Sidney D. Light's WWI Diary, Postcards & Letters, 329th Battery Book Accounts

Leviathan means "Monster of the Sea." She's all of that, being the largest ship now operating on the water.

        She is 954 feet long, 100 feet beam, and, when leaving New York draws 41 feet 10 inches of water. Place her on Fifth Avenue and she would spread from 42nd Street across 45th Street. Stand her on end alongside the Woolworth Building and she would overtop that colossus of the sky by more than 50 feet. She weighs 69,000 tons; more that twice the displacement of the world's largest dreadnaught.

        She stows 8,800 tons of coal; and consumes 11,110 on a trip, thereby requiring 3,310 tons abroad so she can have 1000 tons in reserve. Running at the speed she is capable of (around 23 knots), she would burn between 900 and 1000 tons daily. Her consumption at the rate we traveled (around 20), is 816 tons eastbound and 720 tons westbound, Welsh coal making the latter saving.

        She has 46 boilers, 8 horizontal turbine engines (four forward and four aft---one set for backing and one for going ahead) and four propeller shafts.  The two outer shafts are 250 feet long and the two inner ones 300 feet long; they are all 21 inches in diameter.  The couplers (connecting drive shafts to propeller shafts) weighs 27 tons each.  The shafts average 7 1/2 turns per minute per knot. The propeller blades are 7 feet long; fourteen feet from tip to tip.  Her engineering department requires 12 officers and 950 men.  Her commissary department requires 7 officers and 350 men.

      Her larder carries enough supplies to compare with ten battleships and one supply ship. She took on over 2,000,000 net pounds of provisions before starting over after us---representing such trifles as 220,000 pounds of fresh beef, 45,000 pounds of ham, 95,000 pounds of navy beans, 150,000 pounds of Irish spuds, 100,000 pounds of apples, 45,000 pounds of evaporated milk, 175,000 pounds of sugar, 15,000 pounds of assorted cake, 18,000 dozens of eggs, 30,000 pounds of coffee, etc.  She once made the trip over, left 80,000 pounds of provisions at Liverpool and returned without reprovisioning---and could have gone ten days more.  She has 35,000 cubic feet of cold storage forward and 30,000 aft.  All perishable stuff---save 35,000 pounds of spuds---is kept in cold storage.  Her best provisioning record is three days and a half.

        Her messing proposition represents the biggest feeding task ever undertaken in the history of the world.  Up until the time we broke the record---with Battery B, 329th F.A. on the job---her best feeding record was around 10,000 men in 70 minutes.  Our boys helped them to shoot through over 11,000 men in 80 minutes --- or approximately one man every half second. The general mess on our trip represented 13,926 men, crew and troops. There were 14,416 souls on board.  Incidentally, our men won official commendations on the way they handled the mess, and the 329th as a whole was praised by all the navy officers as the cleanest, snappiest outfit that ever struck the big boat.

       It is interesting to note that the general scheme of messing---with E Deck as Approach, D as Distribution and Exit, etc.; and with the twelve rows of "chow vats" feeding twenty-four lines at once, is an elaboration of a bygone, rough system of feeding landing forces of sailors at Guantanamo (Cuba) where it was the custom to land the various ship battalions for small arm practice.  The original equipment was a very limited one, namely a mess table at the foot of each company street and four syrup barrels filled with water to wash the mess gear.  From this crude idea was built the system on the Leviathan which holds the world's record for feeding the largest number of men in the shortest period of time. (We might add that if they keep up they'll have another world's record for good "eats," too.)

       Some idea of the cost of meals on board may be gained from the figures on our trip: March 30th it cost $9,800 to feed all hands; March 29th $6,500, down to $5,300 on March 26th.  The ovens turned out 4,000 two-pound loaves a day and 3,500 pies in a baking.  Meals are prepared six hours ahead of time and reheated in the serving station steam vats.  Around 2,1000 gallons of coffee are used each meal.

       There were originally seven separate and distinct complete galleys (kitchens) on the ship, counting two Jewish kitchens designed for Kosher cooking, for immigrants.  These were all ripped out and consolidated into one immense galley---where there are 47 steam kettles for cooking, 3 vegetable cookers holding three barrels of spuds each at a time, three electric potato peelers, power masher, etc.  There were four different dining rooms originally, not including the one used as our officers mess which was operated as the Ritz-Carlton Restaurant.  The place where our troops messed was the first class dining room.

       The ship was the latest and last word in luxurious travel across the sea.  There was a large ball room where we found the sick-bay, a fully equipped library, two fully equipped gymnasiums, a swimming pool with Turkish bath and electric ray machines, two smoking rooms, two lounging rooms, a beautifully furnished room for bridge players, and suite, known as the kaiser's suite, that cost something like 10,000 bucks to bunk in.  A copy of the ship's manifest showed over $80,000 worth of wines in the ship---some haul for the customs officials! The stripping of the ship was estimated at close on to $1,0000,000 in furniture, linens, silverware, etc.  But it took more money than that to fix her up as a transport.  In all the troop spaces, for instance (especially on E Deck) were beautifully fitted out rooms with expensive furniture and finishings .  The decks ran from A to M.

     She had more than enough lifeboats and rafts to handle all the men on board.  On her first trip as a U. S. transport Wall Street bet 100 to 1 against her safe return.  She was attacked twice by submarines---once on Decoration Day going into Brest and two days later coming out.  When the British transport JUSTICIAN was sunk in a running twenty-four-hour fight with six subs, the Germans thought they had the Leviathan and put on a premature celebration in Hunland. The Justician was another three-stacker and had similar camouflage.

      The Leviathan's camouflage was the best ever camaufed, they claim.  It was designed to give the enemy a wrong impression as to her course.  Had she been torpedoed her "double skin"---she is the only ship with two hides---would have held her up for some time.  Her wireless is the finest and strongest afloat---she can buzz some 2,200 miles.  She has an iceberg alarm, regulated by water temperature, and a submarine detector operated electrically.  Another electric alarm flashes if by any case the wrong engine maneuver is made.

      She has six ice machines, and her refrigeration is done by the circulating brine, sealed tube system.  Six evaporators on board are capable of distilling 250 tons (67,250 gallons) of water per day.  Her string of dynamos look a block long and are capable of turning out enough juice in a day to last the city of Hoboken a week.  She has 76,000 square feet of floor space on D Deck alone. She carries eight six-inch guns.

       Altogether she's some craft, n'est pas?

       And, oh yes, up until the armistice was signed she had carried 100,000 Yanks over.  Twenty Leviathans could handle the whole A. E. F. tout suite.  We were on her thirteenth westbound voyage, but no ill-luck crept aboard. We left Brest about sundown Wednesday, March 26th, and breezed in absolutely on schedule at 11 a.m. the next Tuesday.  Thing of a floating city such a this is, sunning ON THE DOT over the restless Atlantic!

``````````````````````

To read the Battery account of the trip back  click here 

       In the early part of our training each man received careful instructions in preparing emergency rations. It is doubtless well that those instructions never had to be recalled.. Our regiment always enjoyed the best of health. It seemed to be part of the basic principle upon which the whole army was built that each job, inasmuch as was possible, was to be a one-man job. The development of specialists included, and at the very top of the list, cooks. We had regular cooks who did nothing but cook and they were just good enough to rank high in their specialty among members of a regiment that when weighed in the balance were not found wanting.

        Back in the training areas in the United States the batteries bought their own food supplies, complying always with the approved ration allowance. The available market products made a variation in the daily menu easy and the mess fund was available when the fellows wanted a little something extra.

        In those days we had a regular mess hall and waiters and all that goes to make up an A No. 1 garrison mess. In after days we learned to appreciate such a mess more than it was ever supposed we would. It was not like home but it wasn’t like France either.

        The real conquests by the cooks and mess sergeants didn’t begin until we reached France. On the way over we were fed by the boat’s crew. No one in the outfit is responsible for that food and we don’t hate anybody in it anyhow so let the matter drop there. In France the regulation red tape connected with drawing and issuing rations entwined itself about every one from the regimental mess sergeant to the truck driver who hauled the food to the supply company. The greater the quantity drawn the more intricate the tanglings and some idea of the quantity necessary for one week’s rations may be gained by the fact that for the handling of it there was detailed eighteen service wagons, seventy-two army mules, thirty-six mule skinners and at least twenty men to load and unload the rations.

        If the tin cans in which the food was shipped across the ocean to the army were to be given to the boys they could build a house of tin and doubtless would have enough left over to build a garage, and if all the cows it took to fill those cans were herded together no ranch in the whole west could hold them.

        Depending upon circumstances entirely, it remained to know how to draw rations. For instance, the regiment is on the move and stops over night at a little station wherein there is only a rail head, such as was the case at the little town of Nanois, France. A report is submitted to the regimental supply office of the strength of the organization taken from the morning report and from it a ration return is drawn and submitted to the rail head officer who issues one day’s rations.

        What is a ration return? It is a certificate made on Q. M. C. form stating the number of men in the regiment, the number of rations required and the kind desired—either field, garrison or travel. This is signed by the commanding officer and becomes an official requisition for food. Take, for example the average ration return and the details involved in the correct distribution to the batteries of the food drawn.

        This memorandum is sent to each battery: "Submit ration return for the period January 31<sup>st</sup>, 1919 , to February 6<sup>th</sup>, 1919, both dates inclusive, seven day period. Return must be at this office by noon today."

        The data thus obtained is consolidated and the rations are drawn, and then comes the real work of the man in charge of the regimental rations.

        The next day sees an interesting sight in the ration room. Bacon and bread go sailing out the door to the little ration carts, past the mess sergeant’s nose, much the same as the farmer feeds his cattle. Beans and macaroni go scooting past the K. P. Rice and cornmeal, breakfast menu for seven days, fresh beef and potatoes—dinner for another period.

        You can see the ears of all the mess sergeants go up much the same as the ears of a mule at the sight of steam when he hears. "120 lbs. of jam, check; 2 5 lbs. butter, check; 300 lbs. sugar, check; Velvet smoking, today, boys, two packs to a man." Then watch their ears fall when you tell them they’ve got to take the soap whether they want it or not, everything on the issue slip goes. The official signature of the mess sergeant goes on the bottom and the Battery is "setting pretty" for seven more days, maybe.

        Books could be written of the conversations that could be heard in the ration room, as well as on the outside, while the details were discussing and condemning the menus and recipes of their mess sergeants. For instance, one fellow will swear by all that is good and holy that he and the Battery have been eating beans and beans only for four successive days. Another will say he has had for breakfast nothing but the south side of a sow for two months. One with a little more humor and love for the good old Army Rumor will say that his mess sergeant is a wizard with a gang of eats. He will swear that they have had hot cakes for breakfast, steaks for dinner and cake with chocolate frosting for supper. That fellow will be regarded with a certain suspicion the rest of the day. Get inside and the air is blue. Curses, imagine them? "How the h— am I going to feed that gang mush without extra milk? I don’t see why in h— they don’t give us more milk and less soap. D’you know the French only give 3 francs for 2 bars of that stuff?" About that time in comes Zucka, sergeant, Battery A. "Hello, gang! Say, what the h—, do we get corned beef today?" Then confidential like, "Say, d’you hear the latest, we’re going to move next week." And so it goes until about noon when the roar cools off and the smoke of the battle clears up. Then around come the stragglers. "Say, did you see my coffee go on my ration cart?" And it’s ten to one he wants some extra coffee. He doesn’t get it.

        The humorous side of the situation is easily seen, the work involved is easily realized, but the expense of the work, including the price of the rations handed out, is hardly recognized. It may be said that at each period rations to the extent of thousands of dollars are passed out with less thought than of a newsboy selling his extras.

        Take the period January 31<sup>st</sup>, 1919, to February 6<sup>th</sup>, 1919. It totaled a return of 10,303 rations. Let us see what that means in beef alone, or the component parts that go to make up the meat issue of the ration—50% of the total was fresh beef; 30% was bacon, 20% was corned beef; 50% of 10,303 is 5,151 rations, at 20 ozs. to a ration, totally 6, 439 lbs. Fresh beef at the estimated price of 25 cents per pound would involve $1,609.75; 30% of the total 10,303 is 3,091 rations, at 12 ozs. per ration, total 2, 318, at the estimated price of 50 cents per lb., total money value $1,159.00; 20% of the total 10,303 is 2, 061 rations, at 18 ozs. per ration, a total of 2,061 lbs., at 30 cents per lb., $619.30. Considering only estimate prices and low, modest prices at that, it is easy to see that the cost of the ration alone is astounding, not to consider the expense of transportation.

        In order to make an issue of rations a Table of Allowance is necessary, first to give to each organization that is drawing rations a certain amount as well as a certain variety of food.

        A close study of some of these tables would show that it is a tremendous task as well as a mammoth expense to feed an army of a million men.

        A closer study of just who was responsible for the full mess kits will be obtained by the mention of a few of the names of the responsible parties.

Headquarters Co.---Sgt. J. Hirchman, a big fellow with a good heart and a good smelling kitchen. A mighty nice fellow and a well liked mess sergeant.

Supply Co.—Sgt. F. Williams, not so large in size but possessed of a way of talking a commissary out of anything he wanted. I ate at his kitchen and I know that he served a mess that would suit anyone, even a "frog."

Battery "A"—Sgt. P. Zucka, another big fellow who claimed for himself speed in action, especially at mess time when a straggler blew in town. You could sick ‘em on Pete and he always fed ‘em.

Battery "B"—Sgt. W. Holzer, small but fast on his feet, dark in complexion but a white "guy" all the way through. Not a bad kicker, not a hard knocker, but a wizard at dishing out "Hot Cakes" and "Bacon." An all around good feeder and a happy soldier.

Battery "C"—Sgt. P. Di Laura, a real man with his heart and his soul in his work. A good provider and a fellow that got his share and saw that his men got their share. A little bit "old-fashioned" but a king in the kitchen.

Battery "D"— Sgt. J. Brown, happy Irish, easy going, hard working, good natured and everything else that goes in the making of a man that can stand the "gaff" in a kitchen surrounded by hungry artillerymen.

Battery "E"—Sgt. G. Tighe, the smallest mess sergeant alive. If they had built Tighe for heavy duty he could have fed the regiment steaks, doughnuts, hot cakes and pie, every day menu of Battery "E."

Battery "F"—Sgt. H. Stanley. A sergeant with many friends and a "Notorious Battery to back him up." A kitchen over a "Rathskeller" and a crew of cooks like a schooner. A big feeder and a man with a smile.

`````````````````````````````````````

For a great link to recipes from the front click here