 "It's well enough for you to talk," we said, "you're in a boat. You're lucky."

Our hearts were full of envy.

"I thought I was at first,” he admitted, "but I'll swop with any of you. Somebody's reminded me of a thing I'd forgotten, and I'm trying to duck that boat."

“What is it?" we asked.

"You're crazy."

“Oh, no. Not at all. You see the captain's the last man to leave the ship."

No matter where you were, even at your appointed place, when the bugle cried for abandon ship drill you had to rush to your bunk and wait there in the dusky, close hold of the ship until the gong sent the long lines worming at double time up the companionways and to the deck. It was a good deal to ask a man to leave the air and the sun, in an emergency, and to fight his way through narrow, insufficient passages to the stiffling hold; but we could see it was the most efficient way.

As the days passed the drills became more ambitious. They came at unexpected moments—often in the middle of the night.

"Shake it up there! Get to your place! Don't block that passage! Hay, Brown, where did you get the molasses on your shoes?"

And we were never quite sure whether it was a drill or a dangerous actuality.

It was forbidden to talk at abandon ship drill. That was difficult, for sometimes it was nearly an hour before the recall blew. So men talked, and when they did strange punishments were invented. You might see a forlorn individual standing in ranks with a placard hung about his neck, informing all the world:

“I talked at Abandon Ship Drill."

Or another at the head of the companionway, singing out to the running lines: