Initial commit of ebook 78754 filesHEAD main

author: www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> 2026-05-25 20:12:56 -0700
committer: www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> 2026-05-25 20:12:56 -0700
commit: 796ed346240cab3e892d283fdda07b402dfe807a (patch)
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+      The Adventure Club With the Fleet | Project Gutenberg
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+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78754 ***</div>
+
+
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="cover">
+  <img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="book cover" title="book cover">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p class="noic">Transcriber’s Note: New original cover art included with this eBook,
+and derived from the book's cover and title page, is granted to the public domain.</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="noi halftitle">THE ADVENTURE CLUB WITH<br>
+THE FLEET</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<figure class="figcenter" id="i_frontispiece">
+  <img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" alt="" title="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_1">“War’s begun!” he announced breathlessly</a></p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<h1 class="nobreak">THE ADVENTURE CLUB<br>
+WITH THE FLEET</h1>
+
+<p class="p2 noic">By</p>
+
+<p class="noi author">RALPH HENRY BARBOUR</p>
+
+<p class="noi works">AUTHOR OF “LEFT END EDWARDS,” “LEFT TACKLE THAYER,”<br>
+“THE ADVENTURE CLUB AFLOAT,” ETC.</p>
+
+<p class="p2 noic">WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY<br>
+<span class="author">EDWARD C. CASWELL</span></p>
+
+<div class="pad2">
+<figure class="figcenter" id="logo">
+  <img class="illowe6" src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" title="logo">
+</figure>
+</div>
+
+<p class="noic">NEW YORK<br>
+<span class="adauthor">DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY</span><br>
+PUBLISHERS</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p class="noic smcap">Copyright, 1918, by</p>
+
+<p class="noic smcap">DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">
+    CONTENTS
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<table>
+<colgroup>
+  <col style="width: 20%;">
+  <col style="width: 70%;">
+  <col style="width: 10%;">
+</colgroup>
+<tr>
+  <th class="pr smfontr">CHAPTER</th>
+  <th class="tdl">&#160;</th>
+  <th class="smfontr">PAGE</th>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">I</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">STEVE BRINGS THE NEWS</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">1</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">II</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">JOE CHANGES HIS MIND</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">14</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">III</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">AT THE TRAINING STATION</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">26</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">IV</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">LAND HO!</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">41</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">V</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">OVER THERE</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">55</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VI</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">THE U.S.S. WARREN</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">65</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">SEA DUTY</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">76</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">VIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">WITH THE “SUICIDE FLEET”</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">91</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">IX</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">BACKS TO THE WALL</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">107</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">X</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">THE ALLIES TRIUMPH</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">121</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XI</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">THE ARMADA</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">131</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">“ALLO, SAMMEE!”</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">141</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">THE WARREN’S FIRST KILL</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">152</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XIV</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">LETTERS FROM HOME</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">163</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XV</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">OVERBOARD!</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">174</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XVI</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">THE FLOATING MINE</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">185</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XVII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">ABOARD THE SUNDSVALL</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">195</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XVIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">THE SIGNAL FROM THE FO’CSLE</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">208</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XIX</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">H.M.S. LINNET</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">219</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XX</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">THE BATTLE IN THE FOG</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">231</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXI</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">THE ZEPPELIN RAID</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">244</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">OLD FRIENDS COME ABOARD</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">256</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXIII</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">ON BOARD THE 3-U-9</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">268</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdrt">XXIV</td>
+  <td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">THE WARREN DROPS ANCHOR</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">288</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="ILLUSTRATIONS">
+    ILLUSTRATIONS
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<table>
+<colgroup>
+  <col style="width: 90%;">
+  <col style="width: 10%;">
+</colgroup>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdl hang"><a href="#i_frontispiece"><span class="smcap">“War’s Begun!” He
+Announced Breathlessly</span></a> (<span class="smcap">Page 1</span>)</td>
+  <td class="tdrb"><i>Frontispiece</i></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <th class="smfontr">&#160;</th>
+  <th class="smfontr">FACING<br>PAGE</th>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdl hang smcap"><a href="#i_fp118">Steve Darted Forward and Swung His Fist</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">118</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdl hang smcap"><a href="#i_fp180">On Such a Night a Destroyer Is Little
+Better than a Slender Steel Cylinder Filled with Clutching Men in Grey Canvas
+Life-preservers</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">180</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td class="tdl hang smcap"><a href="#i_fp293">An Officer Sprang to the Deck with a White
+Flag and Held It Fluttering from Outstretched Arms</a></td>
+  <td class="tdrb">293</td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span></p>
+  <p class="noi title">
+    THE ADVENTURE CLUB
+    WITH THE FLEET
+  </p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">
+    CHAPTER I
+    <br>
+    <small>STEVE BRINGS THE NEWS</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Steve Chapman turned from Chapel Street into
+the quieter thoroughfare, metaphorically speaking,
+on two wheels, bounded up the steps of the
+fourth house in the row, took the first flight of
+stairs on high, raced along the corridor, skidded
+a bit at the last portal on the right and, finally,
+setting all brakes, came to a standstill in the
+centre of the floor, while, as the door swung back
+against the wall, every picture in the study jarred
+askew.</p>
+
+<p><a href="#i_frontispiece">“War’s begun!” he announced breathlessly.</a>
+“President Wilson has signed! We’re in it at
+last, Joe!”</p>
+
+<p>Joe Ingersoll regarded his room-mate calmly
+across the desk, one hand holding open the book
+he had been studying. “But why wreck the
+premises?” he asked mildly. “What do you think
+you are? The German Army in Belgium?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span></p>
+
+<p>Steve, subsiding against the back of the Morris
+chair, strove to regain his breath and wither the
+other with a glance, a not particularly successful
+effort. “You make me tired,” he declared.
+“Where’s your patriotism, you block of wood?
+I nearly break my neck to get the joyful news
+to you, and you sit there like—like——”</p>
+
+<p>“Calm yourself, Steven. I’ve known it for at
+least ten minutes. The newsboys have been yelling
+their little hearts out around the corner there.
+Let’s see the paper, though.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ve a good mind not to,” grumbled Steve.
+But he tossed the crumpled “extra” to the desk
+and then hurried around to where he could look
+over his chum’s shoulder. The New Haven paper
+had done itself proud in the matter of type.
+Three lines of big, black block letters swept
+across the upper half of the sheet, proclaiming:</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p class="noi">WAR DECLARED AGAINST GERMANY<br>
+  <span class="padl2">VOTE IN HOUSE IS 373 TO 50</span><br>
+  <span class="padl4">PRESIDENT SIGNS DECLARATION</span>
+</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p>“Yes, we’re in it,” said Joe, laying the paper
+down, “and I’m wondering——”</p>
+
+<p>“What?” asked the other, impatiently.</p>
+
+<p>“Whether to be glad or sorry,” ended Joe
+soberly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Sorry! Great Jumping Jehosophat! Do you
+mean that after all we’ve stood for from those—those
+barbarians——”</p>
+
+<p>“I know, Steve, but war is serious business.
+Look what it has cost the others already: millions
+of men and billions of money: and——”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, forget the money part of it, Joe, for the
+love of Mike! Why, that’s all I’ve been hearing
+for a year! ‘How much will it cost us?’ What’s
+money against human life and—and human liberty?
+And——”</p>
+
+<p>“And the war’s no nearer won than it was
+three years ago,” continued Joe imperturbably.
+“You’ve got to think of the cost, Steve. I’m as
+keen as you are for licking the hide off those
+Huns, but I can’t get up and cheer about this.
+Not just this minute, anyhow. It will be a long,
+hard grind, old man.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe, but just you wait until we land a
+couple of millions of our chaps over there! Wait
+till our ships get a whack at theirs! We may be
+slow at starting, but, by the Lord Harry, when we
+do begin you’ll see the fur fly!”</p>
+
+<p>“I hope so, but it’s going to take time to get
+those two millions together, Steve. And as for
+our Navy, it’ll be months before it is ready to
+whack anybody. Don’t get it into your head that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span>Germany’s licked because a crowd of legislators
+in Washington have voted ‘yes’ on this war resolution
+and the President has written his name at
+the bottom of it. We’re about as ready to make
+war on Germany as—as the Freshman Nine is to
+lick the ’varsity!”</p>
+
+<p>“It could do it in a minute if it had a decent
+first baseman,” replied Steve, grinning. “Knocking
+the Army and Navy is fashionable, I know, but
+I don’t believe either of ’em is as badly off as the
+‘sob sisters’ tell us in the magazines. Why, if
+you believe all you read we haven’t a regiment
+that isn’t shot to pieces or a ship that isn’t ready
+to be scrapped. Piffle! Our Army’s as good as
+we need for a starter and our Navy’s as good as
+the next fellow’s. And, what’s more, we’ve got
+the money to build ’em both as big as we
+need ’em!”</p>
+
+<p>“Who’s talking money now?” asked Joe, smiling.
+“Of course we’ll get an army together after
+a while, and when we’ve got it it’ll be a real one.
+I’ll bank on that. And when our Navy is ready
+to fight it’ll fight, believe me! But it will take
+time and money and, I’m afraid, men before
+either one is fit to start in. I guess all we can
+do for the next six months is supply money and
+food to the Allies.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Meaning the other Allies,” corrected Steve.
+“Remember we’re one of ’em now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, that’s so. We’re in it, too. It seems—funny,
+doesn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Funny? It seems mighty good! I say, Joe,
+this will make a difference around here, won’t
+it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Here in college? Well, I don’t know. Yes, I
+suppose there’ll be a lot of fellows missing in the
+Fall.”</p>
+
+<p>“In the Fall? I mean right now, old scout! I
+know a dozen fellows at least who will be beating
+it in a few days. There’s Han, for instance.
+He’s said all along that he’d enlist as soon as we
+entered the fracas. I wish I’d done what he did
+and gone in for the Naval Reserve. He will fall
+into a soft snap, I’ll bet. Maybe he will be a
+lieutenant or—or something.”</p>
+
+<p>“Admiral, likely,” said Joe dryly. “I wouldn’t
+worry about lost opportunities, Steve. Next
+Summer will be plenty of time to start in.”</p>
+
+<p>“Next Summer! Start in!” exclaimed the
+other, observing his companion incredulously.
+“Where the dickens do you suppose I’ll be next
+Summer?”</p>
+
+<p>“Where?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, not around these diggings, anyway. In
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>the trenches, maybe. Anyhow, in training camp.
+So will you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not likely. They’re going to draft them
+from twenty-one up, and as you and I are only
+eighteen——”</p>
+
+<p>“Draft! Who’s going to wait for the draft?
+‘Not I,’ said the Fly! Nor you either, I hope.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you mean that you’re going to volunteer?”
+asked Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“Surest thing you know,” answered Steve
+stoutly.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re too young.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m eighteen, and I’ll be nineteen pretty soon.
+There are lots of chaps in the Army no older
+than that.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll have to go into the ranks then.”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course I shall. I don’t expect to be made
+a General, you idiot! At least, not right off. Do
+you mean to sit there and tell me that you haven’t
+thought of enlisting, Joe?”</p>
+
+<p>“I have thought of it often,” was the calm
+reply, “and I long ago decided not to. There’s
+time enough. They’ll draft me when I’m old
+enough——”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, you piker, the war will be over before
+that!”</p>
+
+<p>“And, besides, I want to finish college. Oh, I
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>don’t say that I won’t enlist if things go badly.
+But there’s plenty to do here just now. You don’t
+want Harvard to beat us in baseball, do you?”
+he ended, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t give a hang whether she does or not,”
+answered Steve disgustedly. “I never heard such
+tommyrot in my life! Of course you’re going
+into it, man! Every fellow that has a drop of
+red blood is! I’ll bet you there won’t be a handful
+of the students left in a month! Why, it’s
+dollars to doughnuts there won’t be enough
+fellows left in either the Yale or Harvard freshman
+team by June to play! Take a tumble to
+what’s up, Joe. Hang it, man, we’re at war!”</p>
+
+<p>“I know, but it isn’t war of my making. And
+if I go into it before I’m twenty-one it will be
+because I see the necessity of it and not because
+I’m just excited, as you are, Steve. I don’t
+believe I’m more of a coward than the average
+fellow, but I don’t care a whole lot about filling
+a cosy little grave over in France just yet.
+There’s time enough for that, Steve.”</p>
+
+<p>“You sound like a bloomin’ pacifist,” snorted
+Steve. “Or a slacker. If every fellow talked the
+way you talk——”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll find a lot of fellows think that way if
+they don’t talk it. And if you take my advice,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>Steve, you’ll sit tight and wait for college to close.
+Then go to Plattsburg or somewhere and get a
+second lieutenancy. Fellows like you don’t go in
+as privates.”</p>
+
+<p>“Wait be blowed! Suppose the bloomin’ war
+was over by the time I got a commission? I’d
+look an awful ass, wouldn’t I? Why, hang it, I’d
+be kicking myself all the rest of my days if they
+settled the Kaiser’s hash without my help! A
+fellow can go to college any old time, Joe, but
+only about once in a hundred years does he get
+a chance to ‘horn in’ in a big scrap like this!
+Besides, you’re dead wrong about this private soldier
+business. It’s fellows like me who are privates,
+and mighty good ones, too. No, sir, I’d
+rather be a doughboy right now and get action
+than wait around for a second lieutenancy and
+miss the fun!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, don’t lose your shirt,” laughed Joe.
+“The war will wait a day or two for you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m not taking any chances on it,” growled
+Steve. “It would be just my blessed luck if old
+Kaiser Bill threw up the sponge about the time I
+started across. Look here, Joe, you aren’t in
+earnest about not going, are you?”</p>
+
+<p>Joe nodded. “Dead earnest,” he answered.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s beastly,” grumbled the other. “I’ve
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>been thinking right along that you and I’d be together
+and have some dandy times.”</p>
+
+<p>“You talk as though this war was a picnic,”
+objected Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t mean to. I know it’s a pretty serious
+business, just as you say it is. But a fellow can’t
+help being a bit excited about it, and glad that
+he’s on hand to help out. It <em>is</em> helping out, you
+know, Joe, this enlisting, and that’s why I can’t
+get your point of view. The country needs
+fighters, old man.”</p>
+
+<p>“The country will have all it will need, Steve,
+without me. I’m no soldier and never could be.
+I’d never have any stomach for poking a bayonet
+through another man. I’d probably quit first and
+get court-martialed. There are plenty of chaps
+who are cut out for the job. Let them have the
+first whack at it.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s rotten!” declared Steve hotly. “Sitting
+back and letting the other fellow do your
+work! If I felt that way I’d never acknowledge
+it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, you would, just as I do,” replied Joe,
+without affront. “Look at it sensibly, Steve:
+forget for a minute that you’ve just heard about
+war being on and are all excited. You know
+plaguey well that everyone isn’t called on to go
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>into the trenches. A lot of fellows want to go for
+the excitement of the thing——”</p>
+
+<p>“It isn’t only excitement,” denied Steve
+warmly. “There’s—there’s such a thing as
+patriotism, Joe!”</p>
+
+<p>“Call it patriotism, then. I won’t say it isn’t
+that with a good many. Anyway, why not let
+those who want to fight go and fight and let those
+who don’t want to, stay at home until the first
+lot find the job too big for them? Seems to me
+that’s perfectly fair and perfectly sensible. Maybe
+there’s something wrong with me, Steve, but
+I’d throw a fit if I had to shoot a man or run a
+bayonet into him.”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t suppose any fellow would find much
+fun in it,” agreed Steve, frowning, “but when you
+think of—of the <i>Lusitania</i> and of how the Germans
+have shelled defenceless women and children
+in life-boats and—oh, hang it, Joe, shooting’s too
+good for them!”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose it comes back to the old question of
+whether it is right to commit murder in revenge
+for murder.”</p>
+
+<p>“Murder! War isn’t murder! You’re a crazy
+pacifist!”</p>
+
+<p>“I guess I am—sort of. At least, it goes
+against the grain with me, Steve, to shoot a man
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>named Smith because a man named Jones who
+happens to be of the same nationality as Smith
+has killed one of my countrymen. Oh, I dare say
+my reasoning’s all wrong, but that’s the way I
+feel about it.”</p>
+
+<p>“You bet your reasoning’s wrong! It’s punk!
+You want to do less reasoning, Joe. That’s the
+trouble with you, anyway: you have to mull things
+over instead of stripping off your sweater and
+diving in. There are times, old scout, when a
+fellow’s heart is a lot better guide than his
+brain!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, suppose heart and brain are agreed?”
+asked Joe, smiling. “Mine are. My heart tells
+me it won’t stand for killing folks and my brain
+tells me to keep out of it as long as I can. I know
+this doesn’t sound heroic, Steve, but I guess I
+wasn’t cut out for a hero. I’ll do my share behind
+the trenches gladly, but I don’t want to
+either shoot or be shot at.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re talking absolute drivel,” grumbled the
+other. “If every fellow wanted to stay behind
+the trenches——”</p>
+
+<p>“But they don’t. That’s the point I’m trying
+to make. There are lots of them who are crazy
+to get into the trenches. Let them. I’m not.
+So let me stay back.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span></p>
+
+<p>“If I didn’t know you I’d think you were
+yellow,” said Steve disgustedly.</p>
+
+<p>“But you do know me and you know that I’m
+not,” responded Joe equably. “I don’t think it’s
+cowardice, although I know mighty well that my
+knees would knock together and I’d be sort of
+sick inside me if I had to crawl out of a trench
+and walk into machine-gun fire. But I hope I’d
+keep going. No, I don’t believe it’s exactly
+cowardice, Steve. I don’t know what it is. I
+just know that I don’t want to fight, not a little
+bit.”</p>
+
+<p>“What gets me is that you’re a natural-born
+scrapper,” said Steve, plainly puzzled. “You
+fight harder than any chap I know in a game.”</p>
+
+<p>“War isn’t a game. Perhaps that explains
+it,” answered Joe doubtfully. There was silence
+for a long minute. Then Steve exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>“It doesn’t, though. You don’t see things in
+the right way, Joe. This war isn’t just—just a
+war of revenge. We’re not going after Germany
+because she killed our men and women and children
+and blew up some of our shipping. There’s
+a heap more than that in it, Joe. We are fighting
+for a principle, for Liberty and—and Civilisation.
+We’re going into it because if we don’t go into
+it Belgium and France and England and maybe
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>the whole world will become just a rotten mess of
+German Imperialism. We’re fighting for World
+Freedom, Joe. This war’s a—a righteous war, I
+tell you! Can’t you see that? And if you do see
+it can there be any question of your duty and my
+duty? I’m not much of a spieler, and maybe I
+don’t get it over, but if you felt the way I feel
+about this thing you wouldn’t sit there and talk
+about the Freshman Nine and—and letting the
+other fellow do the job for you! If I could——”</p>
+
+<p>Steve’s eloquence was suddenly interrupted.
+Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside and,
+as he turned inquiringly, a figure appeared in the
+doorway, the figure of a big, rangy youth of
+nineteen with a good-looking, good-natured face
+who, hands in pockets, surveyed the scene with a
+gravely quizzical smile.</p>
+
+<p>“Go on, Steve,” said the newcomer encouragingly.
+“You’re in fine voice.”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">
+    CHAPTER II
+    <br>
+    <small>JOE CHANGES HIS MIND</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>“Hello, Han!” cried Steve Chapman. “We
+were just talking about you. Come on in.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s the first time I ever heard anyone get
+eloquent on the subject,” responded George
+Hanford as he swung across the room and lowered
+himself onto the window-seat. “It sounded
+like a debate as I came up the stairs.”</p>
+
+<p>“Steve was talking war,” said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“Oh! Well, he’s not the only one. What do
+you think of it, Steve?”</p>
+
+<p>“I think it’s great! I’m for it, Han. What
+about you? Are you going now or——”</p>
+
+<p>“Now. I dropped around to say <i lang="fr">au revoir</i>.
+I’m off at four.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not really?” exclaimed Steve. “Gee, I wish
+I were going! Where do you go to?”</p>
+
+<p>“Brooklyn Navy Yard. After that——” He
+spread his hands expressively. “I’m hoping
+they’ll stick me on something that’s going across,
+though.”</p>
+
+<p>Steve got up and strode excitedly the length of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>the study and back. Joe thoughtfully picked a
+hole in the blotter with the point of a pen. “I
+wish I’d gone into the Naval Reserve,” said Steve
+coming to a stop in front of Han’s outstretched
+feet. “The Army’s no good. They’ll keep us
+here for months, they say, and drill us until the
+blooming war’s all over.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I guess the sailors will have the call,”
+agreed Han. “I hear that we’ve had ships with
+steam up and bunkers full and crews aboard for
+two weeks all ready to start over. Hope to goodness
+I’m lucky enough to get on one of them. So
+it’s the Army for you fellows, eh? Going to
+join now or wait till term’s over?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m going to enlist as soon as I hear from
+the folks,” replied Steve eagerly. “I wired dad
+half an hour ago. Joe has some silly notion that
+it isn’t polite to skewer a German and says he’s
+off it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Joe?” Han smiled. “Don’t worry about him.
+He’ll be in it quick enough. You couldn’t keep
+him out of a scrap if you tried.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s what I thought,” said Steve ruefully,
+“but he’s gone and got a lot of fool pacifist
+notions into his noodle. I wish to goodness you’d
+talk to him, Han!”</p>
+
+<p>But Han shook his head. “No thanks. If he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>really feels that way the best thing to do is just
+let him alone until the poison works itself out.
+He’ll come around. I had queer ideas myself a
+year or so ago. Didn’t approve of war much.
+Considered it a return to barbarism and all that,
+you know. Do yet. But, of course, we’ve got a
+duty to perform and we’ve got to perform it the
+most practical way. And the quickest way. That
+means war. We’ve tried soft words and we’ve
+tried argument. We’ve given ’em all the rope we
+could. Only thing left is to knock the tar out
+of ’em.” Han spoke quite dispassionately.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s just it,” agreed Steve. “We’ve been
+patient long enough. I’m for action. I wonder
+if I could join one of those Canadian regiments
+and get across this Summer, Han.”</p>
+
+<p>“Guess so. You’d have to lie, though, and say
+you were a British subject. Personally, I’d a
+heap rather fight under the old Stars and Stripes.
+Look here, why don’t you go in for the Navy?”</p>
+
+<p>“Eh?” Steve stared a moment. “By Jove!
+Could I?”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t see why not. You like the water, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“Rather! Why, I never thought of the Navy!
+I wonder—look here, how old do they take
+you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Seventeen up. You have to have your
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>parents’ permission if you’re under eighteen.
+You’re eighteen, aren’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. By Jove, that’s an idea! Hear that,
+Joe? Tell me about it, Han. What do I do?
+Where do I go to see about it? How soon——”</p>
+
+<p>“Easy on! You enlist for four years usually,
+but I believe they’re taking ’em now for the
+period of the war. You can search me as to
+what that means! You’ll have to start in as an
+apprentice seaman, I suppose. After that you
+can try for different things. You’ll get seventeen
+dollars and sixty cents a month——”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t care about the wages,” interrupted
+Steve impatiently. “Where can I join? Would
+they take me?”</p>
+
+<p>“Jump at you, son. Of course you’ll have to
+pass an examination, but they aren’t so strict in
+war time, and you’d get by anyhow. You must
+be five feet, four inches and weigh not less than
+a hundred and fifteen at your age. Then, if you
+don’t have varicose veins or curvature of the
+spine or about ninety other things, including
+deafness and colour-blindness, you sign a blank
+and get shipped to a station for training. I
+don’t believe, though, that they’ll waste a heap
+of time in training the fellows ashore. There are
+too many places to fill. Sound all right?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Great! But could I do it? Be a—an apprentice
+seaman, or whatever you called it? Is
+it hard?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a man’s work, Stevie, but it’s no harder
+than being in the Army. If you take hold and
+learn you’ll get on like a house on fire. After
+awhile you’ll get to be a second-class seaman, and
+then a seaman, and after that you’re in line for
+a third-class petty officer’s job. You can be a
+yeoman or a gunner’s mate or a master-at-arms
+or, if you like, you can be a painter! That is, of
+course, if you make good.”</p>
+
+<p>“What are you?” demanded Steve.</p>
+
+<p>“Ensign.”</p>
+
+<p>“Fine! What’s an ensign?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a start,” replied Han gravely.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but is it like a lieutenant or what?”</p>
+
+<p>“It ranks with a second lieutenant in the Army.
+Only,” added Han, with a twinkle, “it’s a heap
+more important.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m awfully glad, Han,” said Joe, looking up
+from his preoccupied task of digging holes in the
+desk-pad. “That’s fine. Of course you’ll get
+sea duty right off. It isn’t as if you were just a
+beginner.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s what I am, though. All the training
+I’ve had you could put in your eye. They made
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>me ensign in the Reserve because I was too big
+for anything less, and didn’t know enough to be
+anything more! I’ll have to learn just as you
+fellows will. There’s one thing to remember,
+Steve, and it’s this. Once we get into this mess
+there’s going to be a vacancy on your ship right
+often. If you don’t come home a lieutenant it’ll
+be your own fault, I guess.”</p>
+
+<p>“Unless he shouldn’t come home at all,” observed
+Joe quietly.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, don’t buy any flowers yet,” replied
+Steve flippantly. “Where can I enlist, Han?
+New York? Brooklyn?”</p>
+
+<p>“If you can drag your feet as far as Chapel
+Street——”</p>
+
+<p>“Honest? Of course! I remember seeing the
+place now. Look here, I wonder if I ought to
+send another telegram. Maybe dad wouldn’t
+stand for the Navy. He’s skittish about having
+me drowned.”</p>
+
+<p>Han laughed. “Rather have you blown up by
+a trench bomb, eh? Well, everyone to his taste.
+Did the Government take over the <i>Adventurer</i>?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” answered Steve. “They say she’s too
+small. I believe fifty feet over all’s the limit.”
+He had paused at a window and, with hands
+thrust deeply into trousers pockets, was staring
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>thoughtfully across the roofs to where, high above
+the big hotel, the Stars and Stripes was snapping
+in the April breeze. Han broke the silence with a
+quiet chuckle.</p>
+
+<p>“Say, fellows, when we formed the Adventure
+Club almost a year ago we didn’t know what a
+whacking big adventure we’d get into, did we?”</p>
+
+<p>“No,” replied Joe, “somehow the war didn’t
+seem especially near home then. I wonder why.
+Anyone who thought much about it might have
+known we couldn’t keep out of it much longer.
+I suppose we were too kiddish to realise.”</p>
+
+<p>“We were only a year younger,” objected
+Steve, without turning.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but I feel a lot more than a year older,”
+said Joe. Han nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“We’re living fast these days. By the way, I
+got a note from Phil yesterday. He and Harry
+Corwin are down at Newport News and expect to
+make a trip across pretty soon on one of the
+armed liners. Phil’s qualifying as gun-pointer.”</p>
+
+<p>“Phil!” exclaimed Joe. “Great Scott, think
+of that old sober-sides doing that! And Harry’s
+with him, eh? Some fellows have all the luck!”
+he ended disconsolately.</p>
+
+<p>“Any of the other Adventure Club fellows in
+it?” asked Joe.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Wink Wheeler’s training somewhere down
+south for the Aviation Service and Cas Temple’s
+driving a flivver over in France. But you knew
+that. I dare say there are others in it by now.”</p>
+
+<p>“Neil Fairleigh’s training for something out in
+Kansas or Missouri or somewhere. Nick Taylor
+had a letter from him awhile back. Well, that’s
+seven out of thirteen accounted for,” added Steve.</p>
+
+<p>“I make it eight,” corrected Han. “Phil and
+Harry, Wink, Cas, Neil, you, Joe and myself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Eight if you count Joe,” said Steve rather
+ungraciously. Joe flushed but said nothing, and
+Han pulled his length from the window-seat.
+“Well, I’ve got a thousand things to do, fellows.
+Good luck to you, and here’s hoping we’ll meet
+over there before long.”</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll make a date for Berlin the third Thursday
+in September,” laughed Steve.</p>
+
+<p>Han shook his head, smiling. “Don’t fool
+yourself, son. This thing’s only started. Good-bye,
+Joe. When you get ready to come in you’d
+better consider the Navy. Maybe if you work it
+right you can make the same ship with Steve.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’d like the Navy,” answered Joe quietly as
+he shook hands. “If I do——” He paused, and
+then: “When I do,” he went on, “I’ll try for that.
+Good-bye, Han, and all the luck in the world to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>you. If you aren’t wearing epaulettes before the
+war’s over I’ll be disappointed in you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thanks, Joe, but if I get my two bars I’ll
+be satisfied. I’ll let you hear from me if there’s
+anything to write, and you might drop me a
+scrawl now and then. I’ll send an address as
+soon as I get one. So long!” Han paused on
+the threshold and looked back for an instant while
+his smile faded and a very sober expression came
+over his face. “The Adventure Club has found
+its Great Adventure, fellows,” he said softly.
+“Let’s all do our best to make good.”</p>
+
+<p>After Han had gone there was silence for
+several minutes in the room. Joe was bent over
+his book again, but I don’t think he was studying.
+Steve had gone back to his contemplation of the
+windy Spring sky and the gay flag tugging at its
+halyard. It was he who broke the silence at last.</p>
+
+<p>“I hope old Han comes through all right,” he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” agreed Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s one of the best.” Steve turned and
+reached for his cap. “I’ve got to run over to
+the library a minute. If that telegram comes,
+Joe, look after it, will you? I’ll be back pretty
+soon.” At the door he, too, turned, and: “I say,
+Joe,” he began.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes?” asked the other.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing. What are you doing this afternoon?”</p>
+
+<p>“Practice at three-thirty. We’ll probably get
+outdoors again today. This wind ought to dry
+the field up pretty fast.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh! Well—so long.”</p>
+
+<p>Steve clattered downstairs and the door below
+banged behind him. After a moment Joe arose
+and crossed to a window. Steve, hands in
+pockets, was swinging diagonally across the
+street, not at all in the direction of the
+library.</p>
+
+<p>“He’s going to the recruiting place,” thought
+Joe. Raising his eyes, his glance fell on the flag
+streaming its red and white stripes against the
+blue sky. He stood there a moment looking at
+it intently and then, with a faint sigh, went back
+to the desk. From the main street came the shrill
+cry of a passing newsboy:</p>
+
+<p>“Wuxtry! Wuxtry! President Wilson declares
+war with Goimany! Wuxtre-e-e!”</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Steve’s telegram came shortly after luncheon.
+When he had read it he passed it over to Joe.
+“Do your duty as you see it (Joe read) and God
+bless you. Mother and father.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span></p>
+
+<p>Twenty minutes later Steve was answering the
+questions of the Recruiting Officer.</p>
+
+<p>When Joe returned from freshman baseball
+practice at dusk two notes lay on the corner of
+his chiffonier and he took them to the window.
+One, merely a sheet of paper once folded and with
+a corner turned down, was from Steve.</p>
+
+<p>“Pal: I’m running up to town for the night.
+Back early in the morning. I’m off to Brooklyn
+Navy Yard day after tomorrow. Better be sorry
+for the Kaiser now! Steve, <i>U. S. N.</i>”</p>
+
+<p>Joe reread it and then thoughtfully laid it
+down and took up the second note. This was
+enclosed in a sealed and fully addressed envelope
+and, since it bore no stamp, had evidently been
+delivered at the house by messenger. The writing
+was unmistakably Han’s, big, round and boyish.
+He tore the end from the envelope and pulled
+forth the single sheet of paper, not a little curious
+as to what Han had found to write about so soon.
+There was neither greeting nor signature to that
+missive, and Joe frowned perplexedly as he began
+to read:</p>
+
+<p>“To such a task we can dedicate our lives and
+our fortunes, everything that we are and everything
+that we have, with the pride of those who
+know that the day has come when America is
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>privileged to spend her blood and her might for
+the principles that gave her birth and happiness
+and the peace which she has treasured.</p>
+
+<p>“God helping her, she can do no other.”</p>
+
+<p>When he had read it the second time he refolded
+it slowly and pushed it into an inner pocket.
+Then, turning out the light, he went into the bedroom
+and threw himself on his bed and, hands
+under head, stared straight up at the darkening
+ceiling. An hour passed. Outside the lights grew
+brighter along the streets. The roar and hum of
+the little city lessened. At last Joe arose and
+made his way to the study window again. Darkness
+enveloped the town above the roofs, but,
+faintly illumined against the night sky, the Stars
+and Stripes still waved and fluttered. Joe
+brought his heels together, straightened his body
+and raised his right hand to his forehead in
+salute.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">
+    CHAPTER III
+    <br>
+    <small>AT THE TRAINING STATION</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Three days later instead of two, since severing
+connections with the college was not quite such a
+casual ceremony as Steve had supposed, the two
+boys found themselves at the Newport Training
+Station, full-fledged apprentice seamen in the
+United States Navy. They had duly satisfied the
+examining officer that they were eighteen years
+of age, had successfully passed medical inspection,
+had been shorn of all but a scant half-inch
+of their hair, had gone through a disinfecting
+bath and had been “shot” in the arm with anti-typhoid
+serum. And then, to their dismay, they
+discovered that they were not free to come and go
+about the Station, but—and this was something
+that Han had failed to mention—were due to remain
+in Detention Camp for three long weeks!
+The officer in charge seemed to prefer to allude
+to their habitation as the Recruit Barracks, but
+after the first few days both boys could have
+easily found a name much more fitting than either
+of those!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span></p>
+
+<p>“It’s silly rot,” declared Steve one afternoon
+as the cheers from the ball field floated across.
+“Just as though we’d be likely to bring any contagious
+disease with us! We don’t come from—from
+the slums!”</p>
+
+<p>Still, there wasn’t a whole lot of time to bewail
+the imprisonment, for they, together with an ever
+changing throng of brother recruits, had plenty to
+do to keep them busy. There was the visit to the
+dentist to start with and then the exciting event
+of receiving their outfits: blankets, uniforms,
+brushes, underwear, sewing materials, soap, bathing
+trunks, towels and various lesser articles: and
+of appearing for the first time in the “blues.”
+Joe was critical of the fit of his trousers and for
+the first day continually glanced dubiously at the
+flapping fullness around the tops of his stout Navy
+shoes. But secretly they were both as proud as
+Punch, even if Joe did remark flippantly that if
+the outfit really cost Uncle Sam sixty dollars, as
+rumour had it, Uncle Sam was getting stung!
+Whereupon Steve gravely called his attention to
+the undoubted excellence of the bone buttons included
+in the sewing kit.</p>
+
+<p>If they had thought to be done with academic
+studies they were mistaken, for every day there
+was “school.” But all the instruction was not
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>academic, for they were taught also how to wash
+their clothes and mend them, and their first essays
+in these twin arts were laughably ludicrous.
+“Suds drill” to lads who had never got closer
+to the labour of washing their clothes than—infrequently—filling
+out a laundry slip was
+startlingly novel! Nor did either of them show
+skill and grace in the manipulation of needle
+and thread. Steve had so many punctures in his
+fingers at the end of the first week that it hurt
+him to touch anything! For two days life looked
+rather doleful. The inoculation produced lassitude,
+and the food, good but plainer than they
+were used to, failed to appeal to them. But all
+that passed presently and soon they were as
+prompt with their mess kits as any, and roast
+beef and mashed potatoes and creamed carrots
+and cottage pudding, or their equivalents, found
+enthusiastic welcome. Since misery loves company,
+sociability reigned in Detention Camp.
+Steve and Joe made many acquaintances of many
+sorts, for the recruits that packed the barracks
+were of numerous races and from widely different
+walks in life. Many of them, indeed, were from
+the country, but far more were city boys. Of the
+latter the majority were surprisingly strong and
+healthy looking, and, as Joe remarked in some
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>surprise, “stacked up better than the hayseeds.”
+College and preparatory schools had provided
+fully thirty per cent of the crowd, and of the
+balance another thirty per cent were boys who
+had learned or were learning a trade. Naturally
+the chief subject of conversation was the duration
+of training. Many held the opinion that the usual
+three months would be cut in two at least. All
+sorts of tales were told to indicate that they would
+be smelling powder in a month, stories of “greenhorns”
+being rushed aboard ship after three days
+at the Station, of thousands of practically untrained
+Jackies reaching Brooklyn and Charleston
+and Newport News weekly from the Great
+Lakes Station.</p>
+
+<p>“Take it from me,” declared a big, raw-boned
+youth named Breen who had graduated two weeks
+before from the front end of a New York trolley
+car, “they can’t do without us, fellers. They’ve
+got the ships, see, but they ain’t got the men.
+An’ say, we’re needed over there, believe me!”
+He jerked a carroty head in the general direction
+of the main barracks which might or might not be
+also the direction of the coast of France. “I’ll
+bet you my shoes we’ll be chasin’ them U-boats
+inside of six weeks!”</p>
+
+<p>“Some of us may,” agreed a little dark-skinned,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>black-eyed boy who had scraped past
+the doctor only by stretching his neck until it
+ached, “but there’s a lot of us’ll be kickin’ our
+toes around receivin’ ships most of the Summer.
+Say, where’s this Atlantic Squadron you hear tell
+of? What’s it doin’ to save the Country?”</p>
+
+<p>“Patrollin’ from Newfoundland to Cuby, o’
+course. But I hope I don’t get stuck on that.”
+Breen shook his head gravely. “They won’t
+never see no fun. Fritz ain’t sendin’ any U-boats
+this way, take it from me. The Allies is keepin’
+him busy at home.”</p>
+
+<p>“What about the submarine they sunk in the
+Narrows the other day?” asked someone.</p>
+
+<p>“Aw, tell it to Sweeney!”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s right! I got it straight from a fellow
+who knows. There was a Swedish ship come in
+and passed inspection and was making for the
+harbour when a patrol boat decides to give her
+the once-over and sees a cable dragging astern.
+So he signals to a torpedo boat and the torpedo
+boat stops the ship and investigates. ‘I’ve been
+examined and my papers are all right,’ says the
+Swede captain. ‘You shut your face,’ says the
+torpedo boat commander. So then they gets the
+winch going on that hawser and pulls up a
+German submarine which was thinking to get into
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>the harbour and blow things right and left. Then
+they shoots the whole lot——”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, an’ one of ’em was the Crown Prince
+himself!” jeered Breen. “Sure, I know. You
+hear a lot of that stuff. It listens fine, too. Like
+this here destroyer <i>Smith</i> who seen a U-boat up
+the coast yesterday or the day before. What she
+seen was a porpoise, I guess. Take it from me,
+Jack, them Germans ain’t takin’ no chances.
+They never have an’ they never will. That’s
+their efficiency, see?”</p>
+
+<p>“What about those raiders like the whats-its-name
+that——”</p>
+
+<p>“Easy, kid, easy! We wasn’t in the war then.
+You don’t see no raiders rompin’ around now, do
+you? You bet your life you don’t. Take it from
+me, bo, nothin’ doin’, nothin’ doin’!”</p>
+
+<p>So they took it from him, and went to bed.</p>
+
+<p>Unless connected with the ever interesting subject
+of the prospect of getting afloat the war was
+discussed but little, considering what they were
+there for. Baseball was a far more likely topic.
+Whether the Giants would come through this
+year, whether the Red Sox could “repeat,” what
+Mathewson would do with the Reds—all those
+questions appeared to concern the hundreds of
+embryo sea fighters far more than the world
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>struggle that had called them together. On the
+whole there were few dull moments in camp, and
+lots and lots of busy ones. Day by day the faces
+changed as some went on to the main barracks
+and new recruits took their places. The British
+War Commission landed, followed a few days
+later by the French, and there was much talk
+of “Papa” Joffre. In the harbour destroyers
+dropped anchor and weighed again, launches
+sputtered over the blue water, a submarine from
+the New London base paid a visit and departed
+after an excited exchange of signals, submerging
+as she passed the point. Breen took his wisdom
+to the main barracks and a broad-shouldered chap
+who had been a telephone lineman until a fortnight
+ago succeeded him as camp mentor. Joe
+put on three pounds of weight, and Steve two,
+while their appetites grew daily. And on the first
+of May they ended detention and moved their kits
+to the main barracks.</p>
+
+<p>They signalised this event by obtaining leave
+and hurrying to their homes in New York. They
+felt a little bit conscious of their uniforms, and
+tried very hard to attain the swagger of the
+experienced Jackies. It didn’t help Steve to feel
+at ease when he was mistaken in the Terminal for
+a porter by a near-sighted old lady, and Joe had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>unmerciful fun with him all the way uptown.
+That was a hurried visit, but it did them both
+good. Joe received a scrawl from George Hanford
+in which Han announced his assignment to
+the <i>Carthage</i>, scout cruiser, then at Newport
+News. “We’re looking for a move any moment,”
+wrote Han. “It’s full steam at six hours
+with us, and that means something. We’re not
+supposed to write about our movements, but
+you’re in the Service now, praises be, and so I
+guess it’s all right. I wasn’t able to find out
+where you’re stationed, so I’m sending this to the
+home. Write me when you get this and tell me
+how you’re getting on. We’ve got a fine set of
+officers on this ship and we’re all crazy to start
+something. Say howdy to old Steve and tell him
+to write.”</p>
+
+<p>Joe’s fame had preceded him and he was
+hustled out to try for one of the baseball nines.
+He didn’t exactly cover himself with glory that
+first afternoon of practice, probably because one
+of the busiest and hardest days he had ever put
+in had taken the edge off his zest for physical
+exercise. When one arises at five in the morning
+and goes to his hammock at nine it is possible
+for quite a number of things to happen to him.
+It was hard for Steve and Joe to relish the sound
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>of reveille at first. Five o’clock seemed a most
+unchristian hour at which to tumble out. For
+that matter I’m not certain that they ever came
+to care an awful lot for that first bugle call,
+although they did ultimately accept its summons
+with a fair degree of equanimity. At five-thirty
+they had to be ready for muster, and from that
+time until seven they were busy cleaning up themselves,
+their clothing and the barracks. Breakfast
+was finished at eight, when followed periods
+of drill, study and instruction until three in the
+afternoon, with the exception of an hour for
+dinner at twelve. Between three and six their
+time was their own unless there was extra duty
+or they were back in their work. The evenings
+were theirs until nine when the bugler sounded
+lights out. The routine on Saturdays and Sundays
+differed, and on the afternoons of those days
+liberty was granted to the recruits not under
+restriction.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile they were learning, first, subordination,
+and, second, seamanship. Perhaps they
+were a bit more amenable to authority than the
+general run of their fellow recruits, since they
+had experienced the discipline of football and
+baseball training during five years at school and
+college. At least they seemed to find it easier to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>obey orders without hesitation and without question
+than did many of their companions, just as
+it troubled them much less to salute some youngster
+scarcely older than they whose sleeve happened
+to bear stripes and chevrons. That thing
+of saluting was a fine puzzle to them for awhile,
+as was the matter of insignia. Joe became
+almost pop-eyed watching for sleeve braidings
+or shoulder straps and his constant, haunting
+fear was that he would meet an Admiral and fail
+to salute. He didn’t know what the penalty for
+that would be, but, judging by the punishment for
+far less serious crimes, he presumed it might
+easily be decapitation! More than once both he
+and Steve, in the earlier days of their service,
+missed a bit of gold braid or an inconspicuous
+star and were brought sharply up by the wearer.
+In the end they adopted the scheme of Breen,
+now enthusiastically seeking to qualify for the
+electrical school.</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t take no chances,” advised Breen. “I
+don’t. If I see a feller comin’ along that ain’t
+got up just as I am I salute him. If he’s an
+officer, all right. If he ain’t, all right too. He’s
+so pleased you can see his chest stick up. I ran
+across a chauffeur over by the gate the other day
+and saluted him fine. He didn’t mind, and it
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>didn’t hurt me none. Let me tell you something,
+Jack. Don’t get this here ‘too-proud-to-salute’
+bug. It don’t work, see? A feller was whining
+around barracks the other day about havin’ to
+salute fellers that wasn’t no better’n he was.
+Said he was willin’ to salute an Admiral and a
+few high muckamucks, you see, but he didn’t see
+why he had to show respect to a rough-neck carpenters’
+mate. Well, I told him why. I says:
+‘Bo, you ain’t salutin’ the feller in the uniform.
+Maybe he ain’t no better’n you are. You’re
+salutin’ the uniform and what it stands for. Get
+it? Them little didoes on his sleeve means authority,
+an’ it’s authority you’re flippin’ your
+hand to. An’,’ I says, ‘take it from me the sooner
+you gets that inside that solid concrete dome of
+yours the better,’ I says. Ain’t I right?”</p>
+
+<p>Steve bought a small book containing, amongst
+other things, a full list, with pictures in colours, of
+all insignia of rank in the Army and Navy and
+studied it diligently, but at the end of a week he
+sadly acknowledged that he couldn’t tell a Rear-Admiral
+from a Pay Officer, unless the latter was
+working at his job!</p>
+
+<p>Barring Saturdays and Sundays, Steve and Joe
+spent an average of eight hours a day in drilling,
+beginning with setting-up drill in the morning and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>ending with afternoon parade. In between there
+were other drills of many sorts, boat drill, gun
+drill, splicing and tying, steering, rifle practice
+and so on. And then, lest their muscles might
+possibly grow at the expense of their lungs, there
+was singing school one evening a week. Amusements
+were not forgotten. Moving pictures, concerts
+and lectures occurred frequently. On the
+whole, life was both busy and happy, and, after
+the first period of homesickness that assailed
+many boys was over, it would have been hard to
+find one who regretted his presence at the Training
+Station. Only, and this was a widely prevalent
+sentiment, they didn’t want to stay there
+much longer! Everyone’s ambition was to find
+himself afloat.</p>
+
+<p>“What gets me,” confided Steve one day to
+Joe on the way back from a ball game, “is the
+way these fellows stack up. Do you know, Joe,
+taking them as they come they’re a mighty decent
+lot.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, why not?” asked his chum.</p>
+
+<p>“No reason, I suppose, only—somehow you get
+the notion that Uncle Sam’s sailors are a sort of
+tough gang. I know I always thought so. I had
+an idea that when you got out of jail after picking
+someone’s pocket or busting another chap’s head
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>with a cobblestone that the first thing you did was
+sign on in the Navy. Guess I was wrong, though.
+These chaps are as decent and—and intelligent
+as you’d meet anywhere. Don’t you say
+so?”</p>
+
+<p>“I certainly do, Steve. And they should be.
+They aren’t bums. They’re just average American
+fellows, most of them from good homes and
+schools. Even those who haven’t had much
+schooling seem to know what is decent and what
+isn’t. There’s the fellow they call Abie in our
+company. He says he never saw the inside of a
+school house until a year ago. Grew up in the
+Ghetto. Well, Abie’s got more common decency
+and more genuine American spirit and patriotism
+than half the chaps we know here. Know what
+I think, Steve?”</p>
+
+<p>“Shoot!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I think this country’s all right just as
+long as you run across fellows like Abie. It’s
+easy enough for you and me to feel patriotic and
+be willing to fight for the Flag, but when it comes
+to a little half-size Polish Jew who has lived here
+only ten or twelve years and by rights oughtn’t
+to know whether the Revolutionary War was a
+prize fight or a moving picture, why, gee, I think
+it’s wonderful!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Right-o!” agreed Steve. “Abie’s a mighty
+plucky little cuss. We’ve got some fine fellows in
+our company. I guess,” he added naïvely, “it’s
+the best company here, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure to be,” laughed Joe. “One’s own company
+always is.”</p>
+
+<p>Steve laughed. “That’s so, I suppose. Just
+the same, it is a good one. And there’s all kinds
+in it, from Abie to that chap Manders who came
+back from leave last week driving his own whopping
+big Fiat. He’s going to take me over to New
+London Sunday if we can get off. He’s got a
+brother over there in the Submarine School. He’s
+a lieutenant or something. I’ll get him to ask
+you along. Say, know something?”</p>
+
+<p>“A little,” confessed Joe, “but I’m willing to
+learn.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I’ll bet you that if someone got up some
+time and yelled ‘Now then, fellows! A cheer for
+the N. T. S.!’ you’d hear every school and college
+yell between Maine and Texas! Only you
+wouldn’t, on account of there being so many!”</p>
+
+<p>“I know one college yell you wouldn’t hear,”
+said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“What one?” asked Steve suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>“Vassar!”</p>
+
+<p>“My word, but you’re the smart guy! Chin
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>up! Here’s something with stripes coming!
+Maybe he’s an Admiral. Act pretty!”</p>
+
+<p>“An ensign, you idiot,” said Joe as the officer
+returned their salutes and passed. “When did
+you say Manders was going over to New
+London?”</p>
+
+<p>“Next Sunday. It’ll be a corking trip. That
+car of his goes about a million miles a minute
+without turning a hair.”</p>
+
+<p>“You mean without casting a shoe,” chuckled
+Joe. “Don’t forget to tell him about me. Maybe
+we can get a look into one of the subs.”</p>
+
+<p>That they didn’t was not the fault of Lieutenant
+Manders. It was entirely due to the fact
+that on a certain Tuesday afternoon toward the
+last of May their company and two others were
+ordered to be ready to entrain the next morning
+at six o’clock, and that when Sunday arrived
+Steve and Joe were many miles distant from
+Manders and his pea-green Fiat!</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">
+    CHAPTER IV
+    <br>
+    <small>LAND HO!</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Joe leaned against the rail and gazed none too
+happily over leagues and leagues of tumbled grey-green
+water. Overhead the sun had been in hiding
+since dawn, but of late an occasional path of
+amber light had momentarily shot through the
+dun clouds and turned to jewel colours the crests
+of the rushing seas. Today the big liner was
+steady enough, but for the first forty-eight hours
+she had rolled and pitched a deal more than Joe
+had liked, with the result that a good half of
+that period had been spent by him in his bunk.
+It hadn’t been a pleasant time, for he and Steve
+and all the other men from the Training Station
+had been assigned to steerage quarters, and the
+steerage bunks were not what they might have
+been. Just now, however, what with a more
+settled condition of his stomach and the occasional
+glints of sunshine across a less boisterous sea, life
+looked a lot more attractive. Drill that morning,
+held on the far from ideal drill ground of the after
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>main deck, had been a trying proceeding for him,
+and only the fact that the “Luff” in command of
+them had almost tearfully begged for a decent
+turn-out had prevented him from again claiming
+exemption. It was the first drill with arms since
+leaving port, and the fact that a certain exalted
+personage of the United States Army who wore
+three stars on the collar of his service jacket was,
+together with his Staff, watching that drill had
+made it very necessary indeed to show the best
+they had. The drill, in spite of causing Joe much
+unhappiness at the time, had set him up a lot and
+just now he was tentatively considering the
+matter of dinner. Not having eaten anything of
+consequence for nearly two whole days, his interest
+was only natural.</p>
+
+<p>To starboard, so close that Joe could see the
+movements of the lookouts in her fighting tops,
+ploughed a big lead-grey battleship, a high-bowed,
+one-funnelled monster that had joined the liner
+sometime and somewhere that first night of the
+journey. Joe didn’t know her name, nor, if you
+believed them, did anyone else. It was remarkable
+how little anyone knew—or professed to
+know—about anything these days! Ahead of the
+liner transport steamed a smaller warship, a
+cruiser with four funnels and masts that didn’t
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>match. Some said she was the <i>Montana</i>, but as
+no two persons could agree on the identity of the
+battleship Joe didn’t have much faith in the correctness
+of this guess. A second cruiser flanked
+them off the port and two fussy little torpedo
+boats wallowed about, well in advance, like sportive
+dolphins. Those convoys were a great comfort
+to Joe, although he sometimes doubted that
+they would have time from their signalling, in
+case of a submarine attack, to be of any service,
+for all day long, and way into the night as well,
+the big battleship signalled to the cruisers, the
+cruisers signalled back, the torpedo boats wig-wagged
+a bit on their own hook, and, not to be
+entirely out of it, the liner semaphored whenever
+the thought occurred to her. All of which, in view
+of the fact that there was a continual hissing and
+buzzing in the wireless room, suggested that there
+was a whole lot of conversation going on in that
+part of the Atlantic Ocean!</p>
+
+<p>The transport, which only a few months ago,
+had been a crack liner plying between New York
+and an English port, carried a varied human
+cargo at present. There was, first of all in importance,
+the Army Officer and his Staff, and with
+them a small regiment of orderlies and clerks.
+Then there were a number of Navy officers who
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>appeared to be sharing the work of navigation
+with the officers of the liner, several hundred
+bronze-cheeked, capable-looking boys in olive-drab
+whose hats bore the red-and-white cord of
+the Engineer Service, two hospital units, very
+proud in their new uniforms, four gun crews to
+man the five-pounders at bow and stern, the detachment
+of seamen to which Joe belonged,
+numerous civilians, amongst whom were a full
+dozen war correspondents, and the regular personnel
+of the steamship. The big liner, however,
+was very far from crowded, although at Halifax,
+before she had been towed out of the harbour, her
+decks had fairly teemed with passengers. That
+farewell to America had been rather stirring.
+Joe recalled the choky sensation that had been his
+as whistles on the assembled craft had bellowed
+hoarse good-byes to them and as, in the outer
+harbour, the sailors on the British cruisers had
+waved and cheered, while on one of the ships the
+band had played “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
+Before all that there had been a long and tiresome
+trip on a train that had been frequently
+side-tracked, during which they had slept as best
+they might in day coaches and, when passing
+through towns, with curtains lowered at all
+windows. They had had a half-day at Halifax
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>before boarding the liner, but had not been
+allowed off the big dock. And now, after nearly
+three days of tumbling and tossing, they were far
+out on the broad Atlantic bound for a port unknown.
+They were, though, getting used to official
+secrecy. Not once since they had left Newport
+early one fog-drenched May morning had
+they known their next destination. Steve had
+questioned the quartermaster in charge of the
+detachment after they had entrained. The quartermaster
+was a good-natured chap, popular with
+all and without any “side,” and in response to
+Steve’s inquiry he had lowered his voice to a
+confidential whisper.</p>
+
+<p>“We’re not supposed to tell,” he had replied,
+“but if you won’t let it go any further——”</p>
+
+<p>Steve had promised.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, then, we’re going——” the Q.M. looked
+cautiously around the crowded car—“to an
+Atlantic port!”</p>
+
+<p>After that Steve gave it up and joined with
+the others in singing “Where Do We Go From
+Here?”</p>
+
+<p>That, however, they were off for foreign service
+was no great secret, for they had had extra
+clothing issued to them, and that could mean
+nothing else. They had been excited and jubilant,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>and, at the same time, more astonished than
+they were willing to show. Why they, “greenhorns”
+to a man, had been selected instead of
+some of the fellows with months of training behind
+them was a problem. Of course they pretended
+that it was because they had shown exceptional
+ability, but secretly they greatly feared
+that an error had been made and were scared to
+death that someone in authority would discover
+the fact and summon them back to the Station.
+There was a distinct feeling of relief when the
+train started away!</p>
+
+<p>They were having some sort of a drill on the
+battleship now. Joe could see the sailors and
+marines swarming the decks and thought he could
+hear a bugle. That was scarcely probable, however,
+as the big ship was some distance off and the
+wind, as proved by the smoke from the funnels,
+blew in a direction away from the liner. He had
+made up his mind that it was fire drill they were
+busy with over there when someone ranged himself
+at his side. It was Steve, looking very
+healthy and hearty. Joe slightly resented the
+fact that his chum had not experienced more than
+a qualm of seasickness.</p>
+
+<p>“We’re getting into the U-boat zone, they say,”
+announced Steve, “and tonight we’ve all got to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>sleep in life-preservers. What do you know about
+that?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll bet they’ll be mighty uncomfortable,”
+commented Joe. “How long do we stay in the
+zone?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, right along until we make port, I guess.
+They say up forward that we’re going to Bordeaux.
+I don’t know if it’s so, though.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know if it’s so,” replied Joe pessimistically.
+“It isn’t!”</p>
+
+<p>“How do you know?”</p>
+
+<p>“Common sense, Steve. We <em>thought</em> we were
+going to Boston when we started from Newport
+and we went to Halifax. If we <em>think</em> we’re going
+to Bordeaux we’re certain sure to bring up at—at
+Liverpool, or any place we don’t expect.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, maybe we won’t bring up anywhere,”
+said Steve cheerfully, “if we meet up with one of
+those torpedoes. We’ll just stay where we are,
+perhaps.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’d hate to be a U-boat around here,”
+answered Joe, peering forward for a glimpse of
+the plunging vanguard of business-like torpedo
+boats. “I guess I wouldn’t have much chance.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, not in the daytime,” agreed the other,
+“but at night a sub could sneak up, I guess, and
+take a shot and get away with it.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span></p>
+
+<p>“How would they know where we were at
+night? There isn’t a light to be seen on any of
+us. Fact is, it makes me feel a lot more uneasy
+to know that a big bunch of steel like that over
+there is almost treading on our heels every night
+than it does to think about U-boats. Suppose we
+lagged a little and that battleship or one of those
+cruisers tried to climb aboard over our rail? I
+think we ought to show a light astern, anyway.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, that’s all right. The captain stands there
+every night and smokes a cigar, you see. All the
+other ships have to do is watch the end of his
+cigar and they know where we are! There won’t
+be any more night signalling, I guess. I say,
+watch this, Joe!”</p>
+
+<p>Four sailors came along the deck and paused at
+a life-boat which rested on chocks nearby. In a
+very business-like way they proceeded to swing it
+outboard after which they secured it with new
+lashings to the davits, tested the falls and passed
+on to the next.</p>
+
+<p>“Safety first!” murmured Steve. “Looks like
+business, what?”</p>
+
+<p>Joe nodded soberly. “I guess I’m not going to
+mind sleeping in my life-preserver as much as I
+thought,” he said. “Also, I’ll bet that tomorrow
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>morning when we have our next boat drill I’ll be
+the first one at station!”</p>
+
+<p>Steve laughed. “Good thing we didn’t have to
+abandon ship yesterday, eh? What would you
+have done, Joe?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’d have stayed right there in my bunk,” was
+the prompt reply, “and gone down with the ship.
+When you’re sufficiently seasick I guess a torpedo
+would be a—a happy relief!”</p>
+
+<p>“Fine! You’d have got your name in despatches
+as a bloomin’ hero. I guess if anything
+happened right now Abie would be the hero. He’s
+been as sick as a dog ever since we passed Devil’s
+Island Light, poor chap. I asked him a few minutes
+ago if there was anything I could do for
+him and he said: ‘Yes, go away and leave me
+alo-o-one!’”</p>
+
+<p>“Does a fellow get over being seasick, or—or
+what?” asked Joe. “What’s the good of being a
+sailor if you have to lie in your bunk when the
+fun’s going on?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, you get over it pretty soon,” answered
+Steve, comfortingly. “Remember how jolly sick
+you were on the <i>Adventurer</i> that time off the Isles
+of Shoals? Well, you weren’t bothered again all
+the rest of the voyage. The fact is, I rather wish
+I’d been laid up already and had it over with,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>because I’m plaguey sure I’ll have to have mine
+before I’m through.”</p>
+
+<p>“I hope you’re right. I mean about getting
+over it. Suppose we went to one of those chasers
+or torpedo destroyers! Gee, you can get seasick
+just watching one of those tubs!”</p>
+
+<p>“I wish they would put us on one of ’em,” said
+Steve devoutly. “What I’m afraid of is that
+we’re going over for shore duty. Crocker says
+we’re taking over one of the English bases and
+he thinks we fellows will have to get things ready
+there. That’ll be perfectly vile, won’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Better than Newport,” said Joe. “We’ll be
+around where things are doing, anyway. Say,
+isn’t it ’most dinner time?”</p>
+
+<p>“Pretty near.” Steve grinned. “You must
+be feeling better, old scout.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m mighty hungry, if that means anything.
+Let’s go down and be on hand, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>“All right. We haven’t had our French lesson
+yet. Maybe there’ll be time for it. Come on.”</p>
+
+<p>“I can’t study French on an empty stomach,”
+grumbled Joe, following the other down a companion-way.
+“Besides, I know what beef is, and
+coffee and bread. And I can say <i lang="fr">une table</i> and
+<i lang="fr">une plat</i> and <i lang="fr">une tasse</i>, and I know that a newspaper’s
+a <i lang="fr">journeaux</i>—no, that’s two newspapers.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>Well, anyway, I know enough French to get along
+with.”</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind how much you know,” replied
+Steve sternly. “You get your little book and
+behave yourself.”</p>
+
+<p>“Some day,” murmured Joe, “that little book—I
+mean <i lang="fr">petite livre</i> is going to accidentally fall
+overboard into <i lang="fr">le mer</i>, which will be <i lang="fr">tres beau</i>!”</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon the sun came out gloriously and
+life was well worth living again, and the next
+morning the sea had calmed to such an extent
+that the sorely-tried Abie crawled out of his bunk
+and subsided in a sheltered corner of the deck,
+hope once more visible on his pale countenance.
+By way of varying the monotony the crow’s-nest
+watchers got up a submarine scare which brought
+joy to the crew of the after gun and caused a
+wild commotion below decks until the suspected
+periscope proved to be only an empty nail keg.
+Again, just at sunset, the two torpedo boats suddenly
+swerved northward, with smokestacks belching,
+and, at a distance of several miles, fired three
+shots between them. Whether they had really
+seen anything was never known on the liner.
+Sleeping with cork life-preservers strapped
+around one proved no more comfortable than
+Joe had predicted, but orders were orders and,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>after all, one did feel a certain sense of security
+that almost atoned for the discomfort.</p>
+
+<p>They had a most exasperating way of holding
+boat drill at a different time every day on that
+transport. Only let a chap get settled to a game
+of seven up or high-low-Jack and the fire bell rang
+alarmingly and he had to tumble up on deck with
+his life-belt, donning it as he went, and take his
+station by the particular boat to which he had
+been assigned at the commencement of the voyage.
+The only thrilling feature of boat drill was that
+you could never be absolutely sure until you had
+reached the deck that this time the alarm wasn’t
+something more than just make-believe, that it
+didn’t really mean “prepare to abandon ship!”</p>
+
+<p>But no untoward incident marred the peacefulness
+of that trip across. If the German submarines
+sighted the expedition they took good
+care to keep out of view, so far as those on the
+liner ever knew, at least. And finally one afternoon
+the lookouts in the forward crow’s nest
+broke into full cry: “Smoke two points off the
+starboard bow!... Smoke dead ahead!...
+Smoke broad off the starboard bow!... Smoke
+one point off the port bow!”</p>
+
+<p>There was a wild rush from below as the
+message went around that the British convoy was
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>sighted. Fast they came, four grim black destroyers,
+punching the seas into spray before
+them. Signals then from one of the pack,
+answered from the battleship; gay-hued bunting
+fluttering in the sunlight. The new convoy
+swung around without pausing and took positions,
+and the big lead-coloured battleship and
+the cruisers and one of the torpedo boats put
+their helms over and went back the way they
+had come, their duty done. Joe, watching them
+grow smaller and smaller, sighed.</p>
+
+<p>“They’re going back home, Steve,” he murmured.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, the poor things! It’s hard luck, isn’t
+it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh!” Joe considered that phase of it a
+moment in silence. Then he smiled. “I guess
+you’re right,” he said. “And maybe they aren’t
+really as pleased as they look. But the stern of
+that nearest cruiser certainly did look happy!”</p>
+
+<p>The remaining torpedo boat fell in behind and
+did her best to keep up with the procession, but
+it was evident from the smoke she belched that
+she was having no easy task, for the new convoy
+set a hard pace for an old-fashioned coal-burning
+craft like her.</p>
+
+<p>Fair weather carried them through another day
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>and then there was a fog. But there came no
+alteration of the speed, and the liner fairly shook
+with the reverberations of her big engines. The
+next morning the fog was gone again and just
+after six bells the lookouts once more brought a
+thrill to those within sound of their excited voices.</p>
+
+<p>“Land ho!” was the cry that came down from
+aloft. “Land ho, sir! Two points off the starboard
+bow!”</p>
+
+<p>On the bridge below the four officers, two of
+the Navy and two of the ship, who had had their
+glasses levelled for some time on the faint streak
+along the horizon only nodded. It was some time
+before what looked like a cloud bank resolved itself
+into what Steve called “honest-to-goodness
+land,” but when it did a cheer went up from the
+men lining the rails, and a magic word passed
+from one to another:</p>
+
+<p>“<em>England!</em>”</p>
+
+<p>A few hours later the transport dropped her
+anchors in Plymouth harbour.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">
+    CHAPTER V
+    <br>
+    <small>OVER THERE</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The rest of that day they spent most of their time
+hanging over the taffrail and watching the disembarking
+of more fortunate passengers and the
+lightering of much unsuspected freight which appeared
+miraculously through the great hatches,
+boxes and bags and firkins, barrels and crates and
+bales: foodstuffs, ammunition, machinery, clothing,
+copper ingots, telephone insulators, two railway
+locomotives, a veritable flock of automobile
+trucks, cases of picks and shovels, and, probably
+not the least important of many things, several
+small and heavy wooden boxes with rope handles
+which were conveyed from the transport under a
+guard of a chubby-cheeked corporal and four privates
+of the Engineers. The Army representatives
+went early ashore and, as those still aboard
+the liner could plainly see, were received with
+honours on the quay. Steve and Joe bitterly bewailed
+the fate that held them captive while history
+was being made ashore there! They could
+see the lines of British Tommies drawn up beyond
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>the landing stage, the flashes of colour from
+officers’ uniforms.</p>
+
+<p>“Just our rotten luck,” groaned Steve. “I
+suppose they’ll keep us herded on board this silly
+old hooker and finally dump us ashore at some
+out-of-the-way place where there’s nothing but a
+million dollars’ worth of landscape and a pile of
+lumber!”</p>
+
+<p>But Steve was wrong, for although they remained
+aboard the rest of the day and all that
+night, their three companies of Bluejackets, all
+that were left except the ship’s crew and a few
+of its officers, they disembarked the next morning,
+bright and early, and, landing at a big stone pier,
+were marched through the streets of the city to a
+wooden barracks which had evidently been but
+recently vacated for them. What became of the
+Engineers they never knew, for there was no sign
+of them that day or on any other day of their
+stay in Plymouth. There were plenty of hearty
+English cheers for them as they marched to their
+quarters and so long as they stayed in the town
+they, to use their own expression, “owned it.”
+The officer in command was liberal with leave and
+they had a good time. They fraternised speedily
+with the British Jackies with whom the city was
+filled and under their enthusiastic pilotage, “saw
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>the sights.” The harbour was a never-failing
+source of interest, for within it and all the way
+down the sound to Penle Head, merchantmen,
+transports, mine-layers, trawlers, destroyers,
+chasers and lesser fry lay at anchor or hurried
+about important business. There were
+submarines there, too, but they were elusive
+and only once did either Steve or Joe set eyes
+on one. The boys shopped, spent hours in the
+“Y.M.,” which was English for Young Men’s
+Christian Association, writing home or eagerly
+perusing the ancient American papers and magazines
+on file and promenaded along the Hoe.
+Steve wrote a letter to his folks, and, of course,
+mailed dozens of picture post-cards, and Joe followed
+suit. Joe also wrote to George Hanford,
+addressing it “U.S.S. <i>Carthage</i>, Newport News,
+Va.,” being certain that the <i>Carthage</i> was no
+longer there but equally certain that the letter
+would ultimately catch up with Han wherever
+he might be.</p>
+
+<p>Two days after their arrival one of the three
+companies was marched away in the direction of
+the railway station and after that inroads were
+made on the remainder nearly every day until,
+after a week in Plymouth, only a handful of their
+force remained and Steve and Joe, impatient for
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>action, made plaint to the friendly quartermaster,
+the only petty officer left.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll move pretty soon,” was the consoling
+reply. “Don’t worry. In fact, if I were you, I’d
+drop around to the Y.M.C.A. before night and
+write your home letters. You may not have as
+good an opportunity again for awhile.”</p>
+
+<p>Cheered by that, they followed the advice, and
+were afterwards glad that they had, for in the
+middle of the next forenoon the word came to
+pack kits and at one they were marching back
+through the town, all that was left of their band,
+thirty-odd in all, toward the water front. There
+they boarded a small, snub-nosed steamer, a mine-layer
+by profession but for this occasion doing
+duty as a transport, and together with two companies
+of British infantry, set sail down the
+sound. About them darted tiny despatch boats,
+while a grim-looking torpedo boat swung out into
+mid-stream as they passed and a few minutes
+later swished past them to take up her position
+ahead and act as convoy. Soon they were cautiously
+picking their way through the mine fields
+and skirting the cliffs and green uplands of Cornwall.
+Behind them, a tall stone shaft against a
+sunlit sky, the Eddystone light-house faded from
+sight. Later they swung around the famous
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>Lizard Head, and by that time Steve and Joe
+knew whither they were bound.</p>
+
+<p>“Queenstown, my lad,” informed a jovial
+British sergeant who had made their acquaintance
+soon after sailing and who had indefatigably
+pointed out the landmarks to them.</p>
+
+<p>“Queenstown?” repeated Steve vaguely.
+“That’s in Wales, isn’t it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ho! ’Ark to the bloomin’ Yankee!” laughed
+the Sergeant. “It’s in Ireland, Queenstown is.
+South coast, my laddie, and not ’arf bad. They
+say you chaps are takin’ it over for a naval base.
+Sounds a bit odd, eh? Bloomin’ Yankees a-flyin’
+the Stripes-and-Stars——”</p>
+
+<p>“Stars-and-Stripes,” corrected Steve gently.</p>
+
+<p>“Whatever it is,” accepted the Sergeant untroubledly,
+“from one o’ our ports! This here
+war’s a queer bit o’ business, now ain’t it? I
+arsks you!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, we’ll make a decent place of it by the
+time we’re through,” said Joe. “We’ve tackled
+tougher jobs than Queenstown!”</p>
+
+<p>The Sergeant was inclined to be indignant
+until a twinkle in Joe’s eye put him right. Then
+he chuckled and clapped a broad hand on the
+boy’s shoulder. “That’s your bloomin’ Yankee
+swank, eh? Well, listen to me, laddies; if you’ll
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>clear out some o’ those blarsted Irish rebels while
+you’re there you’ll be gettin’ the thanks o’ the
+nation presented to you on a silver platter! An’
+there’s no two ways about that!”</p>
+
+<p>“Sinn Feiners, you mean?” asked Steve. “Are
+there any of those in Queenstown?”</p>
+
+<p>“They’re all over the shop,” was the disgusted
+reply. “Cork’s the worst, though, around where
+you’re goin’. There’s Lands End there, do you
+see? And over there are the Scillies.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sillies?” asked Steve, observing a group of
+Tommies across the deck as he obeyed the Sergeant’s
+tug at his arm. “Is that what you call
+them?”</p>
+
+<p>“What else would I call ’em? There’s St.
+Mary and St. Agnes and a lot more the names of
+which I don’t know.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s the Scilly Islands he’s talking about,”
+explained Joe. “I see them, I think. What are
+those funny looking boats over there, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“Mine sweepers at work. And there’s a sub
+lyin’ hove to, just awash, beyond ’em. Passin’
+the time o’ day, likely. Every time I look at one
+o’ those things I thank my lucky stars I’m in the
+Army!”</p>
+
+<p>Their craft was not a very fast traveller and
+it was nearly midnight when it crept into Cork
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>Harbour, bearing a freight of rather cold and
+very hungry humanity. The few lights of Queenstown
+twinkled beckoningly and they were all eager
+to feel the land under foot again. They disembarked
+on a darkened quay and, parting from
+their friends the infantrymen, stumbled over a
+rough, cobbled street that led them along the outskirts
+of the town and finally reached the destination,
+a new barrack building, smelling strongly of
+fresh pine. Hot coffee was all they had that
+night, but by that time they were far too sleepy
+to want more, and soon after arrival they were
+fast asleep.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning they breakfasted luxuriously
+amongst friends from their own land. The
+number of United States sailors and marines
+already on hand quite staggered the boys. Save
+for the new buildings already erected or in course
+of construction they might easily have thought
+themselves back at home at one of their own naval
+bases. United States marines paced back and
+forth on guard duty, sailors were everywhere,
+officers hurried about and, high over one building,
+the Stars-and-Stripes fluttered in a stiff breeze.
+And that was not all to make them feel at home,
+for in the harbour lay a small flotilla of their
+own destroyers and chasers, as well as a big
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>Navy collier which was unloading supplies, while,
+farther out, a grey scout-cruiser was anchored.
+There were British boats, too, and one green-grey
+destroyer which the boys later learned was
+Japanese. Every variety of naval craft was
+there, from submarine to battle cruiser, including
+destroyers and torpedo boats and chasers,
+sweepers, trawlers and layers and a shrill-voiced,
+<em>chug-chugging</em> swarm of launches.</p>
+
+<p>Their first day on Irish soil was scarcely a
+pleasant one so far as weather was concerned,
+for a chilling breeze blew and showers descended
+at dishearteningly regular intervals. But Steve
+and Joe had small time to think of weather, for
+as soon as breakfast was eaten they were hurried
+away to a long shed where they were set to loading
+ammunition on lighters. It was evidently important
+work, for all hands were at it, sailors and
+marines alike, while a worried-looking ensign
+trotted around and urged them on. But it was
+done by the middle of the afternoon and then
+Steve and Jack and others of their depleted company
+returned to barracks, very tired and stiff,
+with full intention of applying for leave to see the
+town. But their Q.M. had other ideas.</p>
+
+<p>“Orders, men!” was their greeting. “Buckman,
+Spencer, White and Conner report aboard
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>destroyer <i>Chauncey</i> right away. She’s sailing at
+five. Smythe, Foster and Chapman report aboard
+<i>Chaser 17</i>. Corson, Levinskey, Ingersoll and
+Strauss to the destroyer <i>Warren</i>. Get a move on,
+all of you, and hustle down to the first landing.
+Don’t forget your outfits.” The Q.M. folded the
+list in his hand, nodded and turned away.</p>
+
+<p>Steve and Joe were gazing at each other in consternation.
+“I’m going to ask him,” blurted Joe
+as the officer made for the door.</p>
+
+<p>“So am I,” said Steve. They hurried after the
+quartermaster, saluted and blurted out their request
+almost in chorus.</p>
+
+<p>“Couldn’t you let us go together, sir?” they
+asked anxiously. “We don’t care where we go,
+sir,” added Joe, “just so that we’re on the same
+boat.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I guess so,” answered the officer. “Here,
+let’s see.” He pulled his list out of a pocket and
+found his pencil. “You both report to the
+<i>Warren</i>.” He raised his voice. “Levinskey!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“You report aboard <i>Chaser 17</i> instead of the
+<i>Warren</i>. Get it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right. Well, good-bye, you fellows, and
+good luck to you. Be a credit to my training.”
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>He shook hands, smiling, and then as the boys
+thanked him turned and made his way across the
+yard in the rain. Steve heaved a sigh of relief.</p>
+
+<p>“Gee,” he said, “that was a narrow squeak,
+Joe! The Allies came mighty near losing the
+war then!”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">
+    CHAPTER VI
+    <br>
+    <small>THE U.S.S. WARREN</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>What is now the torpedo boat destroyer is only
+the old torpedo boat grown bigger, stauncher,
+speedier and far more powerful. This country
+no longer makes the torpedo boat, for the destroyer
+does all that it could ever do and a hundred
+per cent beyond. It was Great Britain who
+launched the first torpedo boat back about 1878.
+Those early examples of the craft were diminutive
+affairs, some sixty feet long by seven wide and
+displaced not over twenty tons. Their armament
+was usually two torpedo tubes and their speed
+never higher than sixteen knots. For shallow
+water operations, however, they proved successful,
+and gradually they developed until in 1890
+they were displacing eighty tons and had a speed
+of from eighteen to twenty-two knots.</p>
+
+<p>In our own Navy the craft did not appear until
+1886, when the <i>Stiletto</i> slid down the ways at the
+Herreshoff Yard at Bristol, Rhode Island. The
+<i>Stiletto</i> made quite a sensation then, even though
+she was only eighty-eight and a half feet in length,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>had a displacement of thirty tons and did eighteen
+knots. But the <i>Stiletto</i> proved the entering
+wedge, for five years later we had torpedo boats
+of one hundred and twenty tons and, in 1901 of
+two hundred and eighty tons displacement. The
+next step was the destroyer, as she was called
+for brevity, and at the time of the war between
+Russia and Japan these ships—no longer
+“boats,” if you please—had attained a speed of
+thirty knots and were of five hundred tons displacement.
+In that war the Japanese used their
+torpedo craft to excellent advantage, even though
+their policy was to take no unnecessary risks with
+them, and the destroyer’s place in naval warfare
+was clearly established. The construction of
+destroyers had a boom everywhere, and in this
+country we were turning out ships of four
+hundred and twenty tons like the <i>Bainbridge</i>,
+<i>Decatur</i>, <i>Chauncey</i> and <i>Paul Jones</i>. These ships
+were two hundred and fifty feet in length, could
+make twenty-eight knots and for armament carried
+two eighteen-inch torpedo tubes and seven
+small rapid-fire guns. Whereas the old torpedo
+boat was designed to attack larger ships, acting
+in flotilla strength and under cover of darkness,
+the new destroyer was intended primarily to run
+down the torpedo boat and sink it with rapid-fire
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>guns. But torpedo tubes were also provided so
+that the destroyer might likewise take the place
+of the torpedo boat in attacking larger ships. For
+a while the smaller craft was retained as a defensive
+weapon and the larger craft built as an
+offensive weapon, although neither was limited
+to its specialty. The torpedo boat, because of
+light draft and low visibility, readily became a
+weapon of offence, darting out from shallow
+waters to attack enemy cruisers and battleships
+with its torpedoes and, with good fortune, returning
+unscathed. On the other hand, the offensive
+destroyer became a weapon of defence when it
+stood by the attacking fleet and guarded it from
+the depredations of the smaller boats.</p>
+
+<p>Finally, however, the development of the torpedo
+did away with the torpedo boat entirely, or,
+I should say, with the building of them, for most
+navies still have and make some use of torpedo
+boats turned out from ten to twenty years ago.
+(Our own <i>Dupont</i>, launched in 1897, was in commission
+in reserve at the beginning of the war
+and, doubtless, is doing its bit bravely enough
+somewhere today.) As the accuracy and range
+of the modern automobile torpedo increased the
+necessity for small boats decreased, since the torpedo
+could be fired at a far greater distance.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>Consequently the torpedo boat’s tonnage grew
+and the destroyer’s tonnage was forced to keep
+its relative advantage. In our Navy the jump
+was from two hundred and eighty tons to four
+hundred and twenty, and with that jump the torpedo
+boat ceased and the destroyer appeared.</p>
+
+<p>At present time our larger destroyers are
+of about eleven hundred tons displacement—although
+we hear rumours of still larger ships
+being built. The destroyer must be able to
+cruise for weeks at a time without return to base,
+and for that reason must be sufficiently large to
+carry immense quantities of fuel and stores. Today
+one of our newer destroyers can take on
+enough oil on this side to make the run to England
+and back without replenishing her tanks. As
+to speed, the <i>Jacob Jones</i>, the latest destroyer of
+which specifications have been made public, made
+thirty knots an hour, developing about seventeen
+thousand horse power. Others, however, laid
+down after the <i>Jacob Jones</i>, are said to be able
+to steam at thirty-five knots and a fraction.</p>
+
+<p>The activity of the submarine in the present
+war has had its influence on the destroyer. The
+torpedo as a weapon against the submarine is
+of no consequence. The destroyer trusts to the
+fire of its small guns or to ramming, when the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>submarine is on the surface, and to depth-charges
+when the submarine is submerged. As
+the all-important task of the American Navy
+at present is to combat the German U-boat,
+our destroyers, which, with light cruisers and
+“chasers,” are best adapted for such warfare,
+comprise the bulk of our offensive fleet. In consequence
+of the duty they have to perform the
+tendency is toward an increase of gun power, and
+the destroyers now being turned out carry many
+more rapid-fire rifles. Seaworthiness, speed and
+a large range of action are also requisites, and
+these features, too, are receiving attention.</p>
+
+<p>The present day automobile torpedo is an outcome
+of the spar torpedo of Civil War times.
+The spar, or outrigger torpedo, was fixed at the
+end of a pole and exploded by contact with the
+hull of an enemy ship or by use of a firing battery
+at will. It was by such a contrivance that the
+<i>Housatonic</i> was sent to the bottom off Charleston
+by a Confederate submarine boat, with the accompanying
+loss of the submarine’s crew. Other
+successful uses of the spar torpedo were made
+during the Civil War and later. Robert Whitehead
+invented the “fish” torpedo which, in improved
+shape, still bears his name. It has played
+a prominent part in the present war. Another
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>torpedo, used by our Navy, is the Bliss-Leavitt.
+The diameter of the automobile torpedo varies
+from eighteen to twenty-two inches, with an extreme
+length of twenty-one feet. Essentially it
+is a submarine boat self-propelled. It consists
+of five parts: warhead, air-flask, depth control
+mechanism, steering gear and engines. In
+the warhead is a charge of high explosive, from
+two hundred to five hundred pounds, according to
+type or size, which is detonated by a firing
+mechanism. The explosive may be either gun-cotton,
+which is ordinary cotton treated with
+nitric and sulphuric acids, or trinitrotoluol, familiarly
+known as TNT, which is formed of
+hydrogen and carbon treated with nitric acid.
+The detonating mechanism is merely a firing pin
+which goes through the centre of the explosive
+charge from front to rear and is seated in a
+percussion cap located back of the charge. At
+the nose of the warhead the firing pin terminates
+in a safety device known as a butterfly nut. A
+second safety appliance reaches through half the
+diameter of the warhead and holds the firing pin
+in place so that it cannot strike against the percussion
+cap.</p>
+
+<p>The air-flask is a strongly constructed steel
+tank which is filled with compressed air used to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>operate the engine and all other mechanism of
+the torpedo. The depth control mechanism is
+worked by water pressure and is adjustable by a
+spring before launching. It allows the torpedo
+to be run at any desired depth. Its principal
+parts are a pendulum and a hydrostatic piston
+controlling horizontal rudders. The steering gear
+consists of a gyroscopic compass which influences
+vertical rudders and keeps the torpedo on its
+course. The engine is operated by compressed
+air which takes the place of steam. A reducing
+valve decreases the pressure of the air to that
+required. An alcohol flame heats the air as it
+enters the cylinders and also produces steam from
+the water in a combustion flask. The air and
+steam are mixed and the resulting expansion provides
+the force to drive the engine. In several
+types of torpedoes the engines are reciprocating,
+but in the Bliss-Leavitt, or Bliss, as it is frequently
+called, are placed turbines that drive two
+propellers.</p>
+
+<p>The torpedo is forced from the torpedo tube
+by means of compressed air. On a destroyer these
+tubes are set up much like a gun, and singly, in
+twos or in threes. Before the torpedo is placed
+in the tube the safety pin is removed and the butterfly
+nut is loosened. The breach-block of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>tube is closed and compressed air is turned into
+the tube behind the torpedo, which, however, is
+kept from being forced out at the muzzle by a
+lock. When the catch of the lock is released the
+torpedo is forced from the tube. At the same
+time the interior mechanism of the torpedo begins
+its work and, at about forty knots an hour, the
+missile flies toward the target. On striking the
+target the firing pin, from the tip of which the
+butterfly nut has now dropped off, is forced back
+against the percussion cap and the high explosive
+charge is detonated and the ship is sunk or
+crippled. Since, however, the speed of the ship,
+its course and the speed of the torpedo itself all
+enter into marksmanship, the torpedo is not
+counted an accurate weapon at long ranges, and
+even at short ranges misses frequently occur.</p>
+
+<p>The boys had frequently debated the possibility
+of assignment to a destroyer, but, since it was a
+recognised rule in time of peace that only service
+men should man such ships, they had ultimately
+decided that their ditty boxes were not likely to
+be stowed on one. A chaser, or, possibly, a light
+cruiser would probably be their fate. But now,
+having as Steve phrased it, “made” the <i>Warren</i>,
+they weren’t certain whether to be pleased or not.
+They had heard weird yarns about life on a destroyer,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>and Joe, haunted by the fear of seasickness,
+was filled with disturbing thoughts as they
+hurried off through one of the soft, warm showers
+of the south of Ireland to the landing. Half a
+dozen whale boats, dingeys and launches were
+clustered there, but inquiry developed the fact
+that there was no boat from the <i>Warren</i> amongst
+them. They were discussing the chance of finding
+a boat to hire when a petty officer in the stern
+sheets of a launch hailed them.</p>
+
+<p>“Where do you boys want to go?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“The <i>Warren</i>, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Jump in. I’ll drop you.”</p>
+
+<p>They thanked him and entered the little launch
+which held four seamen and so much dunnage that
+there was scarcely place for their feet. They
+waited there in the soft rain for a few minutes
+longer, during which time other tenders departed
+or arrived, and during which Steve and Joe vainly
+sought to determine which of the long grey shapes
+seen dimly through the mist was the <i>Warren</i>.
+Finally a brisk young ensign hurried up, jumped
+aboard and the launch wheeled about and plunged
+gayly into the haze. They heard the petty officer
+explaining that he had offered to put the two boys
+aboard the <i>Warren</i>, and saw the ensign nod
+and view them appraisingly. Then one of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>grey shapes loomed up before them and a moment
+later they were clambering up the side. They
+reported to the officer of the deck and were sent
+below. Going below puzzled them at first, for
+nothing looking in the least like a companion-way
+was in sight. Fortunately a white cap appeared
+above the surface of the main deck at that moment
+and they discovered a round hatch.</p>
+
+<p>“A fat man would have a peach of a time getting
+through this,” remarked Steve as he led the
+way to the second deck.</p>
+
+<p>Ten minutes later they had had their names
+entered on the ship’s roster, had been assigned to
+their bunks—for there are no hammocks on a
+destroyer—had stowed their belongings, and, in
+charge of a good-natured and informative youth
+of twenty-one or -two years of age, whose single
+chevron was topped by the crossed cannons of a
+gunner’s mate, and whose name they later discovered
+to be Hearn, were learning the ship.
+Many of the men, Hearn explained, were still
+absent on leave and wouldn’t be back until the
+next day.</p>
+
+<p>“You see, it’s generally six days on patrol and
+three in port, and the Old Man’s fine about granting
+liberty. Last time another fellow and I got
+three whole days and pretty nearly saw this little
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>island from top to bottom. And, say, it’s all
+right, too. I’ve been hearing all my life about
+the beauties of Ireland, but I never believed in
+’em much. Well, say, it’s all true, fellows. You
+want to take a trip up to County Clare the first
+chance you get. It’s as pretty as a picture,
+believe me.”</p>
+
+<p>Their knowledge of warships was confined
+largely to that gathered from infrequent visits to
+battleships and cruisers lying flag-bedecked in the
+North River. The present ship was something
+far different. There were no flags, save the jack
+fluttering at the fore, nor anything else that could
+be termed the least bit ornamental, for the
+<i>Warren</i> had been stripped before leaving on her
+voyage across and only the absolutely essential
+things remained. Gone were boats and davits,
+awnings and stanchions, and in most cases the
+steel ventilators were now mere canvas funnels.
+What struck the boys most of all was the intensely
+business-like appearance of the destroyer, and
+after that her look of power and seaworthiness.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">
+    CHAPTER VII
+    <br>
+    <small>SEA DUTY</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> was one of the Paulding class, just
+short of three hundred feet in length, with a
+twenty-seven foot beam and a draught of eight
+feet. (“Eight above and eight below,” explained
+Hearn, “and a lot of her weight topside, shipmates,
+so she’ll roll pretty.”) She was not a new
+ship, for she had been launched in 1912, nor was
+she as speedy as the larger ships. (“She’s done
+her twenty-eight and a half, though,” defended
+their guide, “and can show her heels to a lot
+of ’em.”) She had two masts and four funnels
+and everything about her, from stem to stern,
+foretop to keel, was grey. (“They’re painting
+some of ’em these camouflage colours,” said
+Hearn, “and a fine sight they are, too. There
+was a Frenchie in here the other day that looked
+like a blooming butterfly, believe me. They had
+her striped zig-zag with all the colours of the
+rainbow and then they’d painted wavy lines
+across that. Maybe you can’t see her any distance,
+but when she’s close up, believe me, you
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>can’t see anything else! She’s a three-ring
+circus: and she’s got a name like a clown!”)
+Forward was the forecastle and here were
+mounted, one on each beam, two of the five three-inch
+rapid-fire rifles with which the <i>Warren</i> was
+armed. Above, on the forecastle deck, was a
+third gun. The bridge, gained from the forecastle
+deck, was in turn topped by a searchlight
+platform, while aft of it was a diminutive chart-room.
+Beneath the forecastle was the officers’
+quarters, the captain’s cabin extending across the
+width of the ship. Aft of that were four staterooms,
+the wardroom mess and the officers’ galley.</p>
+
+<p>Amidships on the main deck stood a fourth
+three-inch rifle and, to starboard and port, two
+twin eighteen-inch torpedo tubes. (“They’re
+making ’em in triplets now,” observed Hearn.
+“Three tubes together instead of two. That’s
+going some, ain’t it?”) Astern there was another
+twin torpedo tube and the last of the rapid-fire
+rifles.</p>
+
+<p>Below the main deck were the men’s quarters,
+the two boiler-rooms, each holding its pair of big
+oil-fired boilers, the turbine room, the petty officers’
+quarters and storerooms.</p>
+
+<p>“She’s awfully like a toothpick, isn’t she?”
+asked Joe dubiously as he surveyed the long and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>narrow deck from the stern taffrail to the distant
+break of the forecastle.</p>
+
+<p>“She sure is,” Hearn agreed. “She’s just
+eleven times longer than she is wide, friend. And
+that’s some fine, believe me!”</p>
+
+<p>“I think it would be finer,” said Joe, attempting
+a weak joke, “if she was a little bit wider.
+What do you do when two fellows have to pass
+on deck?”</p>
+
+<p>“One of us hangs over the side,” chuckled the
+gunner’s mate. “It’s those fine lines, kid, that
+make her nifty. You wait till she hits her gait
+in a smooth sea and just watch her slip along!
+Fifteen thousand horse power, she has, and when
+those turbines get to nagging her three propellers,
+why, say, she walks a bit, believe me!”</p>
+
+<p>“But—but in rough weather,” hazarded Joe
+anxiously, “isn’t she—er——”</p>
+
+<p>“You said something,” laughed Hearn. “She
+sure is. I’ve been aboard this porpoise when she
+was doing thirty-five.”</p>
+
+<p>“Thirty-five?” questioned Steve.</p>
+
+<p>“Yep, thirty-five degrees off vertical. That’s
+swinging, son, believe me! They say they sometimes
+go forty-five in extra rough weather, and
+that’s going through an arc of ninety degrees, but
+I’ve never seen that performance yet, and I don’t
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>want to. Thirty’s bad enough. Take it on the
+foretop lookout when she’s switching over from
+one side to the other and doing it in around six
+seconds and you’ve got about all you want! And
+the worst of it is that you don’t ever know what
+sort of a kick she’s going to do next. She’s got
+more different motions than a cat and can do any
+seven of ’em at once. When you get back to the
+base you’re so stiff in your muscles that you can
+hear them creak!”</p>
+
+<p>“It must be fierce,” marvelled Joe. “And
+don’t you ever get seasick?”</p>
+
+<p>“Seasick! You’d better believe it. Last trip
+we had half the bunch flat, men and officers, and
+the junior luff wasn’t any use for two days.”</p>
+
+<p>Joe groaned dismally. “I’ll last about ten
+minutes,” he said. “I—I guess I’ll get out of
+here while there’s time.” He looked anxiously
+about as though contemplating a sudden plunge
+into the water and a swim ashore.</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll have it, all right,” said the gunner’s
+mate consolingly, “but you’ll get over it, I guess.
+Most of ’em do. Fact is, you don’t have much
+time for being sick. There’s too much to do.
+And, anyway, a fellow might as well be up and
+around as trying to hold himself into one of those
+bunks by his teeth and toes and eyelashes. It’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>all right to be seasick when you’ve got a nice
+wide berth and a steward to wait on you and the
+old hooker’s only playing a bit, but on one of these
+tin cigarettes the best thing to do is to forget it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you ever been seasick?” asked Joe
+dolefully.</p>
+
+<p>“Me? I’ve been so sick I hoped the ship would
+sink! But you get sort of out of the habit after
+a while. The first week or so is bad, but then you
+kind of swallow hard and do your work and it
+don’t bother you much. Of course, there are some
+that never do get over it. About one fellow out
+of every dozen has to quit the destroyers and go
+back to the big ones.”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m that one, I guess,” said Joe. “Why, I
+can get seasick just watching a goldfish swim
+around in a glass bowl!”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ve got a swell chance of sticking around
+here, then,” laughed Hearn. “Say, how’d you
+fellows manage to get aboard here, anyhow?
+You’re apprentices, aren’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>Steve told all he knew of the process, which
+wasn’t much, and the petty officer nodded. “I
+guess they’re taking most anyone on nowadays,”
+he said. “No offence to you fellows. Generally
+it’s only service men who get on destroyers and
+torpedo boats. But there’s a heap of Reserve
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>fellows in the fleet now, I hear, and I suppose they
+haven’t got enough service men for the jobs.
+How long were you at Newport?”</p>
+
+<p>Steve told him, and he whistled long and loudly.
+“Gee, that’s rushing things a bit, ain’t it? First
+thing you know you’ll be warrant officers at that
+rate! It usually takes some years, but things are
+happening fast just now. They tell me half these
+dinky little chasers that are bobbing around here
+are manned by amateur yachtsmen and ferryboat
+captains and the like. I suppose it’s all
+right, and at that they’re a sporting bunch, but
+it sort of grouches a fellow who’s been in the
+Navy five years to see greenhorns without any experience
+getting fat berths and big pay. Oh, well,
+if we just hand it to the Huns, it don’t matter.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you seen a submarine yet?” asked Steve
+eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“Dozens of ’em. We got four last week and
+just missed a fifth.”</p>
+
+<p>But there was a tell-tale twinkle in Hearn’s
+eye, and Steve said: “No, really, have you?”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I’ll tell you. The first two days we were
+on patrol the lookouts reported exactly fourteen
+periscopes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Really!” exclaimed Joe. “And—and did you
+get a shot at any of them?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Just one. And we missed that by twenty
+yards on account of being so excited. Still, it
+was just as well, as it turned out, because it
+wasn’t anything but floating spar.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh! And the others? Were they spars,
+too?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, the others were mostly imagination.
+Maybe one was a porpoise. Yes, sir, we sure
+sighted a lot of periscopes those two days! The
+Old Man threatened finally that he’d drop the
+first man overboard who so much as whispered
+‘periscope!’”</p>
+
+<p>“The Old Man’s the captain, isn’t he?” asked
+Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“Yep, Lieutenant-Commander John W. Stanford,
+Esquire, bless his old heart! As the British
+gobs say, he’s a little bit of all right.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s a gob?” asked Steve.</p>
+
+<p>“You are if you stay aboard. It’s a name they
+have for the destroyer men.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh. Who are the other officers?”</p>
+
+<p>“Lyke, first luff. He’s executive officer. The
+junior luff’s name is Putnam. He’s boss of the
+engines. Then there’s Connell, who’s ensign.
+That’s the lot, and all pretty good.”</p>
+
+<p>“How many others?” asked Steve.</p>
+
+<p>“Non-coms? About ten, I guess. And eighty-six
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>men. Or was last cruise. You fellows will
+make eighty-eight if the rest all show back.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s a lot,” marvelled Steve.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, there’s a lot of work on one of these
+things, son. We have to have all sorts, just like
+a dreadnought, only not so many of a kind:
+machinists, oilers, firemen, boilermakers, shipfitters,
+water tenders, electricians, painters, cooks,
+stewards, bakers and so on. Those are all artificers.
+Then there’s the seaman branch. And
+there’s a surgeon and—and—— Well, if there’s
+anything we haven’t got, just mention it to the
+Old Man and he’ll fix it for you.”</p>
+
+<p>“We will,” laughed Steve. Joe asked: “Do
+you think we’ll get our chance now that we’re
+assigned to service?”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll either be advanced to seamen, second
+class, or seamen if you stay around here,”
+answered Hearn. “Unless,” he added with a
+grin, “they make you admirals!”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t care much what they do with me,”
+said Steve, “so long as they let me stay here. Of
+course I’d like to get my advance, but I should
+worry. What I want is to get a crack at the
+enemy. Have you met any Germans yet?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” answered Hearn dryly. “We’ve got a
+couple on board.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Germans!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, they were till they got naturalised.
+Now they’re rip-snorting Americans.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, but I meant enemy Germans,” Steve
+explained.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I haven’t seen any of that sort yet, I
+guess. Yes, I have, too. When I was at Liverpool
+a month ago there was a bunch of them—prisoners,
+you know—standing on the dock.
+They were being taken to some place, I guess. They
+were a sorry looking lot, mostly no older than you
+fellows, and what they had on wouldn’t have
+tempted a hobo. Still and all, they looked fairly
+cheerful. Guess they thought it was a lot better
+than fighting over there in those dirty trenches.
+Say, I’ve got a friend who deliberately volunteered
+for the Army last month. Got a letter
+from him the other day telling me about it. He’s
+in a training camp somewhere up around Boston.
+And, say, that chump never showed any insanity
+before!”</p>
+
+<p>“Insanity?” repeated Joe. “Oh, you
+mean——”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure! What’s he go and enlist in the Army
+for when he could be sitting around on a nice
+clean ship with nothing to do but work? It gets
+me, honest it does! Why, those blokes have to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>live up to their knees in mud: sleep in it, mind
+you: eat it almost: and all they see is a mess of
+barbed wire and an airplane now and then. Gee,
+think of sticking around in a trench for days at
+a time with nothing doing! Course he isn’t up
+against that yet, but he will be by Fall, I guess.
+And, another thing, fellows, that silly chump’s
+as likely as not to get killed!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, he might get killed in the Navy, mightn’t
+he?” asked Steve, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>“Shucks, no. This is the safest job there is.
+Of course a fellow gets his now and then, but it’s
+a nice, clean death, and you’re so busy when it
+happens that I’ll bet you never know it! I
+wouldn’t join the Army for a million dollars!”</p>
+
+<p>That night Steve and Joe ate their first destroyer
+“chow” and slept for the first time in
+narrow bunks between the thin steel walls. The
+food was good, and, since they were tremendously
+hungry, they enjoyed it. And the bunks were
+comfortable enough under the present circumstances,
+but Joe secretly wondered how he would
+ever manage to stay in his, much more sleep in it,
+when the destroyer performed those alarming
+tricks that Hearn had told of! They found their
+companions among the enlisted men a jolly and
+singularly care-free lot. They had expected to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>be joshed some, possibly mildly hazed, but were
+agreeably disappointed. The others took it for
+granted that the boys were full seamen, and, since
+they had each tucked their blue caps with the tell-tale
+Training School ribbon out of sight, there
+was nothing to undeceive them. It was only when,
+after supper was over and they were sitting
+around in quarters, a chap asked Joe what his
+last ship had been that the truth came out. Joe
+confided the facts humbly and not very loudly,
+and his neighbour laughed.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s it, eh? Well, you’ll get your new
+rating in a day or two. Bound to. I want to
+tell you, though, that you and your friend were
+dead lucky to walk on board a destroyer as easy
+as that. There are fellows on the big ones that
+would eat their caps to get into the ‘Suicide
+Fleet,’ and especially on this fly-by-night!”</p>
+
+<p>“Really? Is the <i>Warren</i> an especially good
+ship?”</p>
+
+<p>“Is she? You bet she is! She’s the best in
+the fleet, bar none. There are some that are
+bigger, but we’ve got the best shots and the best
+officers in these waters. And the best all-round
+lot of men, too. You just wait a month or so and
+they’ll be hearing back home about this little
+cuss!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I hope so,” murmured Joe. “And I hope
+you’re right about the new rating.”</p>
+
+<p>As it proved, he was, for the next morning the
+fact of advancement was made known to them and
+they received cap ribbons bearing the legend
+“U.S.S. <i>Warren</i>” and were entered on the roster
+as second-class seamen at the munificent wage of
+thirty-five dollars and ninety cents a month. The
+wages didn’t excite them very greatly, partly because
+so far they had each received slightly over
+sixteen dollars all told since enlistment, and, as
+Steve sagely remarked, what was the good of earning
+thirty-five dollars if you never saw any of it?
+Both were assigned to the starboard watch and
+both had their first taste of deck washing, and
+by noon that day they had found their places to
+some extent and were trying their best to look
+their parts.</p>
+
+<p>The rain stopped during the morning and a
+gentle breeze blew from shore, bearing with it a
+fragrance of damp meadows. But that fragrance
+had a hard time getting recognised on the destroyer,
+for the ship had a fine healthy odour of
+her own, an odour composed of burning oil, of
+hot iron, of paint, of cooking food from the ever-busy
+galley, all merged into one heavy and never-forgotten
+bouquet. The <i>Warren</i> remained at
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>anchor until afternoon, taking on oil and ammunition
+and supplies of all sorts. There were
+not many idle moments for the new members of
+the crew. By noon the last of those who had
+been off on shore leave were back and it was no
+secret that the destroyer would sail before night.
+Joe viewed the immediate future gloomily, but
+that didn’t keep him from following the general
+example of “filling up bunkers” at dinner, since
+once out on patrol the galley seldom bothered
+itself with hot meals. “You get canned salmon
+or beef,” volunteered a small, tow-haired youth
+who looked no more than seventeen while claiming
+twenty, “and the only hot stuff is coffee. If
+you’re on to the tricks you can sneak some eggs
+and boil ’em at the steam vent. But your best
+bet, friend, is to eat all you can hold in port.”</p>
+
+<p>Just before sunset the <i>Warren’s</i> engines began
+to sing a louder tune and presently winches clattered
+and the anchors came dripping up. Simultaneously
+two other destroyers, one a far bigger
+boat than the <i>Warren</i>, showed similar indications
+of departure, and presently the water began to
+ripple past the bows, the smoke above the funnels
+took on a darker tinge and the destroyer moved
+down the harbour, slowly at first and then faster,
+playing a hoarse tune on her siren as she signalled
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>for the “gate.” Behind her at respectful
+distances came the companion ships, looking,
+head-on, like thin grey wedges of steel.</p>
+
+<p>“See those barrels strung out ahead there?”
+asked a youngster in response to Joe’s question.
+“Well, those are the net floats. The lower edge
+of the net’s anchored to the bottom, all except the
+gate net. Those two trawlers you see are opening
+it for us to get through. After we are through
+we’ve got to steer a tight course, for there’s mines
+laid everywhere outside, and it isn’t healthy to
+slap one of ’em with your nose.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should think, though,” Steve objected, “that
+if the mines are high enough in the water to get
+us that a U-boat could slip past underneath.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, there’s three layers of ’em, and a Fritz
+would have to be mighty lucky to squeeze between
+’em. They say that they have a sort of burglar
+alarm effect running from the net to the shore
+station, so if anything pokes its nose against it a
+bell starts to ringing. But I don’t know how true
+that is.”</p>
+
+<p>“Are there mines all around here? Outside, I
+mean.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, excepting floating ones that the Huns push
+off up in the North Sea or drop over from their
+ships. You find them now and then. You got
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>to watch for them, kid. The <i>Jarvis</i>, I think it
+was, sent down three last trip. When you find
+’em you blow ’em up.”</p>
+
+<p>“Shoot at them?” asked Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“No,” answered their informant gravely, “you
+run down on ’em and the Cap leans over the side
+and biffs one of the horns with a monkey-wrench.
+It’s more certain that way. You might miss ’em
+with the gun.”</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose that was a fool question,” laughed
+Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“Sure, number 71,698.” The other smiled.
+“You’ll be asking worse ones than that, though.
+I did.”</p>
+
+<p>Once outside the nets, with the guard ships only
+darker blotches against the darkening sea and the
+sky still light beyond Kinsale Head, the <i>Warren</i>
+dug her nose into the water and ploughed southward
+at a merry clip. For awhile the companion
+boats were visible, but eventually they melted into
+the night.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">
+    CHAPTER VIII
+    <br>
+    <small>WITH THE “SUICIDE FLEET”</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>High up on the foretop, on a narrow perch slung
+within a grey canvas cylinder that barely allowed
+elbow-room, Steve was on lookout duty. His eyes
+just topped the steel-hooped rim of his nest and a
+brisk breeze flattened back the brim of his white
+cap. It was his first go at it, and he was a little
+excited, a little proud and terrifically anxious. It
+was still early morning of the second day of
+patrol duty, so early that the odour of coffee was
+still floating up from the galley below. The
+<i>Warren</i> was loafing along at some twelve knots
+an hour, but even so she rolled considerably and
+the cage swung from port to starboard and back
+to port, describing a good twenty degrees of an
+arc. Around him in every direction stretched a
+waste of grey-green water, a-sparkle in the sunlight
+save where, under the ship’s starboard side,
+a broad copper-hued shadow kept pace with her.
+Straight below, the foreshortened figure of an
+officer moved about the bridge. Forward of him
+the three-inch gun pointed an inquiring nose
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>across the bow, gleaming dully. Turning his
+head, Steve could look into the cavernous mouth
+of the forward smokestack from which a yellow-grey
+vapour poured. White-capped forms moved
+briskly about the deck or lounged in the sheltered
+places. Somewhere astern was Spain, somewhere
+ahead, Ireland. For the rest Steve only knew
+that the Atlantic Ocean was beneath him—and
+doubtless a great deal of it, too—and that his
+eyes, after only twenty minutes up here in his
+dizzy perch were already aching with the
+strain.</p>
+
+<p>Southeastward was the worst, for there the sunlight
+played queer pranks with the waves and
+dazzled the sight so that, to use Steve’s metaphor,
+muttered to himself, a dime’s worth of imagination
+would have easily created a whole covey of
+periscopes, to say nothing of subs themselves!
+Now and then he closed his eyes for a moment,
+while dark red spots glowed behind his lids, but
+only for a moment since he was eternally haunted
+by the fear that the other lookouts, or the officers
+on the bridge there with their glasses, would see
+something that he didn’t. More than once his
+heart missed a beat as, just for a breathless instant,
+some freak of sunlight conjured a distant
+periscope or the dark hollow of a wave took on
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>the semblance of a dripping steel hull emerging
+from the sea. But it was wonderfully interesting,
+horribly exciting, and he wouldn’t have
+swapped that swaying steel-hooped cylinder for
+the steadiest bunk on the lower deck. In another
+half-hour or so his watch there would be over, for
+an hour of such eye-strain is all one can stand,
+and “one on and three off” is the rule for lookouts.
+The fear that he might miss something
+turned to the fear that there might be nothing for
+him to miss. He fairly ached for the sight of
+some object in that wide expanse of water. Even
+a floating log or wisp of wreckage would have
+answered; anything so that he might send his
+voice down to the bridge and prove that he was
+“on the job!”</p>
+
+<p>The sun crept higher and the breeze, fresh and
+salty from the southwest, grew stronger and
+hummed a tune on the wireless aerial and slapped
+a line briskly against the mast. A flock of tiny
+blue-black birds swept across the bow, circled and
+spread low above the waves, melting into the
+irradiance of the sun. The navigating officer
+climbed the bridge ladder, sextant in hand, for his
+eight-o’clock observation. The appealing odour
+from the galley brought a wistful sigh from the
+foretop lookout. And then, on the heels of the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>sigh, came a gasp. Just on the edge of the
+luminous track of the sunlight was a spot. Steve
+stared intensely. The spot was lost to sight,
+danced into vision again, a tiny black something
+that was never a wave in the world! He closed
+his eyes, opened them again and looked. It was
+gone! No, it was there, further to the left! It
+was no periscope, for it was too far away, perhaps
+a full two miles, and it was not periscope shape.
+It looked—almost—like——</p>
+
+<p>Steve placed his mouth to the tube, and: “Small
+boat broad off the port bow!” he called.</p>
+
+<p>The navigator unceremoniously tucked the sextant
+under his arm and two pairs of glasses swept
+into the sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>“What distance?” called the Lieutenant.
+“I’ve got her! Empty, I think.” Steve put his
+head above the cage’s rim. Dimly he was aware
+of the mild commotion below and aft as the crew
+on deck piled to the port rail. Even an empty
+boat is an event after thirty-six hours of nothing.
+On the bridge the officers were still staring
+through their glasses, conversing in words too
+low for Steve to hear up in his roost, but the
+destroyer’s head was coming around and the
+smoke from the forward stack was heavier and
+greasier. Steve looked back at the dark speck.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>Already it seemed nearer, and as the <i>Warren</i>
+turned the green, sun-flecked water from her
+sharp bow the object of her concern took form and
+shape. Minutes passed and Steve again hailed:</p>
+
+<p>“She’s not empty, sir!”</p>
+
+<p>There was no answer, but a slight wave of the
+executive officer’s hand said very plainly: “Don’t
+bother me. I’ve got eyes of my own.” Steve
+relapsed into his cage. The boat came nearer
+and nearer, a veritable cockle-shell of a craft.
+Oars glinted and a figure swung slowly back and
+forth until, realising that help was coming and
+that further exertion was unnecessary, the oars
+were shipped. The boat held three men—no,
+four, for one was huddled in the bottom.</p>
+
+<p>“Fishermen,” called a voice from the rail
+below.</p>
+
+<p>“And Frenchies,” said another.</p>
+
+<p>“Been strafed, I guess. They must——” The
+breeze blew the rest of it away. Now Steve could
+almost look down into the row-boat, and the destroyer’s
+speed slackened and the voice of her
+engines died to a mere hum.</p>
+
+<p>“Ahoy the boat!” called a megaphoned voice
+from the bridge. “Row alongside and we’ll take
+you on!”</p>
+
+<p>A babble of unintelligible language issued from
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>three throats and floated down-breeze. One of
+the men waved a wooden bailer vehemently, but
+his eloquence of gesture was wasted. The “exec”
+shrugged his shoulders, but beckoned understandably
+and with a renewed torrent of speech the
+fishermen seized their oars and rowed tiredly for
+the slowing destroyer. Steve watched them come
+over the side, limp, pale and wet, Bretons as he
+knew by their picturesque costumes. Two of the
+rescuers leaped down and lifted the fourth occupant
+to the reach of willing hands. And then a
+quick command and the <i>Warren</i> picked up her
+gait again, turned to her former course and
+lounged away, leaving the little fishing boat empty
+and pathetically alone.</p>
+
+<p>When Steve’s relief came, ten minutes later, he
+hurried down and, between gulps of beautiful hot
+coffee and mouthfuls of wonderful canned beef,
+got the story from Hearn, GM3c, which, interpreted,
+meant gunner’s mate of the third
+class.</p>
+
+<p>“They’re togging themselves in dry clothing
+now,” explained Hearn. “No one could understand
+a word they said until Carrick, the little
+Q.M. got at ’em. Say, he talked French like a
+frog-eater. He says, though, that the lingo these
+fellows talk is a sort of Bowery French.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Why didn’t they call me down?” asked Steve,
+his mouth full of bread and beef. “I’d have
+talked to them all right.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure,” replied Hearn. “Just like I did.
+Well, anyway, they’ve been floating around for
+three days now. The <i lang="fr">Trois Freres</i> was their
+boat, a little fishing schooner, or whatever they
+call a schooner in these foreign parts, and the
+Huns popped up alongside ’em one fine morning
+and—yes, sure it was U-boat. I said so, didn’t I?
+The Germans took every blessed thing aboard, including
+a catch of mackerel and all the food and
+all the money; even took the knives out of the
+men’s pockets, the great big hogs! Then they
+bombed the schooner and set those four chaps
+afloat in that two-by-twice dory, only they don’t
+call it a dory.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i lang="fr">Bateau</i>,” suggested Steve gravely.</p>
+
+<p>“All right. Anyway, they were almost a hundred
+and fifty miles from land, and they had no
+food, and only one pair of oars. It was a mighty
+lucky thing the weather was decent, wasn’t
+it?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and a lucky thing I sighted them. If it
+hadn’t been for me——”</p>
+
+<p>“Yah, you! Everyone aboard saw that boat
+long before you did, you chump.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Sure! And you just didn’t mention it for
+fear of making a noise and waking up the other
+lookouts, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s it,” laughed Hearn. “Seen that sidekick
+of yours today?”</p>
+
+<p>“Only for a second,” replied Steve anxiously.
+“He said he was feeling better. Why?”</p>
+
+<p>“Just wondered. Last time I saw him he asked
+me to get him some poison from the doctor. I
+guess he will get over it pretty quick, though.”</p>
+
+<p>“Gee, I hope so. I’m afraid they’ll be firing
+him when we get back to Queenstown.”</p>
+
+<p>“There’s a rumour around this morning,”
+answered Hearn, “that we’re to go west and do
+something important in the convoy line. If it’s
+so it means that we’re to bring in some of our
+troops, I guess.”</p>
+
+<p>“Honest?” exclaimed Steve. “Are they sending
+them over so soon?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s what I hear. Regulars, you know. I
+hope it’s so, and I hope we get a look at ’em.
+Well, I’ve got to get busy. How do you like
+spotting?”</p>
+
+<p>“Fine,” replied Steve. “But, it surely plays
+hob with your eyes. Mine feel as if they were
+full of sand.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know.” Hearn nodded sympathetically.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>“Better climb in your bunk and close ’em
+awhile.”</p>
+
+<p>First, though, after cleaning his mess kit, Steve
+paid a visit to Joe who was still prone in his bunk.
+“How are they coming, old man?” he asked.
+Joe opened one eye and gazed at him doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>“I—I guess I’m pretty nearly all right now,”
+he answered faintly, “but I’m scared to death to
+get up yet. I’m afraid it’ll come back. She isn’t
+rolling so much, is she?”</p>
+
+<p>Steve, holding tightly to a stanchion, shook his
+head. “No, she’s as quiet as a kitten with a ball
+of yarn,” he said gravely. “How do you feel
+about a little broth?”</p>
+
+<p>“Go away,” murmured Joe unhappily.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I don’t want to seem cruel, Joe, but if
+I was you I’d make an effort before long and try
+to report for afternoon watch. Did you hear
+about the Frenchies we picked up?”</p>
+
+<p>Joe shook his head and looked mildly interested,
+and so Steve narrated with much detail the sighting
+and rescuing of the four fishermen.</p>
+
+<p>“I suppose,” said Joe weakly, “you think
+you’re a wonderful little lookout, don’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re jealous,” retorted Steve untroubledly.
+“Anyway, I got ’em before any of the rest did.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>Frankly, I don’t know what they’d do on this old
+tin tub if it wasn’t for me.”</p>
+
+<p>Joe grunted and closed his eyes again. Then
+he opened the left one with an effort and fixed a
+wavering gaze on his chum. “Steve,” he muttered,
+“I was willing to die for my country when
+I started out on this grand career, but I didn’t
+think it would take so long!”</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> patrolled an empty sea the rest of
+that day and at night, with all lights out, ploughed
+untiredly through the darkness. The next morning
+a British trawler was sighted and the four
+Brittany fishermen, clad in their own picturesque
+clothes again, were transferred to her. Shortly
+after that the destroyer turned her nose westward
+and went piling into a tumble of green sea
+that climbed aboard the bows and rattled like sleet
+against the canvas wind-shield of the bridge. The
+slender ship tossed and rolled and plunged, shivered
+and shook and rattled, and from her four
+grey stacks the oil smoke went streaking to windward
+in long scarfs. The engines hummed
+loudly and the air between decks fairly reeked
+of petroleum. In the hungry hour before dinner
+Steve and Joe and two others were huddled in the
+lee of the second stack. Joe, pale but determined,
+was keeping his eyes glued to the deck.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>He had eaten that morning for the first time since
+the <i>Warren</i> had left Cape Clear behind her and,
+to use his own words, accompanied by a sickly
+smile, had done so not in vain. He had confided
+to Steve that if he once got safely ashore again
+he was going to ask for a transfer to the Army.
+Also that he hoped his folks would be willing to
+live abroad after the war was over, since he would
+never have the courage to go back to America so
+long as ships were the only means of getting
+there! Truso, second-class fireman, off duty, let
+his gaze roam aft to where, near the stern turret,
+were ranged a dozen or so depth bombs, villainous
+looking steel cylinders each containing some three
+hundred pounds of trinitrotoluol.</p>
+
+<p>“Ever think what would happen to us,” mused
+Truso, “if a ‘moldie’ struck us astern? It’s a
+pleasant thought, is it not? There’s a good two
+tons of ‘truly rural’ back there, fellows, and it
+wouldn’t do a thing but spread us out for the
+matter of a mile. Bet you they wouldn’t find
+enough of the <i>Warren</i> to put in a locket!”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the good of worrying about that?”
+asked Hearn. “If a German torpedo hits us most
+anywhere we’ll be perching on clouds.”</p>
+
+<p>“’Twouldn’t more’n knock off our stern,” said
+Higgins, comfortingly. Higgins was a radio man,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>a tow-headed fellow of nearly thirty, whose rating
+badge on the left sleeve of his jumper showed the
+three chevrons and rays of an electrician of the
+first class and, also, two service stripes. “Leave
+her half her length and she’ll toddle home. I was
+on the <i>Warrington</i> back in 1912 when a schooner
+ran foul of us and took our whole stern away aft
+of the fourth stack. We steered into port with
+the engines, all hunky. That’s what your watertight
+compartments do for you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Two Summers ago,” chuckled Truso, “we
+were cruising off Maine in the <i>Beale</i>, a sister ship
+to this hooker, in a fog. First thing we knew,
+<em>biff-bang</em> goes everything forward that’s standing,
+bridge stanchions, mast and number one
+stack, including our exec, who was on the bridge.
+Well, sir, it was nothing on earth but a dizzy old
+hay schooner. She’d swept her bowsprit right
+clean over us, taking everything in the way.
+‘What you tryin’ tew dew?’ shouts the skipper,
+an old geezer of about sixty with a bunch of chin
+whiskers as long as my arm. ‘Run me daown?’
+Well, I’d hate to tell you what our Old Man said
+to him, but I remember that he offered to kill
+him and not charge him a cent for it!”</p>
+
+<p>“Was it a steel bowsprit?” asked Steve.</p>
+
+<p>“Steel? Naw, nothing but a piece of spruce
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>wood. If it wasn’t for splinters, I guess they’d
+make these things out of spruce instead of steel.
+They’d ought to, seeing the way that bowsprit
+raked us clean!”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the news in the world, Jack?” asked
+Hearn of the radio operator.</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing much doing last night. Same old
+story. H.M.S. <i>Something or other</i> wants H.M.S.
+<i>Whatshername</i> to relieve her of escort; tramp
+steamer reports floating mine; some fellow reports
+a schooner on fire off Penmarch; <i>Cassin</i>
+says she sighted a periscope and fired three shots
+and ‘thinks she hit,’ and so on. There were
+orders this morning, though. Came just as I
+switched off. Didn’t hear them decoded, but I
+have a hunch.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, open up. What’s the game? Why all
+the good old smelly fuel going up in smoke?”</p>
+
+<p>Higgins winked solemnly. “Rules is rules,
+Sammy. You go ask the Old Man, or stick your
+head in the wardroom and ask the M.D. Bones
+is a great little confider, he is. There’s chow,
+praises be! I’m going to swallow mine lying
+down. Holding on today won’t get you anything.
+Observe the poor blighter in the foretop. He’s
+got a fine healthy swing up there!”</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon there were two false alarms
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>which supplied instant and hectic excitement but
+nothing else. Oddly enough the excitement was
+invariably shown by all hands in a more than
+usually quiet and contained demeanour. Steve
+and Joe found it quite natural to speak more
+slowly than ever when word came down from the
+foretop that a periscope was sticking up somewhere
+and to saunter to the side with an exaggerated
+carelessness. But that didn’t alter the
+fact that inside they were terrifically jumbled, and
+that they were always afraid their voices might
+break into a squeak if they spoke. One of the
+reported periscopes quickly resolved itself into
+nothing and the other into a floating spar. Later,
+the <i>Warren</i> resumed standard speed, fourteen
+knots. Toward evening two trawlers waddled
+past, homeward bound, and that ended the day’s
+sensations. But shortly after four bells, in the
+middle of the “graveyard watch,” the engines
+began to hum again and the news leaked from
+wardroom to second deck that they were off in
+answer to an S O S to find a sinking cargo boat,
+a good two hundred miles south. With all four
+boilers steaming at just under twenty-nine knots,
+and the <i>Warren</i> fairly throwing herself in and
+out of the seas, sleep was impossible. One could
+only brace every muscle and hope to stay in the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>bunk. On deck—topside in the vernacular—one
+dodged along the sloping spray-drenched surface
+in the manner of a monkey climbing about his
+cage. In the wireless hutch Higgins, receiver
+clamped to his ears, listened and wrote as the blue
+sparks darted and sputtered, while at the wardroom
+table, with the lead-backed code books open
+before him, the ship’s surgeon worked under the
+small-focussed light and turned the messages into
+King’s English: “Please hurry, going down
+fast”: “Broadcast submarine reported eight
+miles southeast, steamers keep off”: “H.M.S.
+<i>Spindrift</i> struck by mine, latitude —, longitude
+—; no danger, relay east”: “All ships. Fresh-laid
+mine adrift ten miles E. S. E. Trawler
+notified.”</p>
+
+<p>Once a sister destroyer blinked at them across
+leagues of tumbled water, she, too, evidently on
+the errand of succor. The <i>Warren</i> had outdistanced
+her by daylight and about breakfast time
+was alone, searching the wastes for sign of ship
+or survivors. All day she doubled and crossed
+and never found so much as a floating spar until,
+just as a red sun sank past the rim of the watery
+world, a stove-in life-boat, almost awash, was
+picked up by the lookout and run down. That was
+all they ever found of the steamer and neither
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>Steve nor Joe ever learned the fate of those
+aboard her, although the popular verdict on the
+destroyer that evening was that the small boats
+had got away long before the <i>Warren</i> had reached
+the scene and were either making for the French
+coast or had been taken in tow. There were
+orders from the flagship then and the <i>Warren</i>
+limped back the way she had come at a twelve-knot
+gait, her oil-tanks much too low to waste
+fuel on speed. A day later she zig-zagged her
+way past the cape and dropped anchor off Queenstown
+just as the lights began to show ashore.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">
+    CHAPTER IX
+    <br>
+    <small>BACKS TO THE WALL</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The boys applied for three days’ leave and got—one.
+But they were no worse off than more
+deserving members of that oil-scented crew.
+“Back by daylight tomorrow,” grumbled Higgins,
+adjusting his neckerchief with extreme
+nicety and flicking an invisible speck from his blue
+shirt. “That means they’re going to chop our
+stay short. Well, a day’s better than nothing,
+but, just the same, a fellow never sleeps enough
+the first night ashore to get any rest. I’m going
+to beat it to a hotel and hire a husky guy to rock
+the bed all night! What do you say to a run up
+to Cork, fellows?”</p>
+
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“‘Paddy from Ireland, Paddy from Cork,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">With a hole in his breeches as big as New York,’”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="noi">chanted Tommy Truso. “I’m wid yez, byes!
+Erin go bragh! Come on till we get the first
+train that do be goin’.”</p>
+
+<p>They set forth, five of them; Steve, Joe, Truso,
+Higgins and Sam Hearn, all very carefully attired
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>in their best shirts and trousers and caps.
+And they sang on their way ashore and sang as
+they made for the station and, later, still sang
+as they sat in the railway carriage and rolled
+leisurely north to Queenstown Junction and then
+past Glounthaune and Little Island and Dunkettle
+and Tivoli. Of course they travelled first class.
+“When in Ireland remember you’re an American,”
+said Higgins.</p>
+
+<p>“True for you, me bye,” agreed Truso. “And
+be the same token, shpind yer money.” And to
+set a good example, Truso sought out the guard
+on arrival and tipped him a perfectly good United
+States half-dollar, much to his surprise and evident
+approval. Higgins censured Truso for
+spending American money when he had English.</p>
+
+<p>“Why didn’t you slip him a couple of shillings,
+Tommy? He’d have been just as pleased, and
+you’d have saved your real money.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, isn’t English money as good as ours?”
+asked Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“They say so,” replied Higgins doubtfully,
+“but I’m not sure about it. Anyway, it hasn’t
+any eagle on it!”</p>
+
+<p>They climbed into a ramshackle outside car,
+although Steve and Joe would have much preferred
+to walk, and said so. But Truso reprimanded
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>them sternly. “We’d all rather walk,”
+he said, “but it isn’t done. The United States
+Navy, my boy, must uphold the traditions. Let
+the ‘Limies’ walk, and the Frenchies, but if you
+come from the little old U.S.A. you’ve got to
+ride. Cast off, driver! And look out for mines!”</p>
+
+<p>Steve and Joe were, naturally, all eyes, for this
+was their first visit to Ireland. Hearn had warned
+them that they’d find Cork uninteresting. “If
+you’ve ever been in Newark, New Jersey,” said
+Hearn, “you don’t need to see Cork.” But they
+didn’t find it uninteresting, for there were many
+strange features to attract them. Nevertheless,
+Steve announced that he didn’t believe he would
+care to live there. There were many sailors and
+soldiers on the streets: in fact, it would have been
+difficult to have looked in any direction at any
+moment from any part of St. Patrick Street and
+not have seen a uniform. There were British
+Army officers, khaki clad and flourishing their
+swagger sticks, British Naval officers, far less
+“cocky,” it seemed, but equally important looking,
+privates and Jackies galore, the latter both
+British and American. And now and then a
+French sailor, decidedly more picturesque, was
+sighted. At brief intervals they passed other
+carriages bearing other parties of men from the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>American fleet, and then the proper procedure
+was to cheer at the top of the voice. Doubtless
+there had been a time when the presence of United
+States sailors in Cork had awakened interest and,
+possibly, alarm, but now their wildest and most
+vociferous cheers caused no apparent surprise
+or comment.</p>
+
+<p>St. Patrick Street was, the boys decided,
+“pretty nifty,” but aside from that one thoroughfare
+there was little to impress them. The
+smaller streets, more like alleys than streets, were
+likely to be dirty, and the houses for the most
+part were depressingly ugly.</p>
+
+<p>“Dublin’s the real town,” said Hearn. “This
+place is punk.”</p>
+
+<p>There wasn’t much to see, but they saw it in
+the course of a two-hour ride. It was the driver,
+a wisp of a man with two pale blue eyes and a
+wheedling way with him, that suggested a visit to
+the one historic church that is left in the old city,
+and so they climbed the hill, pitying the decrepit
+horse all the while, through slums that, to quote
+Tommy Truso, had the New York Ghetto backed
+off the map. St. Anne Shandon wasn’t much to
+look at, after all, although they found the tall
+tower, topped with its fish weathervane of some
+interest, and the fact that Father Prout had found
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>inspiration in the chimes to write “The Bells of
+Shandon” did not, in Higgins’ opinion, pay for
+the trip. Back in the heart of the city, they paid
+off their jarvey, grandly declining to haggle with
+him over a charge of just thrice the legal fare,
+and sought dinner.</p>
+
+<p>What impressed the boys most, perhaps, was
+that, aside from the presence of the soldiers from
+the garrison and the sailors from the port, one
+would never have guessed that just across the
+Channel men were fighting and dying by the
+thousand. Cork showed no effects of the war.
+Food was ridiculously cheap, viewed by American
+standards, and evidently plentiful. There were,
+of course, plenty of flags flying, but it was apparent
+that war was the last thought in the minds
+of the rather colourless inhabitants of that town.</p>
+
+<p>After an excellent dinner they took another car,
+an “inside car” this time, the difference between
+inside and outside cars being merely that in the
+first, one sits over the wheel with his feet hanging
+down in the centre and in the other he reverses
+the process. The drive was a pleasant one, and
+this time their jarvey was no more than a boy and
+had a loose tongue and a ready wit. Hearn and
+Higgins had visited the ancient ruins before, but
+they were new to the others and they fell in love
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>with “The Groves of Blarney” at first sight.
+They went all over the castle and, you may be
+sure, didn’t fail to kiss the Blarney stone, each
+in turn hanging over the old battlement while the
+others held firmly to his feet. They went back to
+the city in a “moisture,” as the jarvey called it,
+although they would have called it a drizzle, and
+a fairly hard one, and spent the hour before
+supper in making a tour of the shops. Steve and
+Joe were for returning to Queenstown for supper,
+but the others wanted that meal in Cork, and the
+majority ruled. Also, said Truso, there was a
+fine movie theatre there, only, he added, “they
+call it a cinema or something.” So they had
+supper at a second and smaller hotel and did very
+well, although the food was neither so well cooked
+nor so well served as at the first hostelry. But
+they were hungry and not over-critical.</p>
+
+<p>After supper they asked their way to the
+theatre and set forth. Perhaps they didn’t follow
+directions, but in any case they were soon cruising
+along a dimly lighted street that looked most unpromising.
+The inhabitants appeared to be all on
+the sidewalks or in the gutters, and they were an
+unsavoury lot, the boys thought. It was Hearn
+who first passed the word that trouble was
+brewing.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Get onto the bunch of thugs trailing us,” he
+said in a low voice. “Me for the bright lights
+again, fellows. Some of these Sinn Feiners have
+it in for us Americans good and hard.”</p>
+
+<p>Steve looked back with interest. If those were
+Sinn Feiners, he thought, they were rather disappointing.
+There was nothing in the least romantic
+about the ten or a dozen men who were following
+them. Save that they were dressed differently—and
+not nearly so well—they looked very like a
+group of street-corner loafers at home. Nevertheless,
+there was something threatening in their
+appearance, or, perhaps, in the way in which they
+followed with slouching steps and eyes fixed on
+the sailors.</p>
+
+<p>“What have they got against us?” asked Steve
+in surprise.</p>
+
+<p>“They’re agin’ England,” explained Truso,
+“and pro-German to a man, and now that we’ve
+joined in with England they don’t love us. Take
+the first turn, Sam, and let’s get out of this
+place.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sinn Feiners or no Sinn Feiners,” growled
+Higgins, “if they get funny with me I’ll knock
+their blocks off.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, you’d have a fine time doing it,” jeered
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>Hearn. “There are nearly a dozen of ’em. Come
+on around here.”</p>
+
+<p>But the street they entered was less reassuring
+than they had hoped, a winding, narrow, poorly
+lighted, cobbled passage, with darkened warehouses
+on either side.</p>
+
+<p>Hearn, leading the way with Joe, stopped.
+“This won’t do, my hearties. Let’s turn back
+and go out the way we came. If those guys make
+any cracks, get in the first punch. Come on
+now.”</p>
+
+<p>They swung around and faced the muttering
+group that had followed them. The unexpected
+manœuvre caused confusion in their ranks and
+some backed against the house wall and a few
+stepped into the street. With a swagger, Hearn
+led the way past and the others followed. Steve
+glancing around carelessly began to wish himself
+safely back on the <i>Warren</i>, for the faces that met
+his in the dim light were frankly, savagely antagonistic.
+He breathed freer as he put a dozen
+paces between him and the Sinn Feiners. Tommy
+Truso was whistling, but for the rest the encounter
+was made in silence. Here and there, up
+and down the street, vague figures lounged before
+the shabby houses, but this end of the thoroughfare
+was darker and more empty than the other.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>The five had gone a dozen yards before a sound
+came from the enemy. Then:</p>
+
+<p>“<em>Up the Huns!</em>” cried a hoarse voice, and a
+stone went past their heads and struck against
+a house beyond them. Joe started to run, but
+Hearn’s voice rang out sharply.</p>
+
+<p>“Come back here! Stand up to ’em! The
+Navy doesn’t run, kid!”</p>
+
+<p>Joe, whose flight had been sheerly impulsive,
+stopped and stepped back to the others. Another
+stone flew toward them and the queer cry was repeated
+from a dozen throats.</p>
+
+<p>“Spread out,” said Hearn softly. “Watch for
+those stones. Now, then, walk backwards. It’s
+‘retreat in good order’ for us, I guess.”</p>
+
+<p>“Retreat nothing!” growled Jack Higgins.
+“Let’s bust up the Micks! Come on, Sam!
+Where’s your pep? Rush ’em!” And Higgins
+suited action to word. The assailants had stopped
+some twenty yards away and were gathering
+missiles from the littered street. But when
+Higgins started toward them they closed their
+ranks again, and Truso and Steve, who sprang
+first after their comrade, had a vision of a dark
+line of swearing, taunting, growling men as they
+raced to Higgins’ support. Hearn and Joe followed
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>instantly, then Hearn shouted a cheering
+“Ata boy!” as he ran.</p>
+
+<p>The odds were big, but there was nothing for
+either Steve or Joe but to do their parts. The
+Irishman loves a fight, and these glowering,
+growling men were Irish, and there was no sign
+of hesitation in the way in which they broke
+forward toward the foe. But, and this is a
+lamentable fact, those of them who had seized on
+stones or sticks forgot to drop them.</p>
+
+<p>“Watch out for rocks, fellows!” bellowed
+Truso.</p>
+
+<p>Then the trouble began. Steve, trying to remember
+all the skill he had ever known, engaged
+the first form that met him. A moment later the
+street was a battle ground. Two to one was the
+odds, but there were three at least of the American
+bluejackets who had long since learned to
+fight with their fists, while Steve and Joe, although
+they had had few encounters, at least knew something
+of the science of the game. Blows fell and
+were blocked, feet tramped and slipped, grunts
+and cries filled the air. At first it was a massed
+melee in which foe struck at foe wherever discerned,
+but after a moment the battle separated
+into units. Up the street came, at first a dribble
+and then a stream of spectators. But they were
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>not all spectators, either, for more than one of
+the newcomers leaped into the fray and took sides
+with their compatriots. Cries of “Kill the
+Americans!”, “Up the Huns!” broke out. Steve,
+caught under the jaw by a powerful fist, stumbled
+and went back on the pavement. Instantly a foe
+was on him, astride his chest, and blows were
+being rained at his face. Steve struggled and
+kicked and finally pulled his antagonist forward
+and managed to get an arm around his neck.
+Then, with short-arm jabs, they fought for each
+other’s head. Struggling forms stamped about
+them and once someone stepped on Steve’s ankle
+and fell, sprawling to the ground. Then came a
+rallying cry from Sam Hearn:</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Warren</i> this way!”</p>
+
+<p>Steve somehow squirmed from beneath his adversary
+and rolled aside, springing the next instant
+to his feet. Hearn and at least one other of
+his crowd had backed against the house wall and
+were managing to hold the enemy at arm’s length.
+Steve could see more than one club waving in the
+air, while at the further side of the street, inside
+the fringe of shouting spectators, new recruits
+to the Sinn Fein ranks were groping along the
+gutter for missiles. Near at hand a swaying
+bunch of four figures parted for an instant and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>Steve caught a glimpse of Truso fighting fiercely
+against a trio of the foe. <a href="#i_fp118">Steve darted forward
+and swung his fist</a> and the nearest of the three
+doubled up at the knees and fell in a heap. At
+the same moment Truso, wrenching free from the
+grasp of a big, round-faced lad, struck out straight
+and another fell.</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="i_fp118">
+  <img src="images/i_fp118.jpg" alt="" title="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_118">Steve darted forward and swung his fist</a></p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<p>“Come on!” cried Steve. “Get to the wall,
+Truso!”</p>
+
+<p>“Hello!” gasped the other. “All right. I’m
+with you!”</p>
+
+<p>But it was no easy task, for three of the enemy
+engaged them, and they were separated from
+Hearn and the others by more. The latter, however,
+were giving their attention to the three
+against the wall, and at last, bruised and breathless,
+they plunged through the enemy and lined
+up with their comrades. Higgins was a madman.
+Steve had never seen anyone fight as he fought
+there in that illy-lighted Cork street, his back to
+the wall. His fists shot back and forth like
+machinery, and all the time he kept up a steady
+flow of taunts:</p>
+
+<p>“Come on, you scum! Where’s the next nose?
+Sinn Feiners are you? All right, you dirty blackguards,
+take that! <em>Now</em> cheer for Germany!”</p>
+
+<p>At any other time Steve would have laughed,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>but just now he was much too busy. If the enemy
+had numbered a dozen at the start, it now numbered
+twice that many. Their antagonists were
+three deep in front of them, and only the fact that
+they had their backs to the wall and so need meet
+attack from only one quarter saved them from
+serious injury that night. Hearn’s “Ata boy!
+Give it to ’em!” arose above the tumult. Steve
+caught a swift glimpse of Joe, pale, bleeding at
+the nose, fighting steadily beyond Hearn. Then
+Higgins, at Steve’s left, groaned and slid gently
+down to the pavement, and Steve, with a maddened
+growl, stepped astride him and planted
+bleeding knuckles in the soft face of a squat Irishman.
+But the fight couldn’t go on much longer,
+and they all realised it. The odds were ridiculous
+now. At intervals a stone or block of wood
+struck the wall above them and fell with unpleasant
+effect.</p>
+
+<p>“Shall we—make a run—for it?” gasped
+Truso.</p>
+
+<p>“We can’t,” answered Steve. “Higgins is laid
+out. I’m—standing over—him. Aren’t there—any
+cops in—this town?”</p>
+
+<p>A blow got past Steve’s guard and sent his
+head back against the wall and he saw a million
+stars. He couldn’t fight any longer, he told himself
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>dazedly. But he did, although weakly. And
+then, when it seemed that he would just have to
+drop on top of Higgins and go to sleep, a cheer
+arose above the tumult and the onlookers were
+swept aside as a half-dozen bluejackets raced on
+the scene.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">
+    CHAPTER X
+    <br>
+    <small>THE ALLIES TRIUMPH</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>With joyous shouts the rescuers fell upon the
+enemy’s rear. Taken by surprise, the Sinn
+Feiners found themselves between two fires, for
+Steve, Joe, Truso and Hearn put new life into
+their blows, while the newcomers set to work with
+a fine enthusiasm. Pandemonium reigned supreme
+for a brief space and then the tide of
+battle turned. The more recent recruits to the
+Sinn Fein ranks turned and fled precipitately,
+while the onlookers, discerning the outcome of
+the engagement, began to cheer the sailors. The
+original attacking party fought valiantly and desperately,
+but they had not escaped punishment
+and were unable to cope with the reinforcements.
+Down they went, one after another, or, turning to
+defensive tactics, retreated across the street in the
+hope of finding escape through the circle of spectators.
+But the rescue party was having too good
+a time to lose their prey so easily, and when, a
+scant three minutes after their arrival, the battle
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>was won, the foe, almost to a man, was accounted
+for. And it was not until then that the rescued
+ones made the discovery that their new friends
+were not countrymen, after all, but British bluejackets!</p>
+
+<p><i>H.M.S. Challenge</i> said their cap ribbons.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I’m blowed!” exclaimed Hearn. “Much
+obliged, Limies. They had us going when you
+broke up the party.”</p>
+
+<p>“The dirty thraitors!” responded one of the
+rescuers in a fine, rich brogue. “Sure, it’s been
+a dale of pleasure we’ve had, my friend. And
+I’m thinking ’twas a lucky job we came along.
+What’s your ship, boys?”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Warren</i>, destroyer.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know the <i>Warren</i>,” spoke up a smaller chap
+with a pronounced Cockney twang. “She was in
+Plymouth when we were there larst month.”</p>
+
+<p>The onlookers had gathered around the victors,
+displaying a scant concern for the vanquished
+who, picking themselves up from the cobbles,
+vanished most unobtrusively. Steve administered
+to Higgins as best he could and was quickly
+rewarded by a groan from his prostrate comrade.
+Then Higgins opened his eyes—or one of them,
+for the other didn’t respond to the effort—and
+looked dazedly about him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Hello,” he muttered. “I’m all right now.
+Give me a hand.”</p>
+
+<p>Steve obeyed and Higgins came to his feet,
+swayed dizzily and then, with a bellow, made for
+the crowd, fists up. But Steve clutched him and
+held him back. “They’re gone, Higgins,” he
+cried. “It’s all over. Some Britishers butted
+in and——”</p>
+
+<p>“Gone!” exclaimed Higgins in heart-broken
+tones. “Gone? The dirty cowards! Where’d
+they go?” He looked about him eagerly, but
+Steve, laughing, although it hurt him horribly to
+do it, pulled him toward the others.</p>
+
+<p>“We’d best get out o’ this before they rouse
+their friends and come back again,” one of the
+British bluejackets was saying. “Come on,
+Yankees. What was you doing up this here
+alley, anyhow?”</p>
+
+<p>“Looking for the movie house,” said Truso.
+“We lost our way somehow.”</p>
+
+<p>“Rather! You’re near a mile from a theatre.
+I say, old pal, you need patchin’ up a bit, the
+whole bloomin’ lot of you. There’s a bit of a
+hotel down the road a way, ain’t there, Bill?”</p>
+
+<p>“There is. Come on, fellows. I’ll show you
+the w’y.”</p>
+
+<p>They pushed past the gathering which, now of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>considerable size, was loudly sympathetic in its
+comments, and trailed by a dozen or more boys
+whose curiosity was still unsatisfied, retraced
+their steps for several blocks and then swung into
+a wider thoroughfare and, guided by the small
+cockney whose sleeve insignia showed him to be a
+gunner’s mate, presently reached a small hotel.
+Inside they took stock of their casualties. None
+of the five had escaped visible mementos of the
+engagement. Higgins, with one eye almost completely
+closed and a deep gash on his cheek which,
+as Hearn observed, could never have been made
+by a bare fist, was the most disreputable looking
+of them all, but everyone showed one or more contusions.
+Joe’s lip was bleeding profusely, Steve
+had a lump on his forehead and a swollen mouth,
+Truso had a nose that was already nearly twice
+its normal size and Hearn had a lump on his forehead
+as large as a small egg. These, together
+with swollen and bleeding knuckles, were the visible
+signs of the recent combat, but there were
+sore spots that didn’t show, and Steve, although
+he made no mention of it, felt as if his head was
+inhabited by a swarm of bees! Nor had their
+allies escaped punishment, for the Irishman
+proudly displayed a fine long gash on a cheek
+bone, the Cockney was already peering with difficulty
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>from his left eye and one of the others had
+a swollen jaw. Hearn and Truso had lost their
+caps and the attire of all had been roughly used.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Challenge</i> men performed like Red Cross
+nurses, commandeering the services of the host
+and his buxom wife and all the supplies on hand,
+which, fortunately included arnica. Wounds were
+bathed and bound up and swollen hands were
+swathed in bandages, and presently, having abandoned
+the idea of moving pictures in favour of
+taking the next train to Queenstown, they all
+made their way to the station.</p>
+
+<p>“’Tain’t the first time,” informed one of the
+<i>Challenge’s</i> men. “Only larst week a lot of us
+was up here and had a set-to with a bunch of them
+scoundrels. They heaved stones at us, first off,
+and we didn’t pay any attention to them for a bit.
+They were marchin’ along with their flags and
+banners quiet enough till they seen us. Then
+’twas ‘Up the Huns!’, whatever they might mean
+by that, and they started heavin’ stones at us.
+We’ve orders to keep out o’ trouble, of course,
+and so we ducked for the shops and got inside.
+But when they started heaving bricks through
+the windows it wasn’t fair to the shopkeepers and
+so we went outside again. ’Twas a Saturday
+night and so there was a lot of us around and it
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>wasn’t long before we was having a rare old time
+of it. It wasn’t ’arf lively for awhile! Then the
+Bobbies took a ’and, and the provost guard from
+the garrison came along and we called it off.
+There was more than one Sinn Fein head broken,
+I’m thinking.”</p>
+
+<p>At the station they found a crowd of their own
+compatriots and as many from the British ships
+waiting for the train, and their advent was hailed
+with shouts of approval and expressions of envy.
+A big, raw-boned boatswain’s mate from the
+<i>Cassin</i> was all for returning to the scene of
+trouble and inviting renewed hostilities, and his
+companions had difficulty in persuading him to
+board the train. On the way back “Yankees”
+and “Limies” mingled and fraternised, and there
+was much vocal harmony and a great deal of
+noise, all of which stood for good-fellowship.
+Steve and Joe tried to do their share of the singing,
+if only for the honour of the United States
+Navy, but the effort was far too painful. Before
+eleven, having parted from their friends of the
+<i>Challenge</i> with hand-shakes and renewed expressions
+of gratitude, they were back on the <i>Warren</i>
+relating their adventures to a small but attentive
+audience grouped about Number Two gun.</p>
+
+<p>In the morning they had to face authority in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>the persons of the officers, and they were a bit
+doubtful of the result. But, save for stern disapproval,
+that melted to amusement when they
+had passed, there came no sign from the Old Man
+or the luffs. About the middle of the forenoon a
+French destroyer, one of the “Harlequin Fleet,”
+came limping into harbour with her port bow
+badly stove in. She passed close to starboard
+of the <i>Warren</i> and the captain of the latter hailed
+through the megaphone in his choicest French.
+Those on the deck grinned as the Frenchie’s commander,
+gesticulating regret, even despair from
+the bridge, responded in excellent English:
+“Pardon, sair! A thousand pardons! I deed
+not understand what monsieur ask.”</p>
+
+<p>Browny, machinist’s mate, second class, guffawed
+and had to stuff his cap in his mouth. On
+the bridge Captain Stanwood coloured, and then,
+with a smile for the joke on his pronunciation,
+politely repeated his question.</p>
+
+<p>“No, no,” responded the French officer, leaning
+far over the rail and expressing denial with
+head and hands and shoulders. “We ware not
+torpedoed, sair! We were collisioned by a—a—what
+you say?—a——” His voice grew
+fainter as the distance between the destroyers
+lengthened and the listeners thought they were
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>doomed to never know what had happened to
+the fantastically decorated French ship. But
+after another moment of agonised effort on the
+part of her commander the completion of the
+sentence floated across the water:</p>
+
+<p>“By a r-r-rottan <i lang="fr">chasseur</i>! Merci, m’sieur!”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s a <em>rotan shasur</em>?” demanded Smitty
+disappointedly.</p>
+
+<p>“Rotten chaser, of course,” giggled a neighbour.
+“Where’s your French, you ignoramus?”</p>
+
+<p>“Say,” observed a tall chap with the crossed
+quills of a yeoman, “if Frenchie gets as excited
+as that in telling the yarn what do you suppose
+he was like when the chaser hit him?”</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon the <i>Warren</i> slipped out to sea
+again, followed by a sister ship, and zig-zagged
+her way through the mine field. Sealed orders
+had come aboard, so the rumour went, and they
+were off for “special duty” and wouldn’t see
+port again for a week. There was some
+grumbling over shortened leave and a vast
+amount of conjecture as to their errand. Hopeful
+ones guessed a rendezvous with the British
+North Sea fleet for an attack on the German
+naval base at Zeebrugge, the pessimists a return
+to American waters. The next morning, however,
+it was plain that the North Sea was not
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>their destination, for the compass showed the
+<i>Warren</i> headed east, while, ahead and astern,
+Steve counted five more destroyers tossing spray
+from their knife-like bows. It was standard
+speed all that day and for two days and nights
+following. The weather was of the kindest, and
+the <i>Warren</i>, try as she might, could not roll
+enough to make her happy. Joe, still fearful on
+leaving Queenstown, gradually plucked up hope.
+Save for a qualm or two the first evening he felt
+no indications of seasickness and began to get a
+bit cocky about it. The destroyers steamed in
+column of two sections, with the flagship leading
+the <i>Warren</i>. All day signals fluttered and the
+wireless sputtered. Higgins, supposed to know a
+vast deal of what was in the wind, only grinned
+and shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>The single event to jar the monotony of steady
+steaming occurred the second night out. That was
+fairly exciting, for the General Quarters alarm
+sounded just before midnight, and Steve, warmly
+tucked in his bunk and sleeping beautifully,
+reached the deck half-awake with the sensations
+of one aroused by an especially strident alarm-clock.
+But the affair was a good deal of a disappointment,
+for after Number Four gun had
+barked once—fortunately missing its mark—the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>supposed Hun proved to be a British steam
+trawler who had been slow in answering questions!
+“Missed us!” she signalled. “Now go
+to bed again!”</p>
+
+<p>The next morning the mystery was dispelled,
+for the bulletin board announced: “This ship will
+meet the first contingent of American forces to
+operate in France and convoy them to Bordeaux.”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">
+    CHAPTER XI
+    <br>
+    <small>THE ARMADA</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>That was the twenty-second of June. All that
+day the destroyers held their course, hidden from
+each other at times by fog and drizzle. In the
+forecastle the talk was all of the transports that
+were somewhere ahead there churning their way
+to the rendezvous laden with khaki. They wondered
+how many ships they would find, who the
+convoyers were, how many soldiers were aboard.
+It was all very exciting and thrilling, and “Spud”
+Doolan, first-class shipfitter, played “The Star-Spangled
+Banner” and “Hail, Columbia” on his
+harmonica with more than usual feeling. Steve
+determined to be on hand when the transports
+were sighted, and hoped hard that he might be
+on foretop lookout duty. But he wasn’t, as it
+turned out. That night, in a light fog, the
+<i>Warren</i> picked it up to twenty-one or -two knots
+and went slithering around on the scouting line,
+managing to roll a fair thirty-odd and make it
+necessary to brace oneself in the bunk. Then, in
+the morning, when the transports should have
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>been in plain sight, they weren’t, and Steve going
+aloft to the canvas cage at seven had fond hopes
+and nearly popped his eyes out in the effort to
+pierce the haze and pick up the top of a mast.
+But save for the other members of the party, the
+ocean was bare and he was below again, drinking
+coffee outside the galley door, when word came
+down that smoke was showing. Almost instantly
+the blowers sang a shriller note, the steering
+engine groaned and, above-deck the four funnels
+fairly spouted black smoke. Joe came sliding
+and dodging along the wet deck and joined Steve
+and others at the forecastle break. Only dim
+glimpses for a minute or two, and then from the
+ocean haze burst, startlingly near, the long length
+of a troop-ship. And then another—and another—three,
+four, five—— But it was useless to
+try to count them. And then the <i>Warren</i>
+was fairly amongst them, signals fluttering,
+blowers roaring a merry tune—for it was wise
+to make a smart appearance with the Admiral
+looking on from the cruiser—and from every deck
+of every ship came a great cheer that went on and
+on, arose and fell and arose again, while hats
+waved and hoarse whistles bellowed. Steve, looking
+with a lump in his throat, tried to cheer back
+with the others, and fluttered his white cap, and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>thought there could never really be in all the
+world as many khaki-clad American soldiers as
+looked down upon them as they sped past. Later
+he learned how comparatively few the transports
+held, but this morning, gazing at rank after rank
+of them, they seemed to him to number into the
+hundreds of thousands! Such cheering as greeted
+the destroyers! Such waving of broad-brimmed
+Stetsons! Such grinning of countless faces leaning
+down from high decks! The cruiser, flagship,
+four-stacked and a bit cluttered aft; a towering
+German prize with her name gone but still
+legible; two fruiters—seaworthy looking craft;
+and liners built for more fashionable passengers;
+these comprised the armada that was making history
+with every turn of its screws.</p>
+
+<p>“I wouldn’t have missed this for a million
+dollars,” said Joe in a voice so low that Steve
+barely heard it above the noise of that meeting.
+“It—it’s wonderful!”</p>
+
+<p>Steve nodded. He didn’t want to speak just
+then for fear that the other would suspect the
+lump in his throat and the moisture in his eyes.
+But he did speak presently when, having cut her
+way through the heart of the formation, the
+<i>Warren</i> turned on her heel with a smartness and
+precision that brought a gleam of gratification to
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>the face of the captain, and took up her station
+to port. Then Steve said in a growl meant to
+disguise the fact that his voice held a tremour:
+“It’s the—the biggest thing I’ve ever seen, Joe,
+and maybe I’ll never see a bigger. I’ll never forget
+it, I guess.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not likely to,” answered the other. “I wish
+some of the rest of the fellows were here to see
+it with us. It would please old Han, wouldn’t
+it?”</p>
+
+<p>Steve nodded, and stealing a glance at his chum,
+was relieved to find that youth’s eyes frankly wet.
+And, looking beyond, along the line of faces, he
+saw more than one tear trickling down a weather-tanned
+nose and more than one Adam’s apple
+working convulsively up and down in a lean
+throat. “Phil and Harry might be aboard one
+of those for all we know,” he said. “Han said
+they were handling a gun on a liner, didn’t he?”</p>
+
+<p>“Expected to, I think. Funny if they were on
+one of those transports, though. Funny if they
+were looking at us this minute; or we were looking
+at them, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. How many soldiers are there there, do
+you suppose?”</p>
+
+<p>“About a million, I’d say! They’re regulars,
+aren’t they?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Yes. That ship over yonder, though, is filled
+with marines. I noticed as we passed her.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good old Billy Blues,” murmured Joe.
+“How’s the song go?</p>
+
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“‘If the Army or the Navy ever visit Heaven’s scenes,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent2">They will find the streets are guarded by United States Marines!’”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>With the destroyers steaming girdle-wise about
+the troop-ships, the engines were tuned to standard
+speed—fourteen knots an hour—and code
+signals fluttered. Joe, qualifying for signalman,
+had a busy time of it for awhile. The transports
+hid themselves at times in the mid-ocean haze to
+emerge again like shadows on the curtain of mist.
+At supper time below there was evident an unusual
+seriousness, although every man-Jack of
+them tried his best to carry off the scramble for
+food with the customary levity. They were all
+thinking of the serried thousands in khaki on those
+troop-ships and what their appearance on French
+soil meant. And Browny voiced the thought of
+many when he remarked, potato poised on the end
+of his fork:</p>
+
+<p>“There’s a lot of those guys will never be
+sailin’ back again, fellows.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span></p>
+
+<p>“That’s right,” someone agreed, “but you can
+say the same of us, I’m thinking.”</p>
+
+<p>“’Tain’t the same,” answered Browny, shaking
+a lugubrious head. “Those fellows have got
+to go ‘over the top.’ ’Tain’t the same, I’m tellin’
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe the war’ll be over by the time they
+get ready to butt in,” said Truso. “Tame
+the U-boats, son, and what’s Germany got
+left?”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s so,” another agreed. “The old war’s
+going to be settled right out here on the briny,
+fellows, and we’re the little cut-ups that are going
+to settle it!”</p>
+
+<p>“Forget it! Fritz won’t give in so easy.”
+Hearn impaled another potato and dipped into
+the butter. “It’s going to take a lot more of
+those fellows in khaki than we’ve got our hands
+on yet. There’ll be a lot of little white crosses
+with ‘U.S.A.’ on ’em sprinkled around France
+before Billy Kaiser’s on his back. Well, we’re
+in it, and I’m hoping the folks back home get it
+into their thick heads after awhile and buckle
+down to the job. One thing’s sure, though.
+Those cheerin’, grinnin’ boys are going to make
+us mighty proud we’re Americans before they’re
+through!”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span></p>
+
+<p>“That’s no dream,” agreed someone. “Here’s
+to ’em!” And he drained his coffee.</p>
+
+<p>There were alarms galore during the following
+two days. Warnings of skulking submarines
+lying in wait reached them and more than once
+the course was changed. By day it was no uncommon
+sight to see a destroyer spout smoke and
+rush off into the distance and to hear a “three-inch”
+bark. But always the object fired at proved
+harmless. The troop-ships kept their places in
+the lines, some with an evident effort, and gradually
+the coast of France grew near. Then came
+a still evening when a following breeze held the
+heavy smoke from the stacks straight in air like
+so many black pencils against the glow of sunset,
+and that night, slowing down and feeling their
+way through the mine fields, the flotilla caught
+the land-smell.</p>
+
+<p>And then an umber sail in the growing light, a
+Breton fisherman ducking her way over hidden
+perils with the careless gaiety of a butterfly.
+Then more sails, of a dozen colours, floating casks
+and skimming birds, and the loom of the green-clad
+shore of France magically in sight. A
+French cruiser sallied out and did the honours, a
+small and exquisite two-stacker on whose decks
+the red tassels of the men’s caps made dots of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>colour. From the <i>Warren</i> they could even see the
+closely-trimmed beards of her officers. Subsequently
+a fussy gunboat lay in wait, and then,
+slowing down, the American ships formed in
+single column and, guided by the gunboat, nosed
+into the estuary.</p>
+
+<p>Sardine fishing boats, with sails of bright blue
+and faded pink were passed. Vividly green farms
+lay sloping to the river, dotted with century-old
+trees. Every promontory held a glittering light-house,
+each as thoroughly foreign to the eager
+eyes of this American legion as the high, red-roofed
+houses that presently stood, sentinel-like,
+amidst the fields. Overhead two airplanes sailed
+majestically. Slowly, dignifiedly the long columns
+steamed up the picturesque river. The news had
+evidently already reached the city, for on one
+bank motor cars were speeding toward them.
+Even at that distance one could see the white
+flutter of handkerchiefs. And over all the
+Summer sunlight fell and drenched the armada
+with a golden glory. And this was France—at
+last!</p>
+
+<p>Finally the city itself came into sight around a
+long curve of the river, and a poplar-lined esplanade
+kept them company, while a forest of masts
+and cranes marked the dockyards. About them
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>now a covey of small boats, steamers, launches,
+row-boats were gathered. The moving-picture
+industry was alert on the deck of a tipsy little
+side-wheeler. The column parted and the troop-ships
+went slowly on up toward the basin, while
+the thousands along the sea-wall waved and
+cheered and shouted blessings and greetings in a
+language that lamentably few aboard the flotilla
+could understand. But the meaning was plain
+enough, and on the transports the lean-faced,
+khaki-clad men waved and cheered and shouted
+back, and joked, too, although some of them could
+more easily have wept.</p>
+
+<p>One by one the troop-ships disappeared into the
+basin to be warped through the gates of the lock
+to the inner basin and there unloaded. On the
+cruiser, astern of the <i>Warren</i>, the boatswain’s
+pipe shrilled and an orderly commotion ensued.
+Down the ladder stepped the Admiral and took
+his seat in a blue-grey gig, the sun glinting on
+an inspiring amount of gold bullion. Then off
+sped the gig to the landing, while the cheers grew
+shriller and the Admiral’s hand came stiffly to
+salute. The <i>Warren’s</i> hooks were down now, and
+wistful eyes sought the shore, but whether liberty
+was to be granted or not was something none
+could say. The strains of a band floated down
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>from the outer basin. Overhead a graceful airplane
+circled in the sunlight. And in such manner,
+after nearly a century and a half, America
+paid the first installment of her debt to France.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">
+    CHAPTER XII
+    <br>
+    <small>“ALLO, SAMMEE!”</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Joe had all the luck that day, for no liberty was
+granted until late afternoon, and Steve had to
+remain aboard the destroyer and see from there
+what he could of the doings ashore until most of
+the doings were done. But Joe got off in the
+motor dingey when the junior luff went ashore,
+through a bit of good luck, and although he had to
+remain in the boat with the rest there were things
+to be seen from the landing. The third troop-ship
+was entering the lock as the <i>Warren’s</i> boat
+bumped her fender, and the crowd in the street
+alongside cheered as spiritedly as though they had
+not already welcomed two ships in such manner.
+Cries of “Allo, Sammee!” punctuated the shouting.
+On the decks that towered almost overhead
+the smiling American lads cheered with a fine
+abandon and tried out their French. Gifts of
+all sorts were tossed from street to decks: candy
+and cigarettes in abundance, and even fruit.
+Slowly the water rose in the lock and then the
+upper gate swung open and the transport passed
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>through with much shouting, much hustling of
+giant hawsers. Already the next ship was nosing
+at the lower lock, and, when the water level had
+sunk again, she swung magnificently in, a veritable
+floating city inhabited by nearly three thousand
+eager-eyed, hat-swinging boys in khaki.
+Her decks were thronged, the rails lined four and
+five deep and even the lower rigging was crowded
+with olive-drab and blue. When the big ship was
+recognised as a former German liner, one who had
+borne the name of a member of the royal house of
+Hohenzollern—they could still read the name
+although its letters had been removed—the throng
+cheered louder than ever. With lines of men
+carrying the great hawsers she moved slowly on
+until she filled the lock from gate to gate, with
+her topmost decks towering high above the surrounding
+buildings. The lock gate was closed
+and the hawsers were made fast, while from street
+and decks and every available spot on shore and
+aboard ship a cheer went up to the blue sky. And
+then there was a scurrying and pushing on the
+forward deck and the band took its place there.
+The tumult died away and the leader raised his
+baton high. A pause, and almost a silence over
+the great throng, and then the music swelled forth
+and one by one the boys in khaki stiffened and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>stood at attention and, below, every Frenchman
+raised a hand in the military salute and stood so
+while the strains of “The Star-Spangled Banner”
+swept out over the silent throng.</p>
+
+<p>When the last note had died trembling on the
+air the silence held for a good minute, and then
+wave after wave of cheering arose and passed
+along the street and was thrown back by the
+buildings and crashed up against the great hull
+of the liner. For many minutes it went on, until
+the leader again held his baton aloft. Silence fell
+once more, while hands again went to salute, but
+this time the silence lasted but a moment. Here—there—on
+all sides voices joined the music, ever
+swelling until the stately tumult of it was heard
+far across the bay. On the transport the soldiers
+sang, too, or lacking the words, hummed. And
+so for the first time in history an American band
+played and American soldiers sang the Marseillaise
+in France!</p>
+
+<p>It was early the next morning that those on the
+destroyers heard the bugle blow in the upper
+basin and knew that the United States Expeditionary
+Force was setting foot on French soil.
+At moments, from the <i>Warren</i>, they could glimpse
+lines of moving olive-drab figures on shore. Most
+of the fellows sought and obtained liberty that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>morning, but by the time they were on the scene
+half of the big troop-ships had discharged their
+quotas and the great army camp outside the town
+that had been for more than a fortnight awaiting
+occupancy was at last a soldier city. Steve and
+Joe stood for a good hour in the shadows of the
+basin-side buildings and, pushed and jostled good-naturedly
+by a huge throng of onlookers, watched
+squad after squad of their brothers-in-arms march
+down the gangplanks, fall into rank in the street
+and go sweeping off across the bridge with a light
+springy step that was fine to see. Many times
+the two boys shouted a greeting to a smiling man
+in the ranks merely because their eyes and his met
+understandingly and they saw his face light as
+he recognised the Navy blue. Once only did
+either of them glimpse an acquaintance, although
+it seemed that they must know personally every
+one of the khaki-clad fellows that passed, so
+familiar were the lean, cheerful, alert countenances.
+Up through the town they went in
+columns of fours, trailing out like a long dust-brown
+snake, and as one regiment disappeared
+another followed in its track.</p>
+
+<p>Once Joe drew Steve’s attention to a squad of
+grey-clad German prisoners who were being
+marched down the basin to the coal-yards. Six
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>French soldiers carrying long rifles with fixed
+bayonets were in charge and they didn’t permit
+any loitering. But even so it was possible to
+read the perplexed looks of the prisoners as they
+found themselves confronted by the line on line
+of American soldiers, troops which they had been
+assured over and over again by their government
+would never reach Europe!</p>
+
+<p>By a little after twelve o’clock the last of the
+contingent had marched away over the rise and
+the great ships were empty of khaki and ready
+for re-coaling and the return voyage. Joe had
+been especially interested by the Marines and had
+watched them rather enviously, confiding to Steve
+that he guessed he wished he had enlisted there
+instead of in the seaman branch. “They’re going
+to get right into the thick of it, I’ll bet,” he said.
+“Besides, Steve, land duty gives a fellow a chance
+to get over his seasickness sometimes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Huh, all those chaps are going to do is guard
+duty, I guess,” derided Steve. “If that’s your
+idea of a Summer vacation it isn’t mine, son.
+I’d rather be where there’s something doing.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know,” sighed Joe, “but sometimes I wish
+they’d put the <i>Warren</i> on wheels and send her
+ashore. It’s the eternal rolling that has me
+beat.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Shucks, Joe, you’re doing fine! Why, you
+weren’t sick once this trip.”</p>
+
+<p>“N-no, but there were lots of times when—when
+I could have been! And I’m always scared
+that I will be. Well, if I can’t stick it out I’ll
+try the Army. I guess there’s some place I can
+wiggle into.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, don’t be a piker! Stick to the Navy, old
+scout. It’s the only real thing.”</p>
+
+<p>“Only <em>reel</em> thing, I guess you mean,” sighed
+the other. “There’s Tommy and Jack over there.
+Let’s go over.”</p>
+
+<p>With Truso and Higgins they saw the town and
+ate a most remarkable dinner at a queer little café
+that was crowded with soldiers and sailors of half
+a dozen nations. They made the acquaintance of
+an Italian non-com officer—they never could agree
+as to his exact rank—who talked surprisingly
+good English, a fact later explained when he
+mentioned having been a produce commission
+merchant in New York until the war broke out.
+He asked a good many wistful questions about the
+city of his adoption, many of which the boys were
+unable to answer. Afterwards he told them a
+good deal of war news—they had been singularly
+ignorant of what had been going on during the
+last month. The King of Greece had abdicated—as
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>Higgins remarked later, without saying a word
+to them—the United States Liberty Loan had
+been gloriously oversubscribed: the Italians had
+taken Corno Cavento from the Austrians (Steve
+determined to look the place up on the map but
+never did): an American commission had been
+sent to Russia. After saying good-bye to their
+new acquaintance they bought numerous French
+newspapers which none could read intelligently
+and reported back on the <i>Warren</i>. They had all
+wanted mightily to go out and see the American
+camp, but there wasn’t time, and they promised
+themselves to do it tomorrow. But when the
+morrow came the <i>Warren</i> was thrusting her knife-edge
+bow into the green waters three hundred
+miles away from red-roofed Bordeaux.</p>
+
+<p>They had taken on only enough fuel for a slow
+return to the base and it was nearly noon on the
+twenty-ninth when they sighted the Scilly Islands
+to starboard. Two of the other destroyers accompanied
+them and stayed in sight until afternoon.
+Then, when Steve looked for them from
+the foretop cage, they were gone. The <i>Warren</i>
+zig-zagged through the Channel mine fields and
+dropped her hooks in Queenstown Harbour at
+sunset.</p>
+
+<p>Ashore the next day, they learned that the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>American and English fleet commanders had forbidden
+men from the ships to go up to Cork because
+of the Sinn Fein demonstrations. Consequently
+they were doomed to make the best of
+Queenstown, and Queenstown’s best was not very
+exciting. The town was little more than a single
+street running along the water and many steep
+and narrow lanes ascending the hill on which the
+town was built. The business part seemed to
+consist principally of hotels and steamship offices
+and to be inhabited by sailors from the Seven
+Seas, soldiers, marines and shabbily-clad citizens,
+whose sole purpose in life was to loaf. But they
+saw what few sights there were: the big white
+cathedral on the summit of the hill which has been
+in course of erection so long that no one appeared
+to be sure of the date of its beginning. And they
+ferried across to Monkstown, a whole dozen of
+them, and saw the castle on the heights that cost
+but fourpence, as the story goes. They got the
+narrative from a willing and garrulous old
+patriarch in return for a shilling. Doubtless
+they’d have got it with quite as much detail for
+a sum no larger than the cost of the old castle.
+Shorn of much verbiage, the story was that back
+in sixteen hundred and something one John Archdeckan
+was called to the war in Flanders, and his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>good wife decided that it would be a fine thing to
+erect a castle during his absence and have a sort
+of surprise party when he got back—if he ever
+did! So she got an army of labourers together
+and arranged to pay them good wages for the job
+on condition that they bought all their food, drink
+and clothing from her. When the castle was
+finished she cast a balance and made the, to her,
+annoying discovery that she had come out fourpence
+shy! Hearn offered the comment that he
+guessed Mrs. Archdeckan had never really enjoyed
+her home after that, but another of the
+party opined that the lady hadn’t got swindled
+after all because if the worst came to the worst
+she could have turned it into a fine fire-proof
+garage. Their guide and informant seemed a
+trifle peeved at their levity, much of which he
+fortunately couldn’t understand, and so Tommy
+Truso tipped him a Canadian dime which pleased
+him vastly, not knowing, as Tommy remarked
+with a chuckle, that “the thing’s no good south
+of Portland, Maine!”</p>
+
+<p>That afternoon mail came aboard and Steve
+and Joe had letters galore and more newspapers
+than they would ever have time to read before the
+war ended, and last, but far from least, a box of
+eatables. But the letters were the best, for they
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>made home seem for the time very near. Steve
+received a letter from George Hanford which had
+been posted from Halifax. Han was on the way
+over when he wrote. The <i>Carthage</i> was swinging
+at anchor off Falkland, N. S., awaiting some
+transports. As the letter was dated the twelfth
+of June it was more than probable, as Steve and
+Joe agreed, that the <i>Carthage</i> was now somewhere
+in British waters.</p>
+
+<p>“It would be dandy to run into old Han some
+day, wouldn’t it?” exclaimed Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, if it didn’t sink us,” agreed Steve. “I
+wouldn’t suggest it to the Old Man, though.”</p>
+
+<p>“You know what I mean,” laughed Joe. “I
+wonder if there’s any news of his ship around
+here.”</p>
+
+<p>They didn’t find any, however. The whereabouts
+and movements of ships were carefully
+guarded those days. Theoretically at least, the
+crew of one ship was not supposed to know so
+much as the name of another even though they
+happened to be anchored within cable’s length of
+each other! Joe was assured, however, that some
+fine day they would come across Han, and when
+they did—well, there’d be a lot of talking done!</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> was to remain four days instead
+of three at the base this time in order to make
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>up to the men one of the days they had been
+deprived of before. Hearn was for getting forty-eight
+hours’ liberty and making a trip to Dublin,
+but for some reason the Old Man wasn’t agreeable
+to the idea. There was baseball each afternoon
+on a make-shift diamond and some exciting contests
+were pulled off. The <i>Warren</i> took on a
+team of marines and, with Truso pitching, Joe
+playing first base and a yeoman named Harris
+catching, put it all over their opponents. Two
+days later, however, the <i>Warren</i> had to lower its
+colours before the better playing of a nine from
+one of the other destroyers.</p>
+
+<p>Finally at dusk one warm July evening the
+<i>Warren’s</i> winches rattled, her anchors came up
+from the mud of the harbour, the twinkling lights
+of Queenstown dropped astern and she slipped
+through the net gate and steamed out into the
+darkness to take up once more the patrol of her
+particular square section of the ocean, three hundred
+feet of quivering steel eager for work and
+danger.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">
+    CHAPTER XIII
+    <br>
+    <small>THE WARREN’S FIRST KILL</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>It was shortly after eight bells the next afternoon
+that the wireless room picked up the SOS that
+turned the destroyer on her heel and sent her
+churning away toward the sunset with “all kettles
+lit off for twenty-eight.” Somewhere a hundred-odd
+miles away an American freighter was trying
+to run away from a U-boat, or so the lower deck
+got it. The <i>Warren</i> spouted smoke and stank of
+oil and the seas smothered the bows as she raced
+on. From the dizzy foretop the lookout peered
+eagerly into the sunlit wastes ahead. Gun crews
+gravitated toward their pets and watched and
+waited anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“If only the Hun won’t run this time!” exclaimed
+Lieutenant Lyke as he alternately held
+his glasses to his eyes and glanced upward toward
+the spotter on the foretop.</p>
+
+<p>“Any word from the steamer, sir?” asked one
+of the men at the Number Four gun.</p>
+
+<p>“She was all right twenty minutes ago. They’d
+let go one torpedo at her and missed her. She
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>thinks they’re outsteaming the Hun. Why
+doesn’t that blind-eyed gob up there see something?”</p>
+
+<p>It was almost dark night when the word came
+down the tube that smoke lay off the port bow,
+and half an hour later still when the <i>Kenyon</i>, a
+Great Lakes grain ship, from the looks of her in
+the darkness, was signalled. She was ploughing
+on desperately and, as the <i>Warren</i> ran up, reported
+that the U-boat had presumably given up
+the chase and submerged an hour ago in such-and-such
+latitude and longitude.</p>
+
+<p>“Good luck!” called the Old Man. “We’ll have
+a look for her!”</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> darted on again and the <i>Kenyon</i>,
+with a cheer from the gun crew at the stern,
+plugged off at her sixteen knots into the night.
+With all lights doused and boilers doing something
+like twenty, the <i>Warren</i> began her search.
+Somewhere within an hour’s steaming a German
+submarine was hiding. She might be poking
+along submerged or doing her fourteen awash
+or, less probably, lying snugly somewhere on the
+bottom. And wherever she was it was the
+<i>Warren’s</i> part to find her if it was possible.</p>
+
+<p>By two bells in the first watch, nine o’clock,
+the night was as black as a pocket. On the destroyer
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>never a gleam of light was to be seen
+save in the shrouded wardroom where the decoding
+watch worked tirelessly by the dim glow of a
+lowered lamp, under the swaying salt-and-vinegar
+caster, on the messages shoved through the tiny
+trapdoor that led to the radio hutch. That and
+the radium-lighted compass-dial alone mitigated
+the gloom, and neither could have been detected
+a dozen feet away any more than a thousand feet
+away the ship herself could have been separated
+by human vision from sea and darkness. Spotters
+were everywhere, and night-glasses swept the
+tumbled expanse of ocean. The groan of the
+steering cables sounded from time to time as the
+destroyer swung her long, lithe form to starboard
+or port, covering the radius as carefully and
+minutely as a hound searching for scent.</p>
+
+<p>Three bells struck on the wardroom clock.
+Then four. The tired lookout in the foretop
+scrambled down and the relief took his place.
+Most of those off duty were on deck peering into
+the gloom. A hard wind blew when the <i>Warren</i>
+headed eastward and at such times the white
+spume flew high and far. Joe, who should have
+been tucked in his bunk, for it was his watch
+below, leaned with Steve in the shelter of the port
+torpedo tube and ranged the seemingly empty sea
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>as eagerly as any. A gunner’s mate of the torpedo
+watch, beside them, grumbled incessantly
+and said unpleasant things about an enemy who
+wouldn’t face the music. And suddenly what
+they had been so long hoping for and had about
+concluded could not happen came to pass. The
+tocsin of the General Quarters alarm sounded!</p>
+
+<p>Steve raced forward to Number Four gun,
+strapping on the life-vest he carried. The hum
+of the engines sounded higher as from the
+bridge came the order for full speed. The Captain
+hurried from the wardroom passage and
+sprang up the ladder.</p>
+
+<p>“Man Number Four, bow, gun!”</p>
+
+<p>From below the few men off watch swarmed
+up the lower deck ladder. Plugmen and pointers
+raced to duty. The sight-setter pulled on his
+leather head-gear with fingers suddenly all
+thumbs. The cover was ripped from an ammunition
+box and a loader caught a shell in his arms
+and shoved it home. Then silence and expectancy.</p>
+
+<p>“Can you see her?” was the anxious question.
+But from the forecastle only darkness met the
+straining gaze. “Seven thousand, five hundred
+yards!” came the word. The gun muzzle nosed
+upward. “Seven thousand yards!” The muzzle
+dropped again. And then, magically, a glare of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>white light sprang from above and shot radiantly
+over the ocean, encompassing in its broad path
+a something that lay like a glistening wet bottle
+far off in the sea.</p>
+
+<p>“Are you on, down there?” came the cry.</p>
+
+<p>And, after a moment that seemed ages long:
+“All ready, sir!”</p>
+
+<p>“Six thousand, five hundred!”</p>
+
+<p>“Stand by to fire!”</p>
+
+<p>Another moment of aching impatience, and
+then:</p>
+
+<p>“Fire!”</p>
+
+<p>A three-inch shell flew toward the distant goal,
+and ere the bark of the gun was passed the shellman
+had pushed another charge into the breech.
+The trainer turned his wheel a fraction as the
+word came down: “Missed!”</p>
+
+<p>“Skinned her, though!” muttered the plugman.</p>
+
+<p>“Fire!”</p>
+
+<p>Again Number Four barked, and, almost simultaneously
+a second gun echoed. A roar of
+triumph went up and travelled back along the
+deck.</p>
+
+<p>“Got her!” said the gun captain calmly.
+“Fire!”</p>
+
+<p>Once more the shriek of a shell echoed from
+across the deck. In the glare of the searchlight
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>the wet bottle was almost gone from sight,
+for she had started to submerge the instant that
+fierce glare had reached her conning tower. Only
+the tower was above water now, and, even as they
+looked, that went under quickly, as though some
+mighty hand had seized the hapless craft from
+below and pulled her down.</p>
+
+<p>“Cease firing!”</p>
+
+<p>The already loaded gun was opened and a shellman
+withdrew the cartridge case, while a cheer
+arose from the crew.</p>
+
+<p>“Two hits to us!” sang the pointer elatedly.
+“Two hits to us, boys! A fair hole aft in the
+superstructure and another through the tower!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well done, Number Four gun!” came the
+message through the tube. “We’ve sunk her.”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure, we’ve sunk her!” muttered the plugman.
+“That’s what we aimed to do. There’s
+one less devil-fish in these waters, boys!”</p>
+
+<p>“Will they all drown?” asked Steve awedly.</p>
+
+<p>“With half the Atlantic Ocean pouring in on
+’em? They’re dead rats already, Jack. Was
+any of them trying to get out, boys?”</p>
+
+<p>“I didn’t see any,” someone answered. “They
+didn’t have time. They’d closed their lids to go
+down and then we put one through her shell. It
+was water rushing in that sank her at the last.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span></p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the <i>Warren</i> was ploughing on,
+searchlights glaring about her path. Presently
+the engines ceased their roar and suddenly the
+destroyer floated into a calm expanse of oil-smeared
+water. Once a great bubble broke under
+the destroyer’s bow, but after that there was no
+sign of the tragedy, although the searchlights
+played over the scene for several minutes. Oil
+lay in vast pools that rose and fell on the waves
+and spread themselves in strange patterns. The
+smell of it was heavy on the air. Steve, looking
+down from abaft the forecastle break shuddered
+and felt a little sick. Then the lights went out
+as suddenly as they appeared, for there was no
+knowing that another underseas craft was not
+around, and the <i>Warren</i>, swinging about, poked
+her nose again into the wind. The hum of the
+engines became higher and the thin steel frame
+of the ship took on its tremor once more. Behind
+them as they hurried back to the patrol area only
+an oily stretch of water was left to tell the story.</p>
+
+<p>Down in the forecastle they talked it over from
+start to finish. Incidents seen and forgotten in
+the tenseness of the moments were recalled,
+usually with laughter. There had been some
+“dumb” work here and there, but it was excusable,
+for this was the <i>Warren’s</i> first real encounter
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>with the enemy. Now and then a soberer
+word was given to the crew of the submarine
+lying fathoms deep back there. Steve heard no
+expressions of pity nor any of callousness. There
+was very evident elation aboard the <i>Warren</i>, but
+it was elation for work well performed. There
+was a business-like tone to the talk, some of which
+he could scarcely follow, so filled it was with
+“elevation” and “trajectory,” “deflection” and
+“range,” that made him wonder if he would ever
+become so seasoned as to forget the horror of such
+a thing in scientific discussion. But he was not,
+he found, the only one aboard whose thoughts
+dwelt with those lives so suddenly snuffed out.
+Joe talked about it later as they sat swinging their
+feet from his bunk.</p>
+
+<p>“Somehow,” he said thoughtfully, “it seemed
+worse because we didn’t even see them. Though,”
+he added, “I don’t know why it should. They
+didn’t have a fair chance, Steve.”</p>
+
+<p>“Neither did the folks on the <i>Lusitania</i>, Joe.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know.” Joe nodded, frowningly. “Of
+course, it’s war. And war’s no parlour entertainment,
+but—somehow, I’d feel better about it
+if those chaps had fired a shot at us or—or something.”</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d be feeling
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>a lot worse,” replied Steve, dryly. “You would
+if they’d happened to place a torpedo against our
+hull. We certainly caught them napping. Hearn
+says they don’t often steam around on top for
+long at a time. That fellow had evidently given
+up the chase of the freighter and gone below, and
+then, not seeing anything around, had come up
+for a quick run to some place. Perhaps he had
+word of another ship to blow up and was trying
+to get to her. That was a peach of a shot we
+made with Number Four.”</p>
+
+<p>“Wasn’t it? Right through her plates, they
+say.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where were you when we were firing?”</p>
+
+<p>“On the blinker. Nothing doing, though. Gee,
+she’s beginning to roll again. Guess I’ll tumble
+in and get a few hours of sleep.”</p>
+
+<p>“Me, too, only I don’t believe I can sleep much.
+Guess I’ll go topside for a bit first and see what’s
+doing. Good night, Joe.”</p>
+
+<p>Steve returned to a darkened deck to find the
+<i>Warren</i> fairly racing into the wind. He still had
+his life-belt on, and now he unstrapped it as he
+made his way aft to where some of the men were
+gathered abaft the stern gun turret. That was a
+favourite lounging place in a head wind. Tonight,
+however, although Steve found four or five
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>dark figures gathered there between turret and
+torpedo tubes, it was not very sheltered. As he
+seated himself on the uneasy deck a shaft of weak
+light fell on them and was gone. Steve turned
+with the rest and saw, miles away, a ship’s blinker
+at work.</p>
+
+<p>“Too late, my hearty,” chuckled someone.
+“What’s she saying, Bob? Is she a Limie?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, one of ours. Get your old head out of
+the way till I see if I can read it. I’ve lost her
+name. Wants to know what’s up and have we
+seen an enemy sub around here. There goes the
+luff with his come-back. Hope he tells it
+straight.” The winking light across the darkness
+went out, but presently reappeared. “Dot,
+dash, dot, dot—what’s he trying to say?” muttered
+the unseen Bob. “Oh, he’s extending his
+blooming congratulations. He’s a polite dub.
+‘Report me to flag-ship.’ Sure thing. ‘Good
+night!’ Say, he’s the chatty party, ain’t he?
+Bet you they’re mad as hatters over there because
+they got around too late. It’ll teach ’em
+to hustle when they’ve got the little old <i>Warren</i>
+to beat out! Well, I’m going to hit the hay,
+fellows. Tomorrow’s another day. If we find
+another tin fish, Jimmy, wake me early, for I’m
+to be Queen of the May.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span></p>
+
+<p>Bob stumbled off. Steve sat on a while longer,
+listening to the talk, and then he, too, crept down
+through the hatch and went lurching to his bunk
+where, in spite of his doubts, he fell promptly
+asleep and didn’t awake until the watch was
+tumbled out in the first grey of morning.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">
+    CHAPTER XIV
+    <br>
+    <small>LETTERS FROM HOME</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>They picked up a line of transports the next forenoon
+being convoyed by five black Limie destroyers
+and exchanged signals. “Canadians,”
+was the report below deck. They didn’t get close
+enough to have a look at them, but turned southward
+before the last of the troop-ships had
+emerged from the mist. It alternately rained and
+shone that day, and a stiff wind sang in the aerial.
+Steve worked at cleaning Number Four gun in the
+morning, and in the afternoon began his turn in
+the foretop. There was only an empty sea until
+shortly before supper when a tiny British chaser
+that looked no larger than the <i>Adventurer</i>, in
+which he and Joe and others had made a memorable
+voyage last Summer, bore down for a chat.
+A chipper-looking Reserve Lieutenant wearing
+much gold braid, had a good deal to say, all of
+which was Greek to Steve, and then the chaser
+turned in her length and went jauntily off again,
+tossing about like a dish-pan.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I’m glad I’m not on her,” said Joe thankfully.
+“Think what she must do in a gale!”</p>
+
+<p>“I’d rather not,” replied Steve. A machinist’s
+mate beside them laughed reminiscently.</p>
+
+<p>“When we were in Brest, a month ago maybe,
+there was a sort of a ferryboat-lookin’ contraption
+lyin’ near us. She was a single-stacker and
+burned coal. They’d tore off a cabin above-deck—you
+could see the saw marks through the black
+paint—and they called her a chaser or a patrol or
+something she wasn’t at all by rights. They’d
+mounted a five-pounder forward and a rapid-fire
+aft. You had to sort of look at her twice to
+see was she bow-on or stern-on, and then it didn’t
+seem to make much difference.”</p>
+
+<p>“French?” asked Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“Naw, British. Well, there was a luff in charge
+of her that must have been sixty if he was a day:
+nice, cheerful, pink-cheeked old geezer with white
+whiskers that danced when he talked. Him and
+me got into a bit of talk—we was lyin’ close to—and
+he tells me he’s been runnin’ the Channel for
+five or six months in that ferryboat thing. ‘You
+must have seen some weather,’ I says. ‘Why,
+yes, that’s so, my man,’ says he. ‘An’ we been
+wrecked two or three times—I forget just how
+many.’ ‘Wrecked!’ I says. ‘Not in that,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>sure-ly!’ He nods. ‘Yes, but you’d never know
+it, would you? That’s what comes of havin’ a
+fine, staunch boat under you,’ he says, as proud as
+you please. ‘There’s few destroyers as would
+have gone through what this boat’s been
+through!’ An’ he looks around that wooden
+fresh-water jitney like she was the <i>Royal Sovereign</i>.
+Say, fellers, that’s what I call a dead game
+sport, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>The boys agreed heartily, and the machinist’s
+mate, tearing the wrapper from a package of
+chewing gum and offering the delicacy, added:
+“An’ say, let me tell you somethin’ else funny.
+This old geezer tells me that before the war he
+never crossed the English Channel that he wasn’t
+as sick as a pup, but since he’d got his commission
+and had been floppin’ around in that pocket dreadnought
+of his he hadn’t missed a meal! How’s
+that for mind over matter, or whatever you
+call it?”</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> found no further adventures,
+although she remained on patrol five days longer.
+Of course there were the usual alarms that came
+to nought, and there was a three hundred mile
+scamper one night to assist a French scout cruiser
+who had bumped her nose into a mine. But
+other ships were nearer, and the <i>Warren</i> arrived
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>too late to aid. The cruiser had sunk in forty
+minutes without loss of life. Every day they
+spoke ships, but anything German was beyond
+their good fortune. They might easily have considered
+that in sinking one submarine they had
+done their duty for that time, especially as the
+officers were unanimous in the verdict that the
+destroyed craft had been one of the latest and
+biggest of the German underseas fleet. But that
+adventure had only whetted their appetite and as
+the last twenty-four hours of sea duty began they
+bemoaned their luck and said scathing things of
+the lookouts, accusing them, for instance, of going
+to sleep in the foretop cage. There was one brief
+gleam of hope about midnight when they sent a
+shell across the bows of a suspicious-looking
+steamer who failed to answer signals. But she
+proved to be only a Norwegian cargo boat making
+for Huelva. The next day they were creeping
+through the mine fields again, with the misty
+green Irish coast beckoning, and in the afternoon
+the destroyer sent her anchors rattling down into
+the mud of Queenstown Harbour. More mail and
+newspapers awaited them, and it was in a New
+York paper that Joe found the first mention of
+any of their friends at the Training Station.
+There had been a fire at “a United States naval
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>base” and among those mentioned for heroic conduct
+in fighting flames adjacent to munition stores
+was Abraham Libinsk. Joe looked up and called
+across to Steve:</p>
+
+<p>“What was the name of that Polish chap at
+Newport? Abie, they called him.”</p>
+
+<p>“Abie? Abraham, I guess. Oh, his last name?
+Search me, Joe. I heard it often enough,
+but——”</p>
+
+<p>“Libinsk?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, that was it. It had about twenty-seven
+letters in the original, but he shortened it because
+the recruiting officer couldn’t get it right; or
+didn’t have time; I forget which. What about
+him?”</p>
+
+<p>Joe read the dozen lines aloud and Steve
+nodded. “Just what I expected. That chap’ll
+come out of this fuss with gold stripes, I’ll bet!”</p>
+
+<p>There was news of other friends, as well. Steve
+had a much-travelled letter from Neil Fairleigh
+written at “an Atlantic port.” Neil, a member
+of the Adventure Club, had just got his corporal’s
+chevrons and was evidently extremely proud of
+the fact. They were, he wrote, off to France in a
+few days. “I’m in the Field Artillery, and it’s
+great work. We’ve got a splendid lot of fellows.
+By the way, I had a letter from old Wink just
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>before I left the West. He’s down in Texas
+learning to fly and he’s as sore as a boil because
+they aren’t going to let them go across until late
+in the Fall. I suppose you heard that Cas
+Temple ‘got his’ last month. He’s in a hospital
+in Paris and is doing finely, I hear. Write me
+sometime, care American Expeditionary Forces,
+and tell me what you know. How’s Joe? And
+Han? Remember me to them, please. I suppose
+you’ll be thinking about coming in after college
+closes. Maybe I’ll run across you over there
+sometime. Looks like the old Adventure Club
+is due to see some real stunts, what? Don’t forget
+to write. Letters are great things these days.
+Yours till Berlin falls, Neil.”</p>
+
+<p>And there was a funny scrawl from another
+member of the club, Perry Bush. Perry was still
+at preparatory school where they had left him the
+year before but was ardently patriotic and militant.
+They were drilling at Dexter, he wrote:
+had six companies: and he was a lieutenant. And
+as soon as school was over he was going to enlist
+somehow. “I’m only seventeen, you know, but
+I look a good deal older, don’t you think I do,
+Steve? They say you can pass if you fib a little
+and put false heels in your shoes. I know a
+fellow who’s a month younger than I and he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>joined the National Guard last Fall and now he’s
+in France I guess. I saw by the Yale News that
+you and Joe had joined the Navy. I’d like that,
+too, but they say they keep you in training six
+months and the war might be over by that time.
+I wish you’d write and tell me what it’s like and
+whether you think I’d have to stay in training
+camp or wherever they send you very long. It’s
+drill time now so I’ll close with best wishes to you
+and old Joe from yours truly, Perry.”</p>
+
+<p>“Perry’s punctuation,” laughed Joe, returning
+the letter, “is no great compliment to Dexter
+Academy, is it?”</p>
+
+<p>“He’s too good-natured,” said Steve. “He
+doesn’t like to overwork the poor little comma.
+How are your folks, Joe?”</p>
+
+<p>“Fine. Dad writes that he’s been up at Albany
+for three days. They’ve made him something-or-other
+on some commission that has to do with
+food.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hope he knows more about it than you do,
+then! Mother writes that she has knitted so
+many sweaters this Summer that she can’t bear
+the sight of a needle. Wants to know if I need
+a new one. Well, I don’t, but I’m going to say
+that I do, for there are a dozen chaps aboard this
+ship that would like one, I guess. Mother seems
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>to have an idea that we dress like the soldiers and
+wear sweaters and wristers and woollen helmets.
+I dare say she’d be horribly disappointed if I
+wrote her that the only time I can wear a sweater
+is when I’m on liberty: and then it’s generally
+much too warm.”</p>
+
+<p>“You let the Old Man see you hiking around
+with that sweater on and you’ll get what for,
+Steve!”</p>
+
+<p>“Then you tell him to make over this Irish
+weather. For a warm place you can get colder
+here than any spot I ever found. If they’d have
+a little more sunlight it would be all right, but
+these ‘moistures’ and fogs simply seep right into
+a chap’s inmost being!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, put up that raft of newspapers and let’s
+get ashore and stretch our legs. Tell you what
+I’ll do with you, Steve: I’ll walk over to Ballycottin
+with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Bally which?” asked Steve suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p>“Ballycottin.”</p>
+
+<p>“How far is it as the horse flies?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, about twelve or fourteen miles.”</p>
+
+<p>“Irish or American?”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the difference?”</p>
+
+<p>“About twenty-six hundred and forty feet, as
+near as I can determine. Haven’t you noticed in
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>this country that when a native says a place is
+a mile away it’s always a good mile and a half?
+You show me this bally place on the map first,
+old top.”</p>
+
+<p>“Haven’t got a map, but it really isn’t awfully
+far. We can get a ride back maybe.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, maybe. And maybe not so. Pick out
+a place on a tram line, Joe, and I’ll talk business
+with you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, come ashore, anyhow. I’m fed up with
+this old oil tank. I want to smell real smells.”</p>
+
+<p>“Get Hearn’s ball and we’ll go over to that
+thing they call a diamond. Say, maybe there’s
+a game on this afternoon. Let’s go and see,
+eh?”</p>
+
+<p>They found a contest about to begin when they
+arrived, and, not caring particularly whether the
+destroyer crew or the supply ship crew won, they
+joined a perfectly neutral group of British tars
+and Tommies and had more enjoyment listening
+to the comments than in watching the game. A
+tall Australian chap in khaki who walked with a
+perceptible limp and whose pallour suggested a
+recent return from “Blighty,” was, perhaps, even
+more amusing than his English friends, for he
+undertook to explain the points of baseball in a
+drawl that would have done for a Texan cowboy
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>and from a knowledge far from ample. But the
+audience took it all in and for the rest of the
+contest tried their best to reconcile what they had
+learned with what they saw, with scant success.
+Later, when the supply ship’s team ran wild on
+the bases and piled up a six run lead Steve and
+Joe took the part of the under dog and joined
+the destroyer’s forces and cheered vociferously
+until, in the last half of a startling ninth inning,
+the destroyer came from behind and nosed out the
+game by a run. Even the Britons forgot their
+stoicism and yelled during that finish, and Joe
+overheard a small English midshipman observe
+that for a game that wasn’t cricket it wasn’t half
+bad!</p>
+
+<p>Life at the base wasn’t exciting. At sea they
+all looked forward to getting back into port, but
+once in port they longed to be outside again.
+There was the constant fear that “something big
+might be pulled off” while they were kicking their
+heels along the water-front. There were always
+startling rumours to be picked up in Queenstown.
+They almost never proved true, but they made
+something to talk about, and one could always
+hope that this time it was really so that the
+British Admiralty had finally consented to try
+smoking the German Fleet out and that there’d
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>“be fur flying around Helgoland this time next
+week!”</p>
+
+<p>Tales of tragedies came into port every day:
+British dreadnoughts sunk, American transports
+torpedoed, thousands drowned. Fortunately
+these rumours were as idle as those
+others, usually traceable to Dublin, that credited
+the German Emperor with having evolved another
+perfectly good peace proposal. Life wasn’t dull,
+but there was an exasperating sameness about it,
+and by the end of the second day in port the
+<i>Warren’s</i> crew—and her officers, as well,—began
+to look forward impatiently to the time for up-anchoring.
+There was a certain amount of satisfaction
+to be had from swapping yarns with the
+“gobs” from the British chasers or from ships
+of their own fleet, and some tall tales were told
+around Queenstown that Summer, but telling
+wasn’t doing, and after twenty-four hours on
+shore or lying in harbour there came an ache for
+the whistling winds and the feel of the trembling
+decks. After all, their business was to “raus”
+the Huns, and lying in port was only a waste of
+time!</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> filled her oil tanks again, loaded
+a few boxes of cartridges and many, many boxes
+of food supplies and presently stole forth again.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">
+    CHAPTER XV
+    <br>
+    <small>OVERBOARD!</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>“The Huns have got a new trick, they say,”
+remarked First-class Electrician John Hempsell
+Higgins, taking a two-by-two bite from a slab of
+bread and washing it down with a mouthful of
+steaming coffee from a tin cup.</p>
+
+<p>“Uh-huh,” responded Grover, yeoman of the
+second class. “They’ve got more tricks than a
+prestidigitator. What’s the latest? Giving poisoned
+candy to kids?”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s a new way to drop mines,” said Jack
+Higgins. “They——”</p>
+
+<p>“Is that all?” said Sam Hearn, piling his mess
+kit.</p>
+
+<p>“Dry up, Sam. I got this from the ensign. It
+seems there’s been three new fields planted in the
+last two weeks right under our noses and no one’s
+been able to find out how it’s done. A few days
+ago a Limie gob was making Lorient, I think it
+was, and ran square into a mine field. She
+scraped three or four before she knew it and then
+went smash into one and lost everything forward
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>of her stacks. They weren’t floaters, either: they
+were anchored mines in three depths. What do
+you know about that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t believe it,” said Grover. “It couldn’t
+be done.”</p>
+
+<p>“It was done, though, sonny. And it was done
+in two other places besides. Maybe more, Connell
+says.”</p>
+
+<p>“Connell’s been reading the Berlin <cite>Murderzeitung</cite>,”
+scoffed Hearn.</p>
+
+<p>“How do they do it?” asked Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“Nobody’s certain yet, but we’ve all got orders
+to watch for a neutral ship that might have mines
+instead of cargo.”</p>
+
+<p>Hearn whistled expressively. Then: “Do you
+believe it?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“I wouldn’t believe it of anyone except the
+Germans,” replied Higgins dryly.</p>
+
+<p>“Heaven help that ship if she’s caught,” said
+someone fervently. “It’s a fine trick, though.
+It’s so cunning it makes me think it must be so.
+It’s just what the Germans would do if they
+thought of it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I guess they’re doing it,” replied Higgins.
+“If we don’t pay a lot of polite attention
+to lone cargo boats this trip I’ll be mightily
+mistaken.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I hope we find her,” said Hearn grimly. “It
+would be a sweet task to shove in the cartridge
+that’d blow her higher than Haman!”</p>
+
+<p>“It wouldn’t be hard to do,” said Meyrowitz,
+of the torpedo watch, reflectively. “A neutral
+ship could lay to for engine repairs, or something,
+right under a shore battery and lower any number
+of mines she wanted to without anyone the
+wiser. Or she could do it at night, running slow.
+What was that Norwegian steamer we fired
+across the other night, Sam?”</p>
+
+<p>“I forget: <i>Peruna</i>, or something like that, I
+think.”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Varuna</i>,” corrected Grover. “I saw it on
+the log. Do you think she might have been the
+one?”</p>
+
+<p>“No telling,” said the torpedo man. “She
+was mighty slow answering signals.”</p>
+
+<p>“She was too far out,” suggested Hearn.</p>
+
+<p>“Maybe, but I’ll bet you anything you like that
+if we catch up with the <i>Peruna</i> again she’ll have
+a visit,” offered Higgins. “Hi!” He made a
+clutch at his cup as the <i>Warren</i> swung far to
+port. “She’s breezing up, fellows. The foretop
+spotters will need gyroscopes tonight, I’m
+thinking.”</p>
+
+<p>Jack’s prophecy came true. By supper time
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>the destroyer was wallowing along at ten knots
+in a southeasterly gale that piled the waves over
+the forward deck and tossed the ship about like
+a chip in a maelstrom. It was the boys’ first
+experience of a real storm, and Joe, for one, was
+in the depths of despair. “I’ll be sick as sure
+as shooting,” he told Steve. “She must be rolling
+fifty this minute!”</p>
+
+<p>“Not quite so bad as that,” consoled his chum.
+“Best way is not to think about it.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s easy to say,” groaned Joe, “but how
+the dickens can you help thinking of it when your
+tummy’s trying to turn over inside you? And
+I’m on ‘graveyard watch’ tonight, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“You’ll be better on deck than below,” said
+Steve. “Let’s get some grub.”</p>
+
+<p>Joe agreed half-heartedly, but managed to fortify
+himself with a generous allowance of “submarine
+turkey,” which is only a poetic name for
+canned salmon. The only way to eat that evening
+was to wrap an arm around something and hold
+on tightly. Joe said he wished, for once in his
+life, that he was a monkey so he could hold on
+by a tail! By the middle of the evening the gale
+was much worse and the <i>Warren</i> seemed to be
+trying her best to shake loose her plates. The
+motion was about as bad as it could be, for the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>destroyer tossed her nose high in air as she
+climbed up a long sea, flirted her tail as she slid
+down into the trough, her propellers racing, and
+all the time rolled fearsomely and shook and
+shivered. Progress along even the lower deck
+was a series of quick, staggering runs, while life
+above was a series of hair-breadth escapes from
+drowning either in the great seas that came
+aboard or by being washed over the side. The
+ship’s veteran, a boatswain who went by the name
+of “Baldy” and who was well into the latter
+forties, regaled the forecastle with tales of destroyers
+that had broken clean in two from “sagging”
+between wave-crests and offered the gloomy
+reminder that the <i>Warren</i> was an old ship and
+built on the old lines. Joe, listening, jumped apprehensively
+whenever a heavy sea thundered
+across the deck overhead and was, on the whole,
+rather an unhappy youth that night. Since his
+watch began at midnight he should have been in
+bed long since, but he was afraid to lie down for
+fear that seasickness would conquer him. The
+destroyer branch has no use for men who are
+subject to that malady and such are quickly transferred
+to the larger ships, and Joe by this time
+would have been absolutely heart-broken had he
+been forced to leave the <i>Warren</i>. So, his countenance
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span>strained with the effort of striving to
+keep his thoughts from his middle latitudes, he
+sat on and listened to “Baldy’s” gruesome yarns
+under the dim light of the forecastle lantern.</p>
+
+<p>Once he drowsed for a few minutes, but real
+sleep was practically out of the question. The
+wind howled and the seas surged and every joint
+in the destroyer squeaked and groaned. And all
+the while the deck slanted violently to port, back
+to starboard, up, down again. One braced one’s
+feet against whatever was stable or wrapped an
+arm around a stanchion and did one’s best not to
+think too much. And yet at such times life went
+on much as usual. In stoke hold and fire room
+machinists, firemen, oilers toiled at their tasks
+amidst a roar of burning oil. In the galley the
+cook, grey life-preserver strapped about him,
+balanced himself dexterously and sliced slabs
+from great loaves. In the foretop a lookout
+swung through an arc of fifty degrees, huddled
+in a canvas cylinder, and prayed for his relief.
+In the wardroom the decoding officer worked on
+the messages from the wireless hutch. Behind
+the wind-shield of the bridge an officer swayed to
+and fro in darkness and flying spume. Below,
+mutters and groans issued from bunks where men
+off duty tried to catch scattered periods of forgetfulness.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span><a href="#i_fp180">On such a night a destroyer is little
+better than a slender steel cylinder filled with
+clutching men in grey canvas life-preservers</a>, a
+reek of oil and a roar of boilers.</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="i_fp180">
+  <img src="images/i_fp180.jpg" alt="" title="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_180">On such a night a destroyer is little better than a slender
+    steel cylinder filled with clutching men in grey canvas
+    life-preservers</a></p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<p>At midnight the first watch tumbled below, in
+dripping rain clothes, and the middle watch went
+on duty. Joe was glad of something to do to
+keep his mind off his troubles and forebodings.
+Climbing the ladder and squirming through the
+hatch was in itself an adventure tonight, while,
+once on deck, grasping the life-lines that had been
+strung and making one’s way forward or aft was
+a process that called for nerve and strength. He
+had been assigned to after main deck lookout and
+eventually gained his station, though not before
+he had been drenched from head to foot and
+tossed, clutching to the line, against every obstruction
+in his path. Pitch darkness was all
+about him. The sea was a tumbled thing that
+dropped below him, arose to towering heights
+above, threatened each moment to engulf him.
+Spotting under such circumstances was a veritable
+jest. One could only cling in his place and
+endure. The wind drove past in a frenzy, howling
+madly, chill from its far journey across the
+Atlantic. Joe tried to whistle once but the wind
+tore the sounds from his lips so quickly that he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>couldn’t even hear them! Somewhere, a few
+yards away, another unfortunate was trying to
+peer over the mountainous tops of the waves,
+but so far as companionship was concerned he
+might as well have been on another hemisphere.</p>
+
+<p>Joe pulled the tapes of his waterproof hat
+tighter and snuggled further into his jacket and
+prayed that the sickness wouldn’t come. So far
+he had miraculously escaped more than a few
+qualms, and out here in the fresh air—and it
+certainly was fresh, he thought grimly—it seemed
+that he might come through. He tried to follow
+Steve’s advice and not think about it, but sooner
+or later he always did. An hour passed and only
+another hour remained to be lived through out
+there. The chill was striking through his clothing
+now. He chafed his hands, one at a time,
+against the rough canvas of his life-preserver.
+The odd conception that the <i>Warren</i> was motionless
+came to him and he had to sniff for the smell
+of oil smoke and listen for the thud of the propellers
+before he could dispel the impression. He
+did his best to watch the tumbled surface of the
+ocean, but when you are one moment poised
+dizzily far above that surface and the next instant
+are wallowing far beneath it, keeping the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>gaze on the horizon level is hard work! Joe told
+himself that a dozen U-boats could sneak up on
+the destroyer without his being a bit the wiser
+tonight. Then he wondered what would happen
+to him if a torpedo struck the stern. He was
+unpleasantly aware of those depth charges, generously
+loaded with “TNT,” stored a few yards
+forward!</p>
+
+<p>Once he was almost certain that he saw a
+faint twinkle of light a few points to port, but at
+that moment the ship’s stern slid down into a
+trough, and when it was high again the light was
+not to be seen. He doubted his sight then and
+waited and watched. He didn’t see it again, if
+he ever had seen it, and that brief interest passed
+out of his vigil. The <i>Warren</i> was changing her
+course slightly now, for the wind struck him from
+a new angle and a spent wave came flopping over
+the side and washed his boots. The smother
+seemed worse than ever after that, but the stern
+held itself down better. His feet were frightfully
+cold and he tried stamping them on the wet deck.
+He tried to reckon time but had nothing to go by.
+His turn might be nearly over or might have half
+an hour to go. At least, he had escaped being
+sick so far, and that was something to be thankful
+for. A minute or two later something a trifle
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>darker than the darkness itself ranged alongside
+and a voice shouted:</p>
+
+<p>“All right, matey! Seen anything?”</p>
+
+<p>“No!” Joe had to hold his lips close to the
+other’s ear to make himself heard. “Once I
+thought I saw a light, but I couldn’t find it
+again.”</p>
+
+<p>“Hold tight going back,” advised the relief.
+“They’re breaking right across by the third
+stack. This is a sweet job for a Christian, ain’t
+it?” The relief’s voice ended in a growl as Joe,
+clinging with chilled fingers, edged around to leeward.</p>
+
+<p>“Good luck!” he called back, but the wind scattered
+his words over the torn sea. He found the
+life-line and pulled himself warily onward past
+the after gun turret, meeting there the full force
+of the gale and nearly losing his feet under it.
+He groped for the ladder and fell back against it
+and held tight, his body feeling as though flattened
+out under that mighty onslaught. The din
+of the tempest was deafening after the partial
+shelter he had enjoyed, and through it he could
+hear the rushing fall of water across the deck
+somewhere ahead. Above, dimly against the
+wrack of flying clouds, the nearer mast swayed
+and whipped. He took a breath and went on.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>The hatch was only a little distance now. Then
+there was a sudden crash that brought his heart
+to his mouth, and an avalanche of water flung
+itself upon him. The force of it drove the breath
+from his body and wrested his chilled hands from
+the line. He felt himself tossed to the sloping
+deck, half-drowning, and instinctively groped for
+hand-hold. Then, turning over and over, like a
+log in a whirlpool, gasping, fear-stricken, he felt
+the deck go from beneath him. An icy coldness
+enveloped him, his ears were filled with a great
+hollow roaring and his lungs were bursting for
+air. He tried to cry out, but water strangled the
+scream in his throat. He thrashed his arms
+wildly, struggled against the terror that clutched
+him and felt the rush of air in his nostrils. And
+then, and not until then, he realised.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">
+    CHAPTER XVI
+    <br>
+    <small>THE FLOATING MINE</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Sheer fright took possession of him in that first
+moment of realisation and he hurled his voice
+time and again into the tempest, shouted until his
+breath was gone and the knowledge that all his
+appeals were vain settled upon him. Aboard the
+destroyer they had not even known, and now she
+was far off in the darkness, and all help from
+her was past praying for. He could have fainted
+from terror and the numbing cold of the sea, but
+somehow he fought off the weakness. He was
+swimming mechanically as well as his cramped
+arms would let him, weighted down by heavy
+clothing and yet kept barely afloat by the life-preserver
+under his rain jacket. He tried to
+think calmly, to plan, and, gasping, shaking with
+the chill of the icy water and the fear that clutched
+his heart, he forced himself into a calmer state.</p>
+
+<p>He could, he supposed, manage to keep afloat
+indefinitely, for sinking was impossible so long as
+that life-preserver remained strapped under his
+arms, but how long he would be able to stand the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>chill of the icy water was another question. He
+recalled numerous stories of shipwrecks, but none
+supplied him information on the problem. There
+was, however, one thing certain, which was that
+he didn’t need that heavy waterproof jacket and
+trousers and hat. They made it more difficult for
+him to keep his head up and more difficult to
+swim, and swimming was the only thing to do if
+he was to keep his blood in circulation. After
+many attempts he kicked himself free from the
+trousers and removed the jacket and cap. It was
+no easy matter while battling with the waves and
+keeping his head above water.</p>
+
+<p>But he did it somehow, and the effort restored
+his courage and drove some of the numbness from
+around his heart. Relieved of the stiff garments,
+swimming was far easier, although real swimming
+was out of the question. About all he could
+do was work arms and legs and shake the water
+from his eyes and do his best not to swallow it.
+He was a good swimmer and as much at home in
+the water as any American boy of his age, but no
+amount of swimming ability would have availed
+much here. He was swept up the long slope of a
+wave, poised helplessly for a moment on the high
+crest and then dropped down and down into the
+next seething hollow. He breathed when he could
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>and fought on, swimming as easily as he might
+to conserve his strength and finding to his joy that
+the chill was no longer intolerable. He longed intensely
+for daylight and tried to think how long
+it would be in coming. He had been relieved at
+two o’clock and it began to grow light about four.
+With daylight he might sight land or, at least,
+tell better in which direction to guide himself.
+Now it was only guesswork. And by day there
+was always the chance of rescue. He found what
+encouragement he could in these thoughts and
+struggled on, changing stroke from time to time
+as one set of muscles tired.</p>
+
+<p>He recalled those first moments of panic and
+felt ashamed of them, and was glad that Steve
+hadn’t witnessed them. If one had to drown one
+could, he told himself, do it decently and not
+squeal like a kid. He didn’t want to drown a
+bit: life had never looked more desirable than it
+did at that moment. There was a lot to live for.
+Why, he <em>couldn’t</em> die until they had settled that
+war! That would be too horrible, never to know
+how it came out! Unless—well, he somehow
+doubted if they troubled themselves much with
+wars in Heaven! Of course, he might not get to
+Heaven, though. He reviewed a very blameless
+life in detail and was relieved to discover that,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>after all, he hadn’t been desperately wicked.
+There were some things he preferred not to dwell
+on overlong, to be sure, but as a whole he seemed
+to stand a fair chance of getting by!</p>
+
+<p>He was sorry that his mother and father would
+be so worried. The <i>Warren</i> would report him
+lost at sea, and, whether he was rescued or—well,
+wasn’t rescued, it would be a long time, he
+supposed, before he could reach them with the
+news of his safety. That troubled him a good
+deal. Then he wondered about Steve. Steve
+would feel pretty badly, he guessed. They were
+rather fond of each other, although they each took
+mighty good care not to let the other suspect it!
+Yes, Steve would be rather broken-up in the morning.
+And—why, it <em>was</em> morning—almost! From
+the dizzy summit of a wave his eyes, half-blinded
+with salt water, glimpsed a new greyness in the
+sky. After that he thought of morning and sunlight—he
+longed for sunlight—and watched the
+first signs of dawn creep up in the east until,
+presently, he could see about him. And, seeing,
+a touch of the old terror came back, for all that
+met his gaze was mile on mile of surging, stormy,
+wind-swept ocean, stretching off on every side to
+an empty horizon! The immensity of it frightened
+him and he closed his eyes and for a long
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>moment didn’t dare open them again. When he
+did the sea had taken on colour from the leaden
+dawn—there was to be no sunlight for him, after
+all—and he was floating in a green world flecked
+with white foam, a tiny, helpless, forgotten
+atom.</p>
+
+<p>But presently the atom took courage again.
+The ocean was no bigger now than it had been
+last night, while his chance of rescue was a thousand
+times better. At least, he would keep on
+hoping until the very end. He wouldn’t be a
+quitter even if there was no one to know it. He
+stopped swimming and floated for a long while,
+swallowing more water than was pleasant, but
+managing to rest his tired lungs. Then the chill
+warned him and he went on. It was broad daylight
+now: probably five o’clock, or a little after.
+The wind seemed less violent, although the waves
+still ran as high as ever. He had been in the
+water fully three hours, he reckoned. He believed
+he could swim for an hour longer, by resting
+at times, but the chill of the icy element was
+gradually producing a kind of paralysis in his
+muscles. He had felt nothing approaching cramp,
+but that might, probably would, come later. He
+thought he would retain consciousness most of the
+day. After that—well, unless he had his senses
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>and could keep his head up the life-preserver
+wouldn’t deserve its name!</p>
+
+<p>He experienced a trying ten or fifteen minutes
+when a fit of shivering and nausea attacked him,
+but after being slightly sick at his stomach he felt
+better. Thirst made itself felt, and he mentally
+predicted a day of discomfort, if not suffering,
+from that cause. His throat and mouth were
+parched with the salt and swallowing was difficult.
+He felt no interest in food.</p>
+
+<p>At times the sky grew perceptibly lighter in the
+east, but the low, lead-hued clouds never actually
+parted. At those moments the giant waves became
+more translucent and he could look down for
+what seemed many fathoms into shadowed green
+depths. Only twice did he see any life about him.
+Once a large bird scudded down-wind, and once
+a ghostly, dully-gleaming denizen of the sea
+passed slowly beneath him as he was swept up
+the curving side of a wave. He thought the bird
+was probably an albatross, although he had never
+seen one to his knowledge. At least, it was much
+too large for a gull. The fish caused him to think
+unpleasantly of sharks, but common sense comforted
+him. No dangerous shark, he told himself,
+would be found in water of this temperature!</p>
+
+<p>Time and again, suspended momentarily on
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>the crest of wave, he searched the ocean on all
+sides. But not even a bit of wreckage met his
+gaze. He had but scant idea of his whereabouts.
+He might be anywhere from fifty to a hundred
+and fifty miles west of the Scilly Islands, as to
+latitude, and somewhere in a general southerly
+direction from Cape Clear. But that was only
+guesswork. What did seem probable was that
+he was in the path of trans-Atlantic shipping. If,
+he told himself many times, he could fight off the
+cold and the thirst he would surely be picked up
+before night. But there were less hopeful moments
+when he realised that in such a tumbled
+sea so small a speck as he presented might never
+be seen.</p>
+
+<p>Another hour went by: perhaps more: that, too,
+was only guesswork, for his watch had stopped at
+seven minutes to three. Then from the frothy,
+wind-tumbled summit of a wave his eyes received
+the fleeting impression of an object perhaps a
+quarter-mile away. The next instant he was
+plunging down into the lead-green trough. He
+swam hard to win the crest of the next hill of
+water, and when he had done so looked eagerly
+again. But only wind-hurled water met his gaze,
+and a keen disappointment took possession of him.
+He tried to bring back the picture of the small,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>dark speck, but his glimpse had been so brief that
+memory failed him. Once more he was borne
+aloft and once more he swept the sea. And this
+time, just as his descent began again, the object
+sprang into sight. He swung his course and,
+fighting the forces of wind and water, swam desperately
+in the direction of the thing that might
+be an empty boat or a piece of wreckage, that,
+whatever it was, would be something to lay hand to.</p>
+
+<p>He was soon tuckered, for he was struggling at
+an angle with the sweep of the seas, but he persevered,
+and presently the floating object appeared
+close ahead of him, something round and
+rusty-yellow seen momentarily against the grey
+horizon. It bobbed over the edge of a wave and
+went from sight. As he pursued it he speculated
+puzzledly. It had looked somehow like a buoy,
+but there were no buoys so far from shore; unless
+it had been torn from its moorings. Then he
+plunged breathlessly down a long glacis of green,
+foam-patterned water and at the same moment the
+object of his search topped the crest of the
+further summit, and he realised what it was. For
+an instant his disappointment was keen. Then
+reason told him that even a floating mine was
+better than nothing, and he struggled up the slope
+of a wave and, shaking the water from his eyes,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>saw the thing almost above him. Two strokes
+and he had the fingers of one hand about a rusted
+ring-bolt and, relaxing, drew grateful breaths of
+air into his tired lungs.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he had recovered sufficiently to
+examine his prize. It was just such a mine as
+he had seen a dozen times, a metal sphere some
+three feet in diameter, its lower and upper halves
+held together by bolts passing through flanges.
+Three ring-bolts were set at equal distances
+around the top, while at intervals “horns,” or
+firing pins, stuck out. Joe guessed there must be
+eight of these. That the mine had been in the
+water a good while was evidenced by the thick
+scales of rust around flanges and bolts and by a
+slimy deposit of greenish growth on the underwater
+half of it. There was nothing he could see
+to tell him whether the instrument of destruction
+was of Allied or German origin. He thought,
+however, he could detect a difference in the shape
+and length of the horns from those on the mines
+he had seen. Later he glimpsed a short length
+of wire cable depended from below and knew then
+that the mine had in some manner been parted
+from its anchor and swept away from a field.
+How long it had been bobbing around in the path
+of navigation he couldn’t guess.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span></p>
+
+<p>At another time, under other circumstances,
+Joe might have smiled at the incongruity of making
+friends with a couple of hundred pounds of
+high explosive, but just now the thought didn’t
+occur to him. The big metal ball, harmless
+enough so long as it didn’t collide with anything
+hard enough to detonate it, seemed very friendly
+out there in that watery void. It was a rather
+erratic and unsteady friend, to be sure, for it
+nodded and bobbed and dipped and turned continually,
+but it was something a bit more stable
+than the waves and it offered help in keeping
+afloat. Joe tried holding to the rim, but the mine
+didn’t approve of that, apparently, for it slipped
+away several times. Then he again grasped a
+ring-bolt, which, while demanding a strained position
+of the arm, was far more secure. He began
+to talk to it presently: called it “old chap”:
+speculated on their chance of rescue: found a deal
+of comfort in the sound of his voice until his
+parched tongue ached and he had to stop. Up
+and down they went, mine and boy, lifted to the
+wind-topped summits, drawn to the deep hollows,
+dashed with spray, flung about like the two tiny
+atoms they were, while about them a grey-green
+desert of ocean stretched emptily to meet an
+empty leaden sky.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">
+    CHAPTER XVII
+    <br>
+    <small>ABOARD THE SUNDSVALL</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>“Submarine broad off the starboard beam!” sang
+out the lookout at the bow. A tall, yellow-bearded
+Viking in a dirty blue uniform turned swiftly and
+followed the sailor’s pointing hand. Then he
+raised binoculars to his eyes and, steadying himself
+on the swaying bridge, focussed them on a
+tiny dark speck that danced into sight and out
+again two miles to the southward. A look of perplexity
+came over his face and he made a motion
+toward the engine-room telegraph beside him.
+Then he paused and again viewed the object. A
+second man joined him, a short, squat figure in
+the dress of a ship’s mate. He spoke in a language
+that was not English whatever it may have
+been.</p>
+
+<p>“What do you make it?” he asked.</p>
+
+<p>“A boat, I think, Carl,” replied the first man,
+in the same language, “and yet——”</p>
+
+<p>“Let me look.” The man set the glasses above
+a red, tilted nose and for a moment gazed in
+silence. At last: “Not a sub, at all events,” he
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>decided. “Nor yet a small boat. Probably a
+piece of wreckage.”</p>
+
+<p>The other accepted the glasses back and
+shrugged his broad shoulders. “I think we had
+better have a nearer look at it, however.”</p>
+
+<p>The mate nodded, and presently the steamer, a
+small cargo boat bearing the legend <span class="allsmcap">SWEDEN</span> and
+the Swedish flag along each side of her hull, slowly
+turned a blunt nose toward the puzzling object.
+Aloft, the lookout called again:</p>
+
+<p>“Floating mine, I make it, sir, with something
+dragging.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mine, you say?” The captain again raised
+the binoculars. “That is right,” he said, turning
+to the mate. “It is a floating mine. There is a
+piece of canvas, I think, or possibly seaweed
+attached. Shall we pick it up?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why not, if it is of use to us? We can find a
+better place for it than this.” He smiled faintly.</p>
+
+<p>And so it happened that at shortly after six
+bells that afternoon the steamer <i>Sundsvall</i>
+stopped her engines, lowered a gig and added to
+her possessions one rusty mine and to her complement
+one half-drowned American seaman.</p>
+
+<p>The mine was lifted aboard by means of a small
+crane, the seaman came up lying in the bottom of
+the gig as she was swung to her davits. That the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>seaman came at all was no foregone conclusion.
+The captain had spoken most discouragingly of
+the project of including the American in the
+salvage.</p>
+
+<p>“Let him go,” he had advised. “He’s as good
+as dead already. If he comes around he will be
+in the way and eat our precious food. Better hit
+him on the head now and drop him back where he
+came from.”</p>
+
+<p>But the mate demurred. “Give him a chance,”
+he suggested. “If he proves troublesome we can
+throw him over later. There’s life in him yet,
+and we can drop him in port tomorrow. He’s
+American, Flink,” he added. “I like to hear
+them talk. Besides, my wife’s sister is married
+to one of them and lives in a place called
+Chicago.”</p>
+
+<p>“Have it so, then.” The captain shrugged and
+turned on his heel. “But see that he is kept in
+the fo’castle. He mustn’t see—anything.”</p>
+
+<p>“He will be in no condition to see much,” replied
+the mate. “Take him for’ard and put him
+in a bunk, a couple of you, and tell Mr. Heilsberg
+to have a look at him.” He turned back to the
+captain. “A thing I never saw before,” he went
+on. “A man lashed to a mine in mid-ocean.
+What do you make of it?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Nothing. Who knows it is not some infernal
+Yankee trick?”</p>
+
+<p>“Not likely. More probably the fellow fell
+overboard in the gale of yesterday and found the
+mine by luck. He had passed the cuff of one
+sleeve through the eye of a ring-bolt and held it
+so by his pocket-knife thrust through the cloth.
+He would have torn loose in another hour or so,
+I think.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pity he didn’t,” growled the other. “Take
+the ship. I must look over that chart again.
+Pass the word to the lookouts to keep their eyes
+peeled.”</p>
+
+<p>Below, in a smelly bunk in an even smellier
+forecastle, Joe, under the grunting administrations
+of a bewhiskered second mate who had a
+smattering of medicine, was opening his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>“Where am I?” he muttered perplexedly.</p>
+
+<p>“You are safe, my young friend,” replied the
+mate in fair English. “Swallow this. It will
+choke and burn you and do you much good.”</p>
+
+<p>Joe obeyed, and the first part of the promise
+was fulfilled. “Water!” he gasped. “Water!”</p>
+
+<p>“Ach, to be sure! You shall have it.” The
+mate disappeared muttering, while Joe, his salt-scorched
+throat smarting horribly, writhed and
+gasped. In the dim light clothing on hooks
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>swayed to and fro and the beat of the engines
+was deafening. The water, insipid and warm,
+was like nectar, and Joe let his head fall with a
+long sigh of relief.</p>
+
+<p>“What ship is this?” he asked faintly.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Sundsvall.</i>”</p>
+
+<p>“German?” he asked in quick dismay.</p>
+
+<p>“<i lang="de">Nein!</i> No, no! It is Swedish.”</p>
+
+<p>“But you—are German,” Joe persisted.</p>
+
+<p>“No, I am, too, Swedish. We are all Swedish
+this ship hereon.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh!” Joe closed his eyes. “Thanks. I
+think—I’ll—go to sleep.”</p>
+
+<p>“So! That is well. Sleep is good for you, my
+friend. I come again later. Sleep well.”</p>
+
+<p>But Joe didn’t hear, for he was already
+slumbering.</p>
+
+<p>When he awoke next it was night, for a dim
+electric light shed a wan glow overhead. A sailor
+was darning a woolen sock nearby and several
+others lolled in bunks or sat beside the table that
+stretched, knife-scarred, stained and littered, between
+two iron stanchions. They talked a language
+Joe could not understand, although it
+sounded throaty, like German. Some words held
+a close similarity to German, just as the men
+themselves, slow, phlegmatic, looked like Germans.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>The <i>Sundsvall</i> was evidently running
+slowly, and her forecastle was a most uneasy
+place. Joe remained silent, his mind busy in a
+drowsy way with the events of the day.</p>
+
+<p>That it was still less than twenty-four hours
+since he had been washed from the deck of the
+<i>Warren</i> was difficult to believe, and he was greatly
+inclined to suspect that he had floated around with
+that friendly mine for two days instead of one
+until he realised that had he done that he would
+not now be alive. The last he could recall was
+talking to a gull that had circled closely and inquisitively
+around him. That must have been
+just short of noon. That he had absolutely
+talked, he doubted, for he remembered how painfully
+swollen his tongue and lips were, but he
+recollected trying gravely to warn the gull that
+if it tried to peck one of the “horns” of the mine
+and explode it, he—Joe—would pull its tail-feathers
+out! Previous to that, unable to keep
+his wet, chilled fingers locked about the ring-bolt,
+he had laboured for what must have been the
+better part of a half-hour to get the cuff of his
+sleeve through the eyelet and secure it there by
+running his knife through it, and had finally succeeded.
+By that time he was raging with thirst
+and his legs had lost sensation. And, although
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>he didn’t know it, he had been slightly out of his
+head and had talked a great deal of nonsense—or
+tried to—to the mine. Now, stripped of his wet
+clothes and lying between soiled but gratefully
+warm blankets, he felt sleepily thankful for his
+rescue and, presently, hungry.</p>
+
+<p>Later he was fed a sort of stew by a grinning,
+slant-eyed boy in a questionably white jacket who
+talked a strange patter of pidgin-English which
+Joe understood scarcely better than the Swedish
+he had listened to. The stew was greasy and
+somewhat tasteless, but Joe consumed it and felt
+better. Refusing a pannikin of something the
+boy called tea, he turned over and went to sleep
+again.</p>
+
+<p>He awoke to the touch of a hand on his shoulder
+and looked confusedly up into the face of the squat
+first mate. The mate, speaking fair English,
+asked how he had happened to be floating around
+on a mine, and Joe told his story. The mate
+nodded from time to time, closing his eyes like a
+wise owl. Then he inquired: “The <i>Varren</i>, you
+said? Ah, and she iss an American ship, yes?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“She iss perhaps on duty hereabouts?”</p>
+
+<p>Joe nodded.</p>
+
+<p>“If we could find the <i>Varren</i> we should give you
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>to her back.” The mate smiled genially. “Perhaps
+you could tell us where to look for
+her?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir.” Joe shook his head. “We aren’t
+allowed to know her patrol district. I guess it
+will be all right if you’ll just land me somewhere
+or hand me over to one of the Allies’ ships.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but it would be so much better for you
+could we find your own ship. You do not know
+where she iss?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir, I don’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“She iss perhaps convoying?”</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t believe so.”</p>
+
+<p>“Or perhaps looking for something? A submarine
+or—or something?” The mate’s eyes
+closed slightly, although the grin remained. Joe,
+scenting danger, again shook his head. Then he
+replied carelessly:</p>
+
+<p>“No, she isn’t looking for anything, sir. She’s
+just doing patrol.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well——” The mate seemed slightly disappointed.
+“Then we will land you at the first port
+or perhaps put you aboard one of your own ships,
+my man. You live in America?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where, please?”</p>
+
+<p>“New York.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Ah, New York. And you perhaps have been
+to Chicago?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir, I’ve never been there.”</p>
+
+<p>“So? The sister of my wife is married to a
+man that lives in Chicago. She writes in letters
+that it iss a very big city. Some day I shall see
+your America and visit this Chicago. And your
+New York, too. Yes, maybe it will be before long,
+also.”</p>
+
+<p>Again came the odd closing of the eyes, and Joe
+experienced a sudden antagonism. But he didn’t
+let the fact appear as he asked: “Where is this
+ship bound, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“Santander.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s in Spain?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. We go in ballast but we return with
+much cargo for our starving country.”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, is Sweden starving, sir?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sweden? Yes, Sweden has but little food
+now since the blockade. It is dreadful! My poor
+suffering country! But she does not complain.
+She remains at peace with all countries. It is
+the war.”</p>
+
+<p>He took his departure. As he vanished the
+half-dozen occupants of the forecastle exchanged
+growling remarks, one of which produced a laugh
+that sounded extremely unpleasant to Joe. As
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>he closed his eyes again he said to himself:
+“You’re just about as much Swedish as I am,
+and I hope that if ever the <i>Warren</i> runs across
+this tub she’ll have a look at your papers. The
+<i>Sundsvall</i> may be Swedish, but her officers aren’t,
+and if she’s taking food to Sweden it doesn’t stay
+there. I guess it’s up to me to see what’s going
+on here.”</p>
+
+<p>He lay with closed eyes for a long time, thinking
+it over. The clothes he had worn had been
+dried in the galley and were now lying across the
+bottom of his bunk. He decided to await his
+chance and put them on. But the chance didn’t
+come readily, for of the watch below someone was
+always awake. He heard four bells strike and
+was sorely tempted to yield to the demands of
+sleep. In fact, he had reached a condition on the
+borderland of slumber when he was awakened by
+a voice at the companion. The words it spoke
+were Greek to him, but the meaning was as clear
+as though they had been: “All hands on deck!”
+From the bunks here and there a grumbling figure
+appeared, stretched, yawned and stumbled away.
+After waiting a minute or two Joe sat up and
+peered around. So far as he could determine the
+forecastle was empty of occupants other than he.
+To make quite certain he waited another few
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>minutes, but then, fearing that someone might
+return before he had accomplished his object, he
+swung his feet over the edge of the bunk and,
+supporting himself against the side, for he felt
+pretty weak and wobbly and the ship’s motion,
+while much less than earlier in the evening, was
+still erratic, hurriedly drew on his clothes. There
+was, he told himself, no reason why he shouldn’t
+dress and go on deck, but nevertheless he knew
+that such a thing was not included in the officers’
+plans for his conduct, and he realised that it
+would be just as well to keep out of sight.</p>
+
+<p>From the forecastle a short central passage led
+to the companion-way, past the open door of the
+galley, on one side, and a second door, closed, on
+the other. The galley was deserted, and a single
+lamp burned above the simmering stove. Cautiously
+Joe climbed the ladder and peered out.
+The ship was in darkness. The bridge, however,
+showed against the sky, as did a figure which
+stood motionless at one end of it. Well up on
+the foremast what appeared to be a lookout made
+a blotch of darker black. Joe hesitated an instant
+and then slipped out on deck and, accommodating
+himself to the roll of the ship, scurried to the starboard
+rail. The <i>Sundsvall</i> was three-housed, cut
+low between forecastle and bridge and between
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>bridge and after-cabin. The sea had abated a
+good deal, but the ship still rolled and plunged.
+There was a faint light from the engine-room
+hatch and he could hear the engine slowed down
+to headway only turning slowly over below. He
+had wisely left off his shoes, which made progress
+more certain and more quiet. Half-way along the
+deck he heard voices and, his eyes accustoming
+themselves to the darkness, made out forms. He
+slipped into the shadow of a boat and listened.</p>
+
+<p>Whatever was going on was enlisting the entire
+working force of the ship, since, excepting the
+man on the bridge and the lookout on the foremast,
+no one else was to be seen or heard forward
+of the after deck. The sound of chain and the
+muffled blow of a hammer came to him, and then
+the squeaking of a tackle-block. He left his hiding
+place and slipped nearer, keeping to the
+deeper gloom of the house. Overhead a few stars
+showed faintly, but gave no perceptible light.
+From his new position he could discern dimly
+many figures at work along the port rail and could
+hear low voices. The notion came to him then
+that they were lowering a boat, but presently, in
+the quick, tiny light of a hand torch, flashed on
+and off in the fraction of a second, he saw the
+boat still lying in her chocks. A dozen explanations
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>of the secrecy of the work came to him
+only to meet rejection. Then once more the hand
+torch gleamed and the mystery was a mystery
+no longer.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">
+    CHAPTER XVIII
+    <br>
+    <small>THE SIGNAL FROM THE FO’CSLE</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The momentary flash of the electric torch had
+shown a picture that remained stamped on Joe’s
+vision long after darkness had returned to the
+scene. A confusion of busy men, a small crane
+leaning over the side where a section of the rail
+had been removed, and, stretching from crane well
+toward the middle of the deck, a line of spherical
+shapes each lying beside a coil of cable and a
+smaller square object. Joe’s heart jumped into
+his throat as the truth came to him.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Sundsvall</i> was laying mines!</p>
+
+<p>Then the recollection of Jack Higgins’ revelation
+in the forecastle of the <i>Warren</i> the night before
+flashed on him. New mine fields had been
+discovered and none knew how they had been
+planted, but suspicion rested on an unknown ship
+posing as a neutral! And Fate, he reflected
+awedly as he slipped back into the farther
+shadows, had tossed him into the sea, given him
+miraculous help in the shape of that floating mine
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>and at last had landed him on the very ship that
+was engaged in the nefarious work! Crouching
+there in the darkness, Joe tried to think calmly.
+There was nothing he could do to prevent the
+murderous work from going on. His only course
+was to return unseen and unsuspected to his bunk
+in the forecastle and wait until he was landed or
+transferred to another ship. Then, however, he
+told himself with a sudden gripping of his hands,
+the <i>Sundsvall</i> would need to look out for herself!</p>
+
+<p>He wished there was some way of finding the
+present latitude and longitude so that he could
+locate the mines now being lowered into the sea,
+but there was no way of getting that information
+without having access to the chart or log, and that
+was far too dangerous. Once suspected of having
+witnessed the ship’s operations his life would be
+worth even less than it had been a dozen hours
+ago! They would simply knock him on the head,
+in all probability, and quietly drop him overboard:
+in which case he would not only be of no
+further use to himself but of no further use to
+his country and her allies. No, the only course
+was to wait and secure his release from the <i>Sundsvall</i>,
+and with that settled in his mind he began to
+retrace his steps toward the bow. He had reached
+a point midway between bridge and forecastle
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>when a gleam of light shot across the water.
+Startled, he stood in his tracks and turned.</p>
+
+<p>A mile away, according to his reckoning, a
+searchlight was flashing the three dashes of the
+International Code that stood for O and signified
+“Who are you?” From the bridge came a sharp
+exclamation and as Joe dashed for the shelter
+of the companion, footsteps came running along
+the deck and shouted orders broke the silence of
+the night. Suddenly a sharp stream of white
+light shot from the bridge and the <i>Sundsvall’s</i>
+shutter clicked and clicked as she answered. Joe,
+ready to flee if anyone approached the companion,
+watched and read. The operator at the occulting
+light was slow, but he answered with painstaking
+care and a fine avoidance of abbreviation.</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Sundsvall</i>, Sweden, Stavanger to Santander,
+in ballast,” replied the steamer.</p>
+
+<p>Again the distant light twinkled. “Why are
+you off your course?”</p>
+
+<p>“We have strained our propeller shaft and are
+making repairs,” answered the <i>Sundsvall</i> without
+hesitation. There was a long silence from the
+other ship, and then, finally, the laconic: “Right!”
+flicked over the sea.</p>
+
+<p>Joe was already hurrying down the short companion-way,
+his thoughts racing fast through his
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>mind. The unseen questioner was undoubtedly a
+patrol ship. She was only a mile distant. If——</p>
+
+<p>He stared eagerly about the forecastle. Overhead
+a single electric light burned pulsatingly and
+dimly. On each side were two ports, closed and
+carefully covered inside the glass by painted canvas.
+Joe stepped to the door of the passage,
+unhooked it, closed it and shot a rusty bolt. Then
+with trembling fingers he tore the covering from
+a port on the starboard bow and, unfastening the
+round frame containing the glass pulled it open.
+If only the lookouts aboard the patrol had sharp
+eyes!</p>
+
+<p>With a jump he reached the table and his hand
+fumbled for the key at the electric lamp. To his
+dismay it had none. But in the next instant an
+expedient occurred to him and he quickly unscrewed
+the bulb until connection was barely
+severed and the forecastle was in darkness.</p>
+
+<p>For as long as it took his heart to beat a half-dozen
+times he stood motionless in the gloom, one
+hand on the electric bulb. Then he turned it
+slightly to the right and the light came on. For
+a second it continued. Then darkness once more.
+Again light, but this time only a quick flash.
+Again darkness. And so, slowly and anxiously,
+he formed of dashes and dots the single letter
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>that is the “negative” of the British code. And
+when it was done he started again. And then, to
+make assurances doubly sure, he changed to the
+dash-dot-dash of the International. A long
+minute passed. In the brief moments of darkness
+between signals he strove to look through
+the port and find the patrol. But he was too high
+and the patrol was out of his range of vision.
+He tried the negative in the secret code of his own
+country then, and was half-way through with it
+when a glare of light swept through the port and
+made a shaft of white brilliancy across the forecastle.
+It glared for an instant and then passed
+away, but Joe knew that it was travelling slowly
+toward the vessel’s stern, wafting up and down,
+playing on deck and masts and bridge. And even
+as he leaped from the table heavy footsteps
+pounded in the passage, a body was hurled at the
+door and fists beat on the heavy woodwork.</p>
+
+<p>But the door held firmly and only wild, guttural
+threats entered. Joe backed away and looked
+about him for a weapon. Nothing more deadly
+than a stool presented itself and he seized that
+and poised himself near the door. Fortunately,
+it opened toward the passage and those beyond
+could only tug and beat. As he stood
+there, awaiting what he felt must be the inevitable
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>so soon as one of his besiegers thought to fetch
+an axe, he found a grim pleasure in picturing the
+scene on deck. The patrol would have put her
+blinker on now and would be impatiently questioning.
+The throng at the <i>Sundsvall’s</i> rail would
+have scattered under the searching beams of the
+light. On the bridge the painstaking signal man
+would be spelling out lies. If only the patrol
+didn’t allow herself to be hoodwinked!</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly he felt the jar of the engines, and his
+heart leaped. “The fools!” he muttered joyously.
+“They’re trying to run away! They can
+never do it and they’re showing their hand!”</p>
+
+<p>The blows and imprecations outside the forecastle
+door ceased for a moment as though in response
+to an order from beyond. Then feet
+scuffled and a ship’s axe dug its blade deeply into
+the upper panel of the door. And simultaneously
+the white glare of the distant searchlight sprang
+in again at the open port. Again the axe crashed
+into the splintering wood. The steamer was
+fairly shaking now with the reverberations of
+her hurrying screws, and the seas were pounding
+against her nose and swishing past the open port.
+Joe, stool held aloft to greet the first head that
+appeared, watched in a horrid fascination as the
+axe blade bit and smashed at the panel. The disc
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>of white radiance travelled from the bunks to the
+forward partition, as the <i>Sundsvall</i> swung to port,
+and came to rest squarely on the yielding portal.
+A gaping hole appeared and the muzzle of a revolver
+was thrust through. Joe flattened himself
+against the bulkhead as the report rang out. Then
+the stool descended swiftly and the revolver clattered
+on the floor.</p>
+
+<p>He reached out with his foot and drew the
+weapon toward him until he could reach it without
+placing his body in range. Beyond the door a
+howl of mingled pain and anger had followed the
+swift descent of the stool, and now several voices
+arose in threats and curses. The axe tore at the
+frame beyond the bolt and the blows drowned the
+sound of the throbbing engines. Joe spun the
+cylinder of the revolver. It was six-chambered
+and five cartridges remained. To hold the door
+after the bolt had given would be impossible. He
+thought swiftly. Well forward in the narrowing
+forecastle an upper bunk—they were built in tiers
+of three—was so draped with swaying garments
+that it was almost as if curtained. He appraised
+its possibilities and then listened in an effort to
+judge of the number beyond the portal. He
+thought there were four men there. Evidently
+he had gained possession of the only revolver
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>amongst them, which suggested that the force
+was composed of one officer and three men; possibly
+four. He could, he knew, shoot through
+the door and trust to luck, but cartridges were
+few, and, if truth were told, he had little stomach
+for it. The searchlight which for a full minute
+had lain on the door in a round disc now moved
+slowly aside and the place was left in darkness.</p>
+
+<p>Stool in hand, Joe crept away toward the bunk.
+Then he was crouched up there in the unrelieved
+gloom, his eyes trying to pierce it in the direction
+of the door. What he knew would happen happened.
+In the darkness the besiegers could safely
+reach in and draw back the bolt, and this they did.
+Joe heard the door grate softly and then slam
+back as it was pulled quickly outward.</p>
+
+<p>Lying face down on the upper bunk, with evil-smelling
+garments swaying past his face, the hand
+holding the revolver stretched out and down, he
+waited a brief instant. Then a footfall sounded
+and he pressed the trigger.</p>
+
+<p>In the darkness the flame from the barrel made
+a quick flash of scarlet. There was a sharp cry
+of anguish, mutters and silence. Joe strained
+his ears, his heart beating faster than the rapid
+<em>thump-thump</em> of the racing engines. He knew
+they had located him by the flash of the revolver,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>but they would have to climb to get him. A groan
+broke the silence that held above the sounds of
+the ship, and steps shuffled in the passage. Were
+they drawing off? He waited, finger trembling
+on trigger. Then a sound like a deeply-drawn
+breath came from beneath him and he pointed
+toward it and fired again.</p>
+
+<p>The spouting flame lit up a snarling countenance
+just below the bunk. He swung the muzzle
+toward it, but at that instant a hand gripped his
+wrist. Instinctively he pulled the trigger. A
+bullet crashed downward toward the floor but the
+grasp on his wrist only tightened and strained.
+He could no longer hold the weapon and his
+fingers relaxed. He heard the revolver thud on
+the boards below. Struggling, he strove to beat
+off his assailant, but his blows fell harmlessly.
+He was being pulled over the edge of the bunk.
+He tried to find something to hold to, but couldn’t.
+His captor grunted a word, was answered from
+the darkness and in a moment other hands were
+about Joe’s legs and he was pulled into space.</p>
+
+<p>He fell crashing to the forecastle deck, but the
+violence of the fall was in a measure broken by
+the men beneath him, for even in the darkness and
+confusion he was aware that one of the enemy had
+gone down with him. With his breath half driven
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>from his body, he could only lie there in a litter
+of garments pulled down in the struggle and gasp.
+And then they were on him.</p>
+
+<p>Blows rained about him, and only the darkness
+and the fact that the enemy hindered each other,
+saved him for the moment. A giant fist grazed
+his forehead and crashed onto the boards. Joe
+wrested an arm free and struck blindly upward
+and got home under a bearded chin. The grunt
+that answered the blow filled him with savage joy.
+Kicking, thrashing, heaving under the weight of
+other bodies, he fought madly, regardless now of
+punishment. Hands groped at him, at his legs
+and arms, at his throat. He tore them aside. But
+the struggle was far too uneven to endure long.
+They had his legs helpless now, crushed under
+the weight of a great body. Then one arm was
+pinned to the floor and a big hand closed merciless
+fingers about his throat. He tried to tear them
+off, but it was no use. A knee settled on his free
+arm, the fingers tightened and tightened. He
+struggled until the perspiration stood on his forehead.
+Lights danced before his eyes crazily, a
+great sound of roaring filled his head and his
+straining muscles relaxed. A last wondering
+thought came to him on the verge of suffocation:
+this is the end!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span></p>
+
+<p>And then, coincident with the thought, a great
+crashing sound beat on his brain, a sound that
+seemed to fill the world with its monstrous
+voice.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">
+    CHAPTER XIX
+    <br>
+    <small>H.M.S. LINNET</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>He came to himself in darkness. A great weight
+lay across his body. Wondering, striving to
+recollect, he put forth an aching hand and pushed
+at the weight. His fingers pressed against something
+that yielded slightly. Exploring, they
+sensed cloth and, beneath it flesh and bone. It
+was a man’s arm! And with that knowledge
+came recollection.</p>
+
+<p>The first question he asked himself was: Am I
+dead? Then the painful throbbing of his bruised
+throat, the ache of his tired muscles answered
+with a decisive no. But what had happened? He
+recalled that devastating noise that had seemed to
+crash his very skull in with its violence. What
+had it meant? Painfully he struggled from beneath
+the body that lay across him, and as he did
+so he became aware of the wind that blew about
+him and of strange, tangled things that littered
+the floor. Groping to his feet, swaying dizzily, he
+looked about in the darkness. From somewhere
+came the sound of escaping steam. The <i>Sundsvall’s</i>
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>engines were still. Perplexed, he groped
+for a stanchion and found none, but saw instead
+a gaping, jagged hole in the ship’s side through
+which he could see dimly the waves and feel the
+rush of the night wind! As his eyes grew used to
+the darkness he made out the tangled, twisted
+stanchions, the splintered planks about him and
+knew then what had happened!</p>
+
+<p>For the first time he viewed near-to the effect
+of a three-inch shell!</p>
+
+<p>“They’ve got her!” He had meant to cry it
+aloud joyously, but all that came from him was a
+hoarse croak which so surprised him that he
+stood open-mouthed for a second in dismay.
+Then, grinning to himself in the dark, he started
+toward the door. Half-way to it he tripped over
+something that, with a shudder, he realised was
+the form of a man. He wondered how many
+there were in there and whether they were all
+killed: wondered, too, by what freak of fortune
+he had escaping the flying fragments of steel and
+iron and wood.</p>
+
+<p>In the passage all was dark. Even the light in
+the galley had been turned out or wrecked by the
+exploding shell. He stumbled up the companion
+ladder. Before him stood three figures. A revolver
+gleamed dully.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Halt!” said a voice sharply. “Put your
+hands up!”</p>
+
+<p>Joe obeyed with fine alacrity.</p>
+
+<p>“Advance! Halt! Search him!”</p>
+
+<p>One of the figures stepped forward and went
+over him with swift fingers.</p>
+
+<p>“I am unarmed,” said Joe, in a hoarse whisper.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ll see,” was the dry response. Then, with
+evident surprise: “How do you happen to speak
+English so well?”</p>
+
+<p>“I’m an American, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“What!” The petty officer stepped nearer.
+From the patrol ship lying a few fathoms away
+two paths of white light led from her searchlight
+platform to the <i>Sundsvall’s</i> deck, and though the
+nearer one did not encompass the group at the
+head of the companion it afforded enough light
+to enable the officer to see the braid and stars
+on Joe’s shirt collar.</p>
+
+<p>“Hello!” said the officer in a very English tone.
+“American seaman? What are you doing aboard
+this ship?”</p>
+
+<p>“I was washed off my ship, the destroyer
+<i>Warren</i>, and picked up by this ship yesterday
+afternoon.”</p>
+
+<p>“Was it you who signalled to us?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span></p>
+
+<p>“By Jove! What luck! Are there any more
+of the crew forward?”</p>
+
+<p>“Several, but I think they’re either dead or
+badly injured. The shell came into the fo’c’sle
+where we were—were arguing.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good! Have a look, men, and fetch ’em out
+if they’re worth it. You come with me, Yankee.
+What’s your name, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>“Ingersoll.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mine’s Cashell. We’re the <i>Linnet</i>, torpedo
+boat.”</p>
+
+<p>“British?”</p>
+
+<p>“Rather! Here’s the junior luff. Spin your
+yarn to him.” Joe’s companion saluted a young
+officer amidship near the starboard rail. “Here’s
+the man gave us the signal, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>The lieutenant, turning from shouting orders to
+a small boat alongside, viewed Joe with swift appraisement
+as he returned the salutes. “American?”
+he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s your ship?”</p>
+
+<p>“<i>Warren</i>, destroyer.”</p>
+
+<p>“Right-o! Drop into the boat. We’ll be going
+back in a minute.”</p>
+
+<p>Joe climbed down the ladder and tumbled
+aboard the small boat.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Hello, matey, where’d you drop from?” asked
+a voice from the bow. Joe, making out the figure
+of a sailor standing with boat-hook in hand,
+answered croakingly: “Out of the moon,
+Limie.”</p>
+
+<p>“Ho! American, ain’t yer? What was you
+doing on this floatin’ lie?”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, I was in command,” said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“If you was you’ll be up agin a stone wall
+bloomin’ soon! Take my word for that,
+Yankee!”</p>
+
+<p>“Stow the talk,” advised a voice from the
+stern, and from the deck above came the order:
+“Pass down the prisoners!”</p>
+
+<p>They came, three of them in all, and sank onto
+the thwarts in listless silence. Then Joe’s acquaintance,
+the petty officer, followed and the
+boat pulled across to the <i>Linnet</i>. There the
+prisoners, amongst them the Viking-like captain,
+were marched aft, while Joe, conducted by Cashell,
+was taken to the presence of the Commander, a
+middle-aged, kindly-looking Lieutenant.</p>
+
+<p>“Lieutenant Briggs’ compliments, sir,” said
+Cashell, “and we’ve fetched away the captain and
+two mates, sir. There’s sixteen left aboard, most
+of ’em Huns.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mines?” asked the Commander.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Ten of ’em, sir, all German. Lieutenant
+Briggs says if he can have five men he can manage
+her into Bordeaux.”</p>
+
+<p>“Good! Ask Mr. Farnsworth to step here.
+And now, my man, who might you be?”</p>
+
+<p>Joe explained. There was no time for a detailed
+story of his adventures then, for the Commander
+interrupted him to order a prize crew
+aboard the <i>Sundsvall</i>. “Instruct Mr. Briggs to
+watch those prisoners closely. He had better
+iron some of ’em. He won’t need them all to
+navigate. Tell him to make Bordeaux. We’ll
+keep with him as long as we can. Douse those
+lights up there! We’ll have the whole submarine
+fleet on us!” He turned to Joe again. “Report
+to me in the wardroom in twenty minutes. I want
+to hear more of this.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, sir, but may I suggest that the Lieutenant
+should swing wide of the place the <i>Sundsvall</i>
+was lying when you first saw her? She was
+dropping mines, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Quite right.” He bawled a warning through
+a megaphone to the other ship, and then, addressing
+Joe once more, said: “Find the surgeon and
+get him to look after those bruises.” He went
+briskly forward and climbed the ladder to the
+bridge, and Joe, seeking the lower deck hatch on
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>a boat that was strange to him, heard the Commander’s
+voice come crisply aft:</p>
+
+<p>“All clear?”</p>
+
+<p>“All clear, sir!”</p>
+
+<p>Somewhere a bell tinkled, the <i>Linnet</i> quivered
+from stem to stern and there was a mighty splashing
+from the propellers. When Joe reached the
+lower deck he could hear the water swashing fast
+beyond the steel hull. An oiler led him to the
+surgeon, a mere slip of a lad scarcely older than
+Joe, it seemed, and again the latter had to croak
+out a brief outline of his story. The surgeon said
+“Dear me! Dear me!” when he came to an examination
+of Joe’s neck. “My word, the blighter
+nearly did for you! You can count all ten fingers
+on your throat. No, nine. He only registered
+one thumb! Arnica will help that. You stand
+steady a bit.”</p>
+
+<p>Joe had his first glimpse of himself in the little
+mirror on the white wall above the washbowl as
+he waited. He looked pretty fairly disreputable.
+His neckerchief was frayed and pulled into a hard
+knot, his hair had not been brushed since the night
+before, a place the size of a half-dollar was minus
+skin over his left eye, his jaw was swollen on one
+side and at some time his nose had bled. His
+knuckles were puffed and scarred, as well. Add
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>to that that he was shoeless and hatless and that
+his shirt and trousers showed the results of long
+immersion in salt water followed by a hasty drying
+and you will understand that he was scarcely
+a model example of the United States seaman!
+But those things were all remedied in ten minutes.
+Some sort of very smelly liquid was applied to
+the raw places and soothed the smarting instantly,
+a bandage dipped in diluted arnica was placed
+around his throat, he enjoyed the wonderful privilege
+of washing face and hands and, finally, he
+was provided with a pair of shoes and a cap. And
+by that time he was due in the wardroom and, the
+surgeon conducting him, made his way to it.</p>
+
+<p>The Commander and a Lieutenant were there
+when he entered, and these, with the surgeon,
+whose rank Joe judged to be that of ensign, were
+his audience when, having seated himself, by direction,
+at one end of the wardroom table, he told
+his story from the time of being washed from the
+deck of the <i>Warren</i> until he had been confronted
+at the head of the companion-way by Petty Officer
+Cashell. And he had an attentive audience. He
+told his story modestly enough and was listened to
+with no interruptions from the listeners. But
+when he had finished they had plenty of questions
+to ask.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Did you know what the <i>Sundsvall’s</i> game was
+when you first got aboard?” inquired the Commander.</p>
+
+<p>“No, sir, not until I crept out on deck and saw
+them slinging the mines over. But I suspected
+that something wasn’t right before that. The first
+mate was no more Swedish than—than I am, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a bit,” replied the Lieutenant dryly.
+“His real name is Schmier and he’s a reservist.
+He was second in command of a submarine that
+went ashore on the coast of Holland two months
+back. He was interned and escaped. The captain
+claims to be really Swedish, and possibly he
+is. The crew are mostly Germans and Austrians.”
+He paused and looked questioningly at his superior.
+“It’s all right to tell this, sir? This—er—fellow
+is intelligent and won’t repeat what he
+shouldn’t, I’m sure.”</p>
+
+<p>The Commander smiled and nodded. “No
+harm, I fancy. He deserves a bit of wardroom
+gossip for his service. You see, Ingersoll, we’ve
+all been after that ship for a month. We didn’t
+know what her name was or what she was like,
+but we knew she was doing her devilish work
+about here, and we wanted her. It’s a lesson to us,
+Farnsworth, not to take any ship’s innocence for
+granted these times. Ingersoll says, you see,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>that they were planting mines the very moment
+we signalled her. In a way, I’m sorry we couldn’t
+have sunk her at it!”</p>
+
+<p>“I, too,” said the Lieutenant heartily. “But
+with bottoms as valuable to us as they are today,
+I fancy it wouldn’t have done, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>“Briggs’ll be lucky if she doesn’t sink before
+he makes port,” said the surgeon cheerfully. “I
+could see a ripping old hole where that shell
+went in.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s too high to flood her,” said the Lieutenant.
+“And Briggs’ll have it patched by now.”
+He smiled and then chuckled. “I’ve been wondering,
+sir, ever since whether that hit was an
+accident. The order was distinct enough to fire
+across the bow.”</p>
+
+<p>The Commander shook his head gravely. “I
+prefer to think it an accident, Farnsworth. If I
+thought otherwise I’d have to deal very severely
+with that gun captain. By the way, was the ship
+armed?”</p>
+
+<p>“The <i>Sundsvall</i>? I think not, sir.” The Lieutenant
+looked inquiringly at Joe, and the latter
+shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>“I saw no guns, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“I doubt if she had any,” mused the Commander.
+“Relied on her appearance and a set of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>false papers, I fancy. You heard nothing and
+saw nothing, my boy, to indicate the existence of
+other ‘neutral’ mine-layers in these waters?”</p>
+
+<p>Joe answered no, and for the succeeding quarter
+of an hour he was kept busy replying to questions
+as to the ship’s course after she had picked
+him up, her speed and so on, the officers being
+anxious to learn where she had been the day before.
+But Joe could give little information on
+that subject, although he “guessed” that her
+speed after he had awakened in the forecastle had
+been about twelve knots. At last the Commander
+said:</p>
+
+<p>“That’s all, Ingersoll. We’re very much
+obliged to you. That prize would have slipped
+out of our hands nicely had you not displayed
+such—ah—commendable ingenuity and bravery.
+I shall take pleasure in reporting your conduct
+to your Commander. If your pluckiness and
+quick thinking are to be found in the other
+men of your fleet I believe we’ll soon have these
+waters as quiet and well-behaved as Bond Street
+of a Sunday morning.” He reached his hand out
+as Joe, having arisen, now saluted and started
+past on his way to the door. “The thanks of the
+officers and men of the <i>Linnet</i>, my boy,” said the
+Commander, smiling.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span></p>
+
+<p>Joe shook hands, saluted again and went out,
+picking his way carefully along a swaying deck
+to the hatch. Below he was taken in charge by a
+big boatswain with a fringe of red whiskers and a
+strong Scotch accent and introduced to the
+<i>Linnet’s</i> tiny forecastle where, amidst a strange
+medley of bunks, tables, ditty boxes and clothing,
+some twenty-odd men were crowded. There, fortified
+by hot coffee supplied by an admiring cook,
+he told his story once more. When he had finished
+the big boatswain remarked with much conviction:
+“Laddie, ye were ne’er meant to be
+drownded! I ken that fine!”</p>
+
+<p>In the small hours Joe crawled into a bunk and,
+with a long, tired sigh, closed his eyes for sleep.
+The <i>Linnet</i> bobbed about like a cork and was filled
+with strange sounds, and Joe, thinking: “I believe
+I could be seasick if I wasn’t so sleepy,” passed
+into slumber.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">
+    CHAPTER XX
+    <br>
+    <small>THE BATTLE IN THE FOG</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Two days later, Joe, walking up from the landing
+in Portsmouth, descried a smart appearing officer
+of the United States Navy standing in front of a
+tiny shop and looking at the motley array of objects
+in the small-paned window. His sleeve bore
+the single stripe and star of an ensign. Joe
+stopped stock-still and stared. There was nothing
+surprising in the presence of an American
+officer in Portsmouth, since Joe had himself seen
+three separate American ships between Culver
+Cliff and the harbour, and the pier had been liberally
+sprinkled with United States marines. But
+to walk plump into this particular officer was a bit
+startling.</p>
+
+<p>Now there are certain rules of the Navy defining
+the attitude and behaviour of an enlisted man
+toward his superior. For instance, it is not considered
+strictly proper for a seaman to thump
+an ensign on the back and call him “Old Scout.”
+Such familiarities are not encouraged by the General
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>Staff. Fortunately, Joe knew all this and
+so resisted his first impulse. Having approached
+to within a few yards of the ensign without that
+gentleman having turned from his rapt contemplation
+of dusty, faded food packages, Joe paused
+irresolutely. It would be a severe breach of discipline
+to yell “Hey, there!” or to even range
+himself alongside at the window, since the window
+was so small that the procedure would cause man
+and officer to fairly rub elbows. Nor did Joe care
+to remain there all the afternoon while the other
+recovered from his trance. He gave the problem
+careful consideration for a few seconds and then
+arrived at a solution. There is nothing in the
+rules prohibiting an enlisted man from whistling
+in the presence of an officer, petty, warrant or
+commissioned. So Joe fixed his eyes on the roof-line
+across the narrow thoroughfare and whistled
+softly. The tune he chose was known in a certain
+institution of learning in New England as
+“Mother of Our Youth.” In short, it was the
+school hymn of Dexter Academy. It was rather
+a slow and stately air, and had been known to
+induce drops of moisture from the tear ducts on
+such occasions as class days and reunions, or
+when, in the gathering darkness, hundreds of
+young voices sang it and soothed the bitterness
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>of a football defeat. Joe had reached the third
+line:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Other memories may fade,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent1">Hopes grow dim in evening’s shade,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent1">Golden friendships that we made——”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>The straight-backed, wide-shouldered, slim-waisted
+officer turned quickly from the window,
+surprise on his countenance, gave one glance at
+the somewhat dilapidated looking seaman on the
+curb and then, with a roar of delight, hurled himself
+across space.</p>
+
+<p>“Joe!” he cried. “Where’d you come from?
+Gee, but I’m glad to see you!”</p>
+
+<p>“Hello, Han, you old duffer!” laughed Joe.
+“How’s the boy?”</p>
+
+<p>They fairly fell into each other’s arms and then
+performed a brief and ecstatic dance over the
+uneven pavement to the evident but unnoted interest
+of the neighbouring populace. Then, releasing
+each other, they simultaneously and a bit
+sheepishly saluted!</p>
+
+<p>They didn’t have much time together, since Joe
+was under orders to rejoin his ship at Queenstown,
+and railway and steamship travel in those
+days was slow and uncertain. But they managed,
+by talking very fast, to acquaint each other
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>with their histories to date. George Hanford was
+on liberty from the <i>Carthage</i>, undergoing engine
+repairs. The cruiser had been in British water
+nearly a month and had been on duty almost
+continuously until two days before, Han explained.</p>
+
+<p>“We had a peachy scrap with a bunch of subs a
+week ago last Sunday. There was the <i>Carthage</i>
+and three American chasers and a Limie torpedo
+boat. They got home on one of the chasers early
+in the game and missed us with the next ‘fish.’
+There were three of them, we think, but I only
+saw two. We got one, anyway, after about half
+an hour of it, and the Limie dropped three depth-bombs
+around another and signalled that they
+‘fancied they’d got the blighter.’ Our gun crews
+had the times of their young lives and hit everything
+in sight except the U-boat we were after.
+Bet you anything that the bottom of part of the
+North Sea is a foot deep in shell fragments! It
+was great while it lasted, Joe. Wish you’d been
+there. What have you been up to? They say the
+Huns are keeping themselves pretty scarce down
+the coast these days.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, there’s one that’s awfully scarce just
+now,” answered Joe dryly, and told of the submarine
+they had sunk. After that he recounted
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>his voyage on a mine and Han’s eyes stood out of
+his head. When the story was ended he insisted
+on gravely shaking Joe’s hand. “Joe,” he said
+earnestly, “you’re a credit to my training and a
+credit to Dexter, to say nothing of the United
+States Navy! I’m proud of you, son! Shake
+again!”</p>
+
+<p>Han saw Joe off on the train for Bristol and
+trotted alongside the carriage window until he
+couldn’t go any further. “Remember me to
+Steve,” he shouted. “And tell him if he isn’t
+careful you’ll beat him to it! We’re basing here
+now, so drop me a line now and then, like a good
+chap. So long, Joe, and good luck to you!”</p>
+
+<p>Joe spent that night in Bristol and the next
+morning secured passage on a steamer for
+Queenstown. The boat didn’t sail until dark,
+however, and the day was pretty dull and
+monotonous since no one was allowed to return
+on shore after having once set foot abroad. St.
+George’s Channel was in an evil mood that night,
+the boat was far from seaworthy and Joe, to his
+horror, had a relapse. It wasn’t a bad one, and
+the worst of the trouble was over in half an hour,
+but he was rather discouraged since he had concluded
+that he was through with seasickness for
+all times. Afterwards, though, he found consolation
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>in the explanation that a tiresome train
+trip and much unfamiliar food had been at
+fault.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> was not in port when he arrived
+and he found accommodations in a rather dirty
+little hotel on the water front and then, having
+exactly two shillings and a one-franc piece to his
+name, went shopping. Fortunately, two shillings
+in Queenstown go much further than a like amount
+of money in New York, and he was able to supply
+his immediate wants.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> slid into harbour the next afternoon,
+looking rather rusty of hull and bearing
+marks of her recent encounter with the gale. Joe
+expected his mates to show surprise when he
+stepped on board, but they didn’t. They hailed
+him with an exaggerated respect that annoyed
+and embarrassed him until he discovered that his
+safety had been announced from the <i>Linnet</i> by
+wireless several days ago. After they had had
+their fun with him, however, his shipmates showed
+that they were both glad to see him and proud of
+his exploit. Steve only smiled and said: “Hello,
+you old fraud!” and gripped his hand very hard.
+And Joe grinned and said: “How’s the boy?”
+and gazed about the reeking, confined quarters of
+the ship with something very much like emotion.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>Getting back to the little old <i>Warren</i> was quite
+like coming home, he thought!</p>
+
+<p>The following morning he was summoned before
+the Old Man. The commander, it appeared,
+had received a letter from the commander of the
+<i>Linnet</i>, and he said some nice things to Joe and
+ended with: “I shall mention you in my report,
+Ingersoll, and I trust you will hear from it. And
+now—er—I’d like to hear just what happened.”</p>
+
+<p>Three days after her arrival at the base the
+<i>Warren</i> put to sea again. It was convoy duty this
+time, and she picked up two companion destroyers
+off the Scilly Islands and the three kept in line for
+two days and nights and reached the rendezvous,
+some eight hundred miles west, at dawn of a foggy
+day. Five troop-ships and a cargo boat were
+waiting them and before they had taken their
+positions a fourth destroyer, a black hulled Limie
+three-stacker, joined their party. It was Bordeaux
+this time. There was the usual cheering
+from the transports as the destroyers raced past,
+the usual tumultuous waving of khaki-hued hats
+from the decks, and then, signals having been
+exchanged for the better part of an hour, the fog
+closed down between the destroyers and the transports
+and the bows pointed toward the distant
+Cordouan Light.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span></p>
+
+<p>It was good to sit aloft again in the swaying
+canvas cage trying to pierce the fog, good to hear
+the wind playing in the wireless aerial with the
+sound of a high-pitched tuning-fork, thought
+Steve the next morning. While the ocean haze
+perhaps scarcely deserved the name of fog, it
+was thick enough to hide things a quarter of a
+mile away and sometimes shut down even closer.
+From the foretop, though, he could frequently see
+above it, and up there the world was a golden,
+misty, sea-scented world, haunted by gulls and
+tiny dark-hued birds that drove past in swarms,
+tweetering like mournful sparrows. When the
+breeze died for a moment—it was only a breath
+at most this morning—he could hear the sparking
+of the wireless below, the murmur of voices on the
+bridge, a song from some gay-hearted Jackie aft.
+And then, in the very heart of the peaceful morning,
+a sharp detonation came across the water
+from starboard and a sharp voice came up the
+tube.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you see the flare of that gun?” demanded
+the executive.</p>
+
+<p>Steve hadn’t, and said so. But it was of no
+moment, for a second later a destroyer’s siren
+screeched a message in Morse, and the <i>Warren</i>,
+picking up speed, slipped off at a tangent through
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>the fog, zig-zagging, her whistle yelping a warning
+to the transports. In the foretop Steve
+watched with tense gaze. Suddenly a monstrous
+form loomed ahead, there was a confused chorus
+of signals, a quick turn of the destroyer’s nose
+and the latter slipped past the steamship’s bows
+so close that Steve could, he thought, have jumped
+in safety to her foredeck. There was a brief
+glimpse of orderly haste on the transport: life-belted
+figures hurrying to boat stations, officers
+starting to starboard from the bridge, the crew of
+the bow gun swinging the five-inch around with
+an emotional deliberateness that deceived no one.
+From further back in the mist came the six blasts
+of another troop-ship’s whistle that spelled “Submarines!”
+to all on board. Still yelping, the
+<i>Warren</i> plunged ahead, raced through the second
+transport column without sight of a ship and
+swirled off on a wide circle. Then:</p>
+
+<p>“Destroyer’s topmasts three points off the
+starboard bow,” sang Steve down the tube.
+“About half a mile, sir.”</p>
+
+<p>“Right!”</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> veered to port. As she did so guns
+barked again in that direction. A siren, deeper
+and hoarser than the <i>Warren’s</i>, shrieked close
+astern and a long, fog-coloured ship, trailing black
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>smoke from her four funnels, crept slowly up.
+Cheers floated over and back again. Signals came
+and went. The bigger destroyer edged past into
+the fog and as her stern melted from sight a bow
+rifle began to talk. She went off, firing rapidly,
+and the <i>Warren</i>, cutting through her tumbled
+wake, reduced speed. They were firing from a
+transport now somewhere at the head of the
+column. It was easy enough to distinguish the
+five-inch guns from the destroyers’ three. Something
+that left a diverging wake behind swam into
+Steve’s vision for an instant. Then a swirl of
+mist hid it. Blank incredulity held him silent for
+the length of a heart-beat. Then he sent his voice
+down to the bridge:</p>
+
+<p>“Torpedo, just submerged, running parallel
+about fifty yards to port!”</p>
+
+<p>“We saw it! Watch for destroyer to starboard!”</p>
+
+<p>Steve, his very finger-tips tingling with the excitement
+of the moment, watched, and presently
+she appeared, broke out of the yellow mist like a
+great black log. Queer violet-pink flares showed
+against the gloom of her hull as her guns spoke.
+And yet, up here in the <i>Warren’s</i> foretop cage,
+nothing was to be seen as, leaving the British destroyer
+astern, she sped roaring on into the fog.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>Afar off two shots boomed, and were repeated.
+Minutes passed, the <i>Warren</i> circling and circling,
+boilers “lit up,” stacks spouting oily smoke, gun
+crews muttering wrathfully over the fate that was
+taking them through a battle without the chance
+to fire a shot. And then, somewhere to west of
+the Limie craft, that hoped-for and yet unexpected
+happened. Between wavering, low-hanging
+puffs of sea-mist, a periscope!</p>
+
+<p>And then they, too, were in it! Shots barked
+from bow guns, propellers churned. Like a greyhound
+the <i>Warren</i> darted in pursuit. The fog
+settled and hid the target, lifted and showed it,
+sea-coloured, shortened, disappearing. Overhead
+a shadow flitted and Steve, glancing up for a wondering
+instant, saw a great seaplane skim along,
+the French colours painted on her wings. The
+sunlight melted through the varnished fabric and
+made her seem like a thing of carved amber. The
+whirring roar of her motors came down in a gust
+of sound and faded again. A second ghost-like
+form followed on its heels, and, further off to the
+east, a third. The <i>Warren</i> swerved to starboard,
+back to port, a cloud of smoke enveloped the cage.
+The guns were silent now, but there was activity
+at the stern. The attempt to ram the submarine
+had failed, for she was fathoms deep when the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>destroyer shot across her position, but a depth
+bomb might do as well, and down they went, one,
+two, three, as the <i>Warren</i> almost spun above the
+spot. Behind her, to port, to starboard, the surface
+spouted like a geyser. The destroyer shook
+with the force of the quakes as she fled.</p>
+
+<p>Then she was back again in a long turn and
+anxious, hopeful eyes watched the surface for oil
+streaks. But only foam topped the water. The
+junior luff shook a clenched fist over the bridge
+in rage and disappointment. Ahead, where the
+double column was zig-zagging on, whistles talked
+and talked, but guns were silent. An airplane
+came winging back out of the northwest, flying
+low, searching, hawk-like, for the under-surface
+shadows that mark the position of lurking
+“fish.” She disappeared in a roar of explosions,
+her pilot waving a hand in seeming benediction.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> sped dejectedly back. Steve, in a
+slump of disappointment and resentment, stared
+the countenance out of the shrouding mist.
+Below, on the bridge, the executive gesticulated
+to the Old Man and the Old Man nodded and
+nodded sorrowfully. Despair held the <i>Warren</i>
+from Number One gun to Number Five, from foretop
+to stoke-hold.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Ship dead ahead!” shouted Steve. “Smoke
+one point off——”</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> shook from stem to stern as her
+engines answered the order to reverse and she
+steered hard aport. Sirens shrieked. It was a
+close call. Steve wondered how far under he
+would go when he leaped. But the <i>Warren</i> slid
+by, shaking and shivering, close to the stern of a
+grey destroyer, and as she passed a shrill cheer
+went up, a cheer that Steve joined in wild elation
+and triumph. Beyond the destroyer that they
+had so narrowly avoided lay, like a green-grey
+whale on the surface, a German U-boat, the water
+still trickling from her deck, where, phlegmatic
+and seemingly unconcerned, a little group of uniformed
+officers and men stood and awaited their
+fate. The submarine’s stern was tilting skyward,
+her nose dipping, and there was havoc about
+her conning tower, and one periscope was missing.
+It was only a fleeting glimpse that those
+aboard the <i>Warren</i> had, for she picked up her feet
+again and poked on into the mist, but what it revealed
+made up to a great extent for her own ill-fortune,
+and long after the fog hid the two destroyers
+the men on the <i>Warren</i> sent their voices
+back in cheers.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">
+    CHAPTER XXI
+    <br>
+    <small>THE ZEPPELIN RAID</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>So ended that battle in the fog, and two hours
+later, back in positions, the convoy steamed at full
+speed again, with French seaplanes hovering
+about like golden-winged birds, leading the way
+to safety. In the afternoon the bulletin told them
+all they could expect to know on the <i>Warren</i>.
+Four submarines had attacked. Of these one had
+been captured in a sinking condition, and her officers
+and crew, fifty-two in all, taken prisoner,
+and a second had been driven off in a crippled
+condition. Fog had defeated the efforts of the
+destroyer to determine her ultimate fate. One
+transport had been struck by a torpedo just under
+the bow and had escaped with slight damage.
+The British destroyer —— had been struck aft
+with the loss of four lives but was being towed by
+one of our ships. Much, it seemed to Steve and
+Joe, had happened considering the fact that at no
+time had the <i>Warren</i> so much as glimpsed an
+action save when she had pursued that elusive
+periscope! But they had brought their convoy
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>safely out of danger, which, after all, was the
+thing that counted.</p>
+
+<p>The fog turned to rain as they approached the
+French coast, and it was not until they had
+entered the wide estuary of the Girondé that they
+really saw their companions again. The troop-ships
+went on up to Bordeaux, cheering the destroyers
+as they passed, while the latter, all save
+the Limie, turned seaward once more. The British
+ship, with a gaping, half-patched hole in her
+black hull aft of her fourth stack, and her deck
+messed with twisted plates and stanchions, went
+off in tow of a noisy tug in the wake of the transports,
+cheered to the echo by the rest of the ships.</p>
+
+<p>Joe was inclined to be disgruntled over that
+engagement. “Why, hang it, Steve, we went
+messing around there just as though we were trying
+our hardest to keep out of trouble! Every
+time we heard guns in one direction the Old Man
+headed in another! Talk about your punk luck!”</p>
+
+<p>“For a fellow who was a double-dyed pacifist
+three months ago,” laughed Steve, “you’re
+frightfully keen on a scrap!”</p>
+
+<p>“Never mind what I was three months ago,”
+returned Joe warmly. “I’ve learned since then.
+And I’ve seen things, too,” he added darkly.
+“Why, let me tell you something, Steve. I believe
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>that if we made peace with Germany tomorrow
+I’d say ‘Nothing doing!’ and keep on
+fighting!”</p>
+
+<p>“So would a lot of us, I guess,” answered the
+other grimly. “But don’t you worry, my boy.
+There won’t be any peace until we’ve got the
+Huns begging for mercy.”</p>
+
+<p>“I know, but you’re always hearing about one
+country or another being ready for it, or talking
+about it. It makes me ill!”</p>
+
+<p>“Me too! I wish they’d run rubber-neck
+wagons to the front trenches so a lot of these
+peace talkers could see what’s really going on.
+Even you and I don’t ever see the real awfulness
+of it, Joe.”</p>
+
+<p>“No, fighting on sea is a sort of polite picnic
+compared to holding down a front-line trench, I
+guess. I mean we don’t see the suffering and
+all that sort of thing. We aren’t cold and
+dirty——”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, if anyone is much colder than a foretop
+lookout in a northeast gale——”</p>
+
+<p>“You know what I mean,” interrupted Joe impatiently.
+“Besides, we don’t get a chance to do
+anything, anyway, except about once a month.
+That’s the worst thing about the Navy, Steve. I
+thought we would be right in the thick of it all
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>the time, didn’t you? And here we’ve been scouting
+around for two months, more or less, and not
+a blessed thing has happened to us!”</p>
+
+<p>“No, nothing except that we’ve been in a corking
+nice scrap and have sunk one U-boat all by
+ourselves and—Great Scott, Joe, didn’t you get
+any thrills the night you went overboard?”</p>
+
+<p>“Thrills? Yes, cold thrills. Oh, that was sort
+of exciting, in a way. I wouldn’t have missed it
+for anything. But I want to be in a good stand-up
+fight with some of those Fritzes! I want to
+see the shots go home. I want——”</p>
+
+<p>“You want to be killed, that’s the matter with
+you!” scoffed Steve. “Besides, you can’t get a
+Fritz to agree to a stand-up fight. He wants to
+sneak up in the dark or in a fog and let fly a
+moldie and then beat it. Fritz is—is what you
+might call prudent.”</p>
+
+<p>“Prudent! He’s more than that! He’s
+yellow!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, I suppose there’s his side to it. A submarine’s
+of use only so long as it’s afloat, Joe,
+and his idea is to play the game safe. But it <em>is</em>
+riling, the way they pop up and strafe something
+and then pop down again before anyone can talk
+to them about it! I wish——” He stopped, with
+a shake of his head.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span></p>
+
+<p>“So do I,” said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“What?”</p>
+
+<p>“Why, that we’d join forces with the British
+and pay ’em a visit around the corner there, up
+north.”</p>
+
+<p>Steve nodded. “Yes, I guess if you asked any
+sailor with either fleet what he wanted most he’d
+say just that. Well, it may come yet.”</p>
+
+<p>“If it ever does,” said Joe longingly, “I hope
+I’ll be around. There’s just one thing that has
+me scared whenever I think of it, Steve. It’s that
+I might get mine before this thing’s ended, before
+we’ve beaten the Huns! That would be fierce!”</p>
+
+<p>“Rot! You’ll live to bore folks for sixty years
+with the story of the time you were swept off a
+United States destroyer and captured a mine-layer
+single-handed. Why, ten years from now,
+Joe, folks’ll be running away whenever you turn
+the corner!”</p>
+
+<p>Joe laughed. “That’ll be about all from you.
+Lend me your thimble, will you? I’ve lost mine
+somewhere. Say, did you ever think you’d be
+able to darn a pair of socks the way you can
+now?”</p>
+
+<p>“No, and I never thought I’d be able to wear
+holes in ’em the way I can now, either,” replied
+Steve disgustedly.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span></p>
+
+<p>Three days later, in Queenstown, they read all
+about that engagement with the German U-boats,
+or as much about it as the censors thought fit for
+the public to know, which wasn’t a great deal after
+all. But what the papers told them, told them
+something they hadn’t known at the time, which
+was that had the submarines had their way with
+the transports the Allied armies would have been
+poorer by some twelve thousand soldiers and a
+million dollars’ worth of ammunition. That, it
+seemed to them, was worth saving!</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> had her bottom scraped and a new
+coat of paint put on, and for that purpose was
+hauled out high and dry. It meant five days
+ashore instead of three and Steve and Joe obtained
+liberty and managed by much manœuvring
+to get across to Portsmouth. There, however,
+disappointment awaited them, for the <i>Carthage</i>,
+with Han aboard, was at sea. Not that they could
+get anyone to actually say so, though. They based
+their presumption on the fact that she was not in
+port, and the evidence seemed rather strong.
+There was nothing to do in Portsmouth for them,
+and, since they had all their last month’s wages
+in pocket, they went up to London.</p>
+
+<p>Neither had ever been there before and all the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>way up on the London and South-Western Railway
+they peered excitedly at stations whose
+names sounded familiar but which looked
+like no stations they had ever seen. Joe
+declared that Wimbledon was as well-known to
+him as New Rochelle, and Clapham Junction was
+like an old friend. But that didn’t keep them
+from being a little bit awed when they alighted at
+Waterloo Station. A train on a neighbouring
+track had just pulled in with a load of “blighties”
+and they stopped and watched the scene. Such
+wrecks of men as they saw emerge from those
+coaches! And yet scarcely a man failed to smile
+as he came painfully forth. Hundreds and hundreds
+of them there seemed to the boys, but, as
+Steve granted later, when you have tears in your
+eyes you’re likely to see double! Friends, relatives,
+nurses flocked about them and soon the platform
+was empty and the boys went their way,
+rather more sober than before. But there were
+so many “blighties” all over the city that they
+soon grew accustomed to the sight, and one can’t
+well stay sad for long on such an occasion as one’s
+first visit to London. It was mid-afternoon when
+they arrived and it was well on toward dark when
+they found themselves at Oxford Street and
+Edgware Road, quite lost and quite unconcerned
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>but decidedly weary. They sought direction and
+presently found a restaurant and had their first
+meal since early morning. Afterwards they
+walked again through the soft, lingering daylight
+of a star-sprinkled August evening, and, when the
+lights were twinkling subduedly—for London was
+dark in those days—they stumbled on a theatre
+and bought seats and entered.</p>
+
+<p>The play was rather too serious for two American
+Jackies on liberty, but they sat it through,
+finding more of interest in the audience than on
+the stage. Uniforms dotted the pit and boxes,
+but save for that there was naught to show that
+this was London in war time. Afterwards they
+sought the Embankment and watched the darkened
+craft moving like shadows through the star-lit
+gloom. They still had lodgings to find and so,
+just before midnight, went in search of a small
+hotel that had been recommended to them at the
+restaurant. It was across the river, near Waterloo
+Station, and they made their way to the
+nearest bridge. But before they reached it a
+sudden strident alarm awoke the murmurous
+silence. They stopped short and viewed each
+other in surprise and something approaching apprehension.
+The air seemed to be filled with the
+shrill whistling.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span></p>
+
+<p>“What the dickens is it?” demanded Steve
+anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>“I don’t know, unless——” Joe stopped and
+turned his face toward the sky.</p>
+
+<p>“By Jove!” cried Steve. “That’s it! It’s an
+air-raid, Joe! It’s Zeppelins! Beat it!”</p>
+
+<p>“Wait! Let’s have a look. I don’t see anything,
+do you?”</p>
+
+<p>“See anything! No, and I don’t want to!
+And, what’s more, I don’t want to <em>feel</em> anything!
+Come on and get under cover somewhere. They’ll
+arrest us if we don’t!”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, but I want to see, hang it,” grumbled
+Joe, as he followed the other up a side street.
+The warning tocsin was still wailing, making
+Steve think of Banshees, as they came in sight
+of the dark bulk of Charing Cross Station. There
+the streets were filling with a silent and apparently
+unalarmed throng, all gazing skyward.
+Now into the blare of the whistles came other
+sounds, the distant popping of anti-aircraft guns,
+they guessed. A policeman, very matter-of-fact,
+was pressing the crowd toward the sidewalks.</p>
+
+<p>“Under cover, if you please, ladies and gentlemen,
+under cover now! Don’t ’ave me askin’ yer
+over an’ over!”</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly a murmur went up and the boys, following
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>the direction of the staring eyes of the
+throng, saw, far in the heavens, eastward, a
+ghostly, silver shape. Long streams of searchlights
+played upon it, converging from wide distances.
+It seemed to hang motionless there, thousands
+of feet above the darkened city, until the
+fact that they were gradually turning their heads
+convincing them that the Zeppelin was in reality
+travelling at a rapid pace. It was miles away
+from where they stood, but even had it been overhead
+it is doubtful if the sense of danger would
+have prevailed over the fascination they experienced.
+The thing seemed unreal to them, a clever
+mechanical effect such as one sees at a theatre.
+The element of danger never made itself felt for
+a moment. Wonder and admiration and a queer
+thrilling excitement was what they experienced
+as, in common with thousands of others all over
+the great city, they stood and watched spellbound.</p>
+
+<p>Stars that were bursting shells from the guns
+broke around the silver ghost, but she appeared
+oblivious to them. With what seemed the speed
+of a floating thistledown the big balloon drew
+diagonally across the city from northeast to
+southwest. “She might be over Hornsey now,”
+said a voice at Steve’s elbow, but a second speaker
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span>contradicted him. “Not ’arf so near, gov’ner,
+and more toward Hendon-way.”</p>
+
+<p>“Isn’t it wonderful!” murmured Steve. “Do
+you suppose there are others?”</p>
+
+<p>“Bound to be, I guess. Hello, look there!
+Great Scott, Steve!”</p>
+
+<p>A great glare of yellow light enveloped the
+Zeppelin so that it seemed to stand out against the
+blue-black heavens like a monstrous elongated
+lamp. Then, amidst a murmurous sigh of awe
+from the watchers, a sheet of rosy light shot high
+from the balloon and dyed the whole city with its
+unearthly radiance, so that shadows played where
+there had been only darkness before. The throng
+stood hushed as the strange light rippled like
+flame high in the sky and, suddenly, the Zeppelin
+collapsed in the centre and began to float gently
+to the earth. And as she descended there appeared,
+above her, a smaller vision, an airplane
+gliding eastward and downward through the
+glowing heavens. Flames could be seen plainly
+about the Zeppelin as she settled faster and
+faster, and a cloud of black smoke billowed and
+trailed. Then, as she passed from the sight of
+the watchers, a lurid flare told of exploding gas-tanks,
+went out as suddenly and left the city in
+blackness again save for the beams of light that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span>crossed and recrossed, searching the sky. Silence
+held for a long moment, and then there arose from
+the throats of the watchers a cheer that grew and
+grew as it was taken up on all sides and spread
+across the vast immensity of London, a cheer of
+exultation that lasted for minutes and minutes.
+Even after it had ceased there at Charing Cross,
+the murmurous sound could still be heard, a dim
+roar of triumph. A group of Australian Tommies
+broke through the throng, shattering the air with
+long-drawn “coo-ees,” while about a lamp-post
+nearby four British Jackies danced, with joined
+hands, and sang themselves hoarse.</p>
+
+<p>Steve and Joe turned back and found their way
+across a long-arching bridge through the star-lit
+darkness. The city was silent again save for an
+occasional belated cheer. They were too affected
+to talk much, and so reached the little hotel almost
+in silence.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">
+    CHAPTER XXII
+    <br>
+    <small>OLD FRIENDS COME ABOARD</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>They were back in Queenstown two mornings
+later, returning by way of Fishguard. The
+<i>Warren</i> was at anchor and waves of heat above
+her four grey stacks indicated that she was getting
+ready for business once more. That noon
+the starboard mess was entertained with a vivid
+first-hand account of a Zeppelin raid on London.
+There was a big batch of mail in the afternoon,
+and Joe and Steve each fared well. The home
+papers proved interesting reading, for they covered
+a period of nearly three weeks, during which
+much had happened back in what Steve called
+“the little old U. S. A.” The draft for the
+National Army had been made, the government
+had taken over all merchant ships of twenty-five
+hundred tons or more then building and the
+President had put his signature to a bill to control
+the country’s food supply. In Russia, too, events
+had transpired, for because of the disaffection of
+certain regiments the army was in general retreat
+in Galicia. But from Flanders came better news,
+for the British and French had smashed the German
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span>lines over a twenty-mile front. Rumours of
+that success had reached them before, but experience
+had proved the advisability of discrediting
+most rumours. That advance made up for the
+disruption of the Russian defences in the east, in
+Steve’s opinion, but Joe refused to be placated
+by it and stated his opinion of the Russians in an
+earnest manner that carried conviction. There
+was no argument forthcoming, for although his
+audience consisted of half the starboard watch no
+one had the heart to disagree.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> put in an eventful turn on patrol
+that lasted six days and nights, most of which
+were squally. The events, though, were neither
+novel nor exciting, but consisted of false alarms,
+unfruitful chases and frequent battles with the
+gales. Back in port Steve came down with a cold
+that put him ashore in the hospital for two days,
+but just before the destroyer weighed anchor
+again he came piling back, better but by no means
+well. Joe lectured him severely, but Steve only
+grinned.</p>
+
+<p>The second morning out the wireless picked up
+a call for help from an American steamer which
+had just entered the danger zone on the eastward
+passage. The <i>Warren</i> was a good sixty-five miles
+off, but she kicked up her heels and started for the
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span>scene. The boys will always remember that bit
+of steaming, for the destroyer ran straight into
+the seas at a gait just under thirty knots for more
+than two hours. The waves were high in consequence
+of the gales which had been lashing the
+Atlantic for more than a week and life on the
+bridge was no better than a prolonged shower
+bath. The seas washed the deck clean aft of the
+forecastle and every opening of the hatches
+brought buckets of water down to the lower deck.
+There were times when the <i>Warren</i> stuck her nose
+so far under that it seemed only a miracle could
+wrench it out again. But she always shook herself
+free and staggered on, leaping and bucking
+like a broncho. Even the foretop cage was a
+spray-drenched place during those wild hundred
+and forty minutes. But the <i>Warren</i> did herself
+proud, and every man-Jack aboard thrilled to the
+plucky struggle she made. In the radio hutch
+such messages as “Hold on, we’re coming!”
+“With you in forty minutes!” and “Stick it
+out!” were sent at intervals, but there came no
+reply from the steamer and it seemed that the
+destroyer was to be too late. But the Old Man
+was taking no chances and as the <i>Warren</i> drew
+near the scene the bow guns were manned and the
+little ship was in readiness.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span></p>
+
+<p>It was just after six bells when the foretop
+spotter gave the word that smoke was ahead.
+Before that they had heard the sounds of gunfire
+and a cheer broke out when the submarine
+was sighted a mile or so away from the steamer
+which lay, evidently helpless, rolling in the seas.
+The <i>Warren</i> made straight for the U-boat, but the
+latter had apparently got wind of the destroyer’s
+approach, for she submerged quickly before the
+<i>Warren</i> could get within range. Circling repeatedly
+about the spot, the destroyer let go five
+depth-charges, but no signs of the enemy were
+seen again.</p>
+
+<p>Later they got the steamer’s story. She had
+just entered the danger zone when a lookout reported
+a submarine on the port bow. Immediately
+the U-boat fired a shell which passed a few
+yards from the steamer’s stern. The captain
+then sent out his wireless appeal for help, since
+the location of the submarine was such that escape
+seemed impossible. A long range battle began
+between the two craft, the steamer firing at nine
+thousand yards and the submarine manœuvring
+to keep out of range and at the same time keeping
+up a running fire. The steamer’s shells fell short,
+but the U-boat made several hits, wounding four
+men. After the battle had gone on almost two
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span>hours, during which the steamer’s gun crews fired
+two hundred and sixty shots and the submarine
+two hundred and thirty-four, the latter made a
+lucky hit, exploding a shell in the engine room and
+putting the vessel out of commission. The submarine
+had then approached nearer and had continued
+to rain shots, but for some reason, perhaps
+in the hope of taking the steamer afloat, had fired
+no torpedoes. The steamer’s wireless had been disabled
+shortly after the beginning of the engagement
+and the <i>Warren’s</i> messages had not reached
+her. Consequently the captain had been as surprised
+as delighted when he had seen a low streak
+of black smoke to the northeastward and, later,
+the destroyer ploughing toward him head-on. He
+had given up all hope of saving his vessel at the
+time of the destroyer’s unexpected appearance.</p>
+
+<p>The surgeon and two assistants made a perilous
+trip across to the steamer and attended to the
+wounded, after which the <i>Warren</i> stood by while
+engine repairs were made with great difficulty.
+Toward night the two ships started for the French
+coast. They lost each other once but came together
+again soon after daylight and the <i>Warren</i>
+steamed within sight until the steamer was safely
+in-shore.</p>
+
+<p>That incident was fairly typical of the sort of
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span>work that fell to the <i>Warren</i>, although sometimes
+she arrived at the scene too late and sometimes,
+as on a later occasion, her services went for
+nought because of the pigheadedness of a skipper.
+That time the <i>Warren</i> was convoying a steamer
+with new engines which had never been properly
+worked in. Instead of keeping in column she kept
+up a series of zig-zag excursions to port and starboard
+that puzzled the <i>Warren’s</i> commander considerably.
+When she had crossed the destroyer’s
+bows the fourth time in less than an hour the
+<i>Warren</i> signalled and the reply came back that
+she couldn’t slow down to the destroyer’s pace.
+“You’ll have to,” replied the <i>Warren</i>. “Dangerous
+channel ahead. Keep astern and follow.”
+So said the destroyer’s blinker in the semi-darkness
+of early morning. Whether the cargo boat
+read the signal aright or, reading, couldn’t make
+up her mind to obey, wasn’t apparent just then.
+But the natural thing happened, for the steamer
+piled herself up on a reef and went down with
+three thousand tons of much needed coal. The
+<i>Warren</i> rescued the crew of thirty men and, metaphorically
+shrugging her shoulders, went off on
+her business.</p>
+
+<p>There was another case of pigheadedness soon
+after which, however, did not end disastrously.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span>The convoy in that case was an American
+freighter, a rusty old junk of a ship that almost
+racked herself to pieces in the effort to keep her
+place in the column. The first night the <i>Warren’s</i>
+lookout observed, to his horror, that the tramp
+was showing a stern light that might easily have
+been seen twenty miles away.</p>
+
+<p>“Dim that stern light!” ordered the destroyer’s
+captain.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s only what we always carry,” was the
+response.</p>
+
+<p>“Dim it,” was the prompt reply, “or I’ll blow
+it off you!”</p>
+
+<p>It was dimmed.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> picked up strange guests at times.
+One bright and blowy morning a trampish-looking
+steamer came close and signalled that she was
+under sealed orders from London and had on
+board survivors from the crew of a British
+steamer torpedoed at daylight. She asked if the
+<i>Warren</i> would take them aboard. The executive
+gestured despair, but a whaleboat was lowered
+from the tramp and the survivors of the <i>Castle
+Something</i>—no one there ever found out her exact
+name—were tumbled into it. They were a strange
+looking lot when they reached the <i>Warren’s</i>
+deck. Cingalese, they were, with black skins and
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span>straight hair matted from hours in the water.
+Most were clad only in blankets and iodine-stained
+bandages. They were washed and freshly
+bandaged and fed hot coffee and stowed forward,
+fourteen philosophical Mohammedan castaways
+who expressed neither resentment at Fate nor
+gratitude for rescue. They ate and dozed and
+jabbered softly amongst themselves and were
+finally put ashore on the west coast of Ireland in
+a drizzly dusk.</p>
+
+<p>And so life went with the “Suicide Fleet.” In
+three months of service the American flotilla had
+collectively steamed over five hundred thousand
+miles in British waters, and so far without the
+loss of a life or a serious mishap. Patrolling the
+sea lanes, convoying merchantmen and troop-ships,
+fighting the submarines, rescuing survivors
+of torpedoed craft: that was their duty and they
+performed it well. And meanwhile they gained
+by experience, officers and men. They learned
+new things constantly, such as smoke-screening,
+hardly more than a theory with them before, and
+the use of depth-charges. And gunnery improved
+day by day. The <i>Warren</i> in September had a
+record of a shattered periscope at two thousand
+yards. That was Number Four gun, and there
+was no living with that crew for days afterwards!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span></p>
+
+<p>Steve and Joe became first-class seamen in due
+time, and, to get ahead of our story somewhat,
+in the Autumn Joe received his reward for the
+<i>Sundsvall</i> exploit when he was made a gunner’s
+mate of the second class and blossomed forth
+proudly in his rating badge of spread eagle,
+crossed guns and two chevrons. Steve was divided
+between pride in his chum and envy of his
+fortune, and secretly determined to win his petty
+officership too. Whether he did or did not does
+not belong to this narrative. Nor does the way in
+which he did it!</p>
+
+<p>It was well toward the last of August and on a
+beautifully warm day that the <i>Warren</i>, skimming
+a leisurely path across a shining ocean with
+almost no swell, sighted a speck in the distance.
+They were some three hundred and forty miles
+off the Irish coast. Steve had just finished his
+turn aloft and was standing near the port torpedo
+tube in conversation with Jack Higgins
+when the word went down to the bridge and
+was answered by the straining of the steering
+cables as the <i>Warren</i> turned her nose to starboard.</p>
+
+<p>“Wonder what it’ll be this time,” muttered
+Jack when they could see the object from the deck
+and had made her out a small boat. “Maybe
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span>Chinese, eh! We haven’t had any Chinese yet.
+Awfully careless of the Old Man, too.”</p>
+
+<p>Twenty minutes later eighteen chattering, half-starved
+men were helped over the side: seamen,
+firemen, a ship’s steward and two lads in the
+bedraggled uniform of the United States Naval
+Reserve. Of the latter one carried the mark of
+a gun-pointer and the other of a seaman gunner.
+Steve, watching curiously and sympathetically as
+the pale-faced throng came aboard, suddenly gave
+a startled exclamation.</p>
+
+<p>“<em>Phil!</em>” he gasped.</p>
+
+<p>The lad with the gun-pointer’s insignia on his
+sleeve turned and looked along the deck in the
+direction of the voice. Then his tired face lighted
+up and a tremulous smile flitted across it as he
+held up a hand in greeting. Steve, scarcely believing
+his eyes, edged nearer. The second Reserve
+gunner was looking, too, now, and he also
+grinned and formed words with his lips that Steve
+couldn’t read. Then they were all hustled below
+and Steve set excitedly forth to find Joe. He
+hadn’t far to go, for Joe was one of a group looking
+on from further aft. Steve grabbed him and
+pulled him around.</p>
+
+<p>“Did you see?” he cried.</p>
+
+<p>“See? See what?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span></p>
+
+<p>“See who came aboard!”</p>
+
+<p>“Sure. A dozen and a half hungry——”</p>
+
+<p>“No, but the fellows in Reserve uniforms! Did
+you recognise them!”</p>
+
+<p>“Not a bit. Who were they? Say, what’s the
+big idea, Steve? You look all upset.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s Phil and Harry!” declared Steve in a
+breath.</p>
+
+<p>“Finnan haddie? <em>What’s</em> Finnan haddie?
+Say, for the love of——”</p>
+
+<p>“Oh, dry up and listen! <em>Phil and Harry</em>, I
+said! Phil ... and....”</p>
+
+<p>“Never!”</p>
+
+<p>“Honest!”</p>
+
+<p>“<em>Get out!</em>”</p>
+
+<p>“Cross my heart, Joe! What do you know
+about it, eh?”</p>
+
+<p>“Where are they?” Joe started toward the
+hatch, but Steve seized him.</p>
+
+<p>“Wait! No use going down now. The Old
+Man’ll have them, I guess. Wait till they’ve
+had some eats. They saw me. I yelped right
+out when I caught sight of Phil, and the
+junior luff looked daggers at me. Couldn’t
+help it. Say, honest, doesn’t it beat everything?”</p>
+
+<p>“It sure does! Still, there’s no reason why
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>they shouldn’t be here, you know. I suppose they
+got strafed.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you really? Aren’t you the bright little
+laddie? What made you think that?” Steve
+was too excited to talk sense. “Just because they
+were in a life-boat a-floating around the ocean you
+jump at the conclusion that they’ve been strafed.
+Gee, but you’re a regular Sherlock W. Holmes,
+you are, Joe! Think of old Phil and Harry turning
+up like this! I wonder what happened.”</p>
+
+<p>“So do I,” replied Joe resolutely, “and I mean
+to find out.” And, avoiding Steve’s grasp he
+strode to the hatch, squeezed through and tumbled
+down the ladder. Steve followed on his heels, but
+it wasn’t until a full hour later that the four
+members of the Adventure Club found themselves
+together in the lee of the stern gun and that Steve
+and Joe heard the story of the sinking of the
+<i>Arapahoe</i>.</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">
+    CHAPTER XXIII
+    <br>
+    <small>ON BOARD THE 3-U-9</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Philip Street was a tall, dark complexioned lad
+of eighteen, rather serious looking, but with a
+pleasant if infrequent smile. His companion,
+Harry Corwin, was of like age, although his
+rounder, good-humoured countenance suggested
+a disparity in Phil’s favour. They had eaten
+their first meal in nearly sixty hours and showed
+an inclination to go to sleep, and it was only by
+resolute efforts that they kept their eyes open
+and told their tale. Phil was spokesman, but
+Harry, prodded into wakefulness at intervals by
+Steve’s elbow, threw in occasional interpolations
+or corrections. Here is the story as they told it.</p>
+
+<p>“We’ve been over and back four times,” said
+Phil. “Twice on the <i>Lake City</i>, a Huron coal
+steamer, once on the <i>North Easton</i>——”</p>
+
+<p>“The Huns got her off Belle Isle in July,”
+interjected Harry. “We never had a chance with
+the gun. One moldie did for us.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then we were assigned to the <i>Arapahoe</i>. She
+was a small affair, but mighty seaworthy and a
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span>comfortable ship, take her all around. We went
+over and back on her last month, Philadelphia to
+Plymouth, and never saw so much as a periscope.
+It was rather deadly. This time we had copper
+and steel rails and I heard that the insurance on
+our cargo was something like three hundred thousand
+dollars, so you can see that when the Huns
+got her they got something worth while. Well,
+we were due in Plymouth tomorrow and were
+about four hundred miles off—forty-eight–thirty
+north and twelve–twenty west—when the
+trouble began. It was just at sun-up. I was off
+duty when we got the alarm, which was in the
+shape of a bunch of bursting shrapnel about the
+top of our forward stack. Someone came down
+yelling ‘Submarine!’ and there was a lot of goings-on
+for about a minute. I piled out in what
+I had on, which wasn’t much, and added a life-preserver.
+When I got on deck there was Harry
+training the bow gun on every point of the compass
+and saying things that weren’t nice to hear
+from the lips of innocence.”</p>
+
+<p>“So would you have,” grumbled Harry.
+“There they were shooting shrapnel at us every
+forty seconds and not a thing in sight!”</p>
+
+<p>“What do you mean, nothing in sight?” demanded
+Joe.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span></p>
+
+<p>“True as true, Joey. They were squarely between
+us and the sun, which was just half out of
+the ocean, do you see, and you couldn’t catch even
+a glimpse of them.”</p>
+
+<p>“But we caught something else,” said Phil
+grimly. “Never tell me those Germans can’t
+shoot. They hit us somewhere about every puff
+of their gun, a four-inch it proved to be later.
+We were fairly peppered, and there was no come
+back. We couldn’t see them a little bit. Of
+course we knew where the shots came from and
+we aimed in a general way at the sun and tried
+various elevations. But you might as well hope
+to hit a—hit a——”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course you might,” agreed Steve. “Then
+what?”</p>
+
+<p>“They got Atkins, one of our gun crew, and two
+of the sailors. And they wounded about eight
+others. They kept it up a good fifteen minutes
+before we saw the folly of staying around there.
+The captain was crazy mad and kept shouting to
+us to ‘do something’ and swearing at us most—ah—reprehensibly.”
+Harry chuckled. “So we
+cut away two life-boats and abandoned the ship.
+We didn’t want to, I can tell you. In fact, the
+gun crews pretty nearly mutinied. But, after all,
+the captain was right. You couldn’t do anything
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span>as long as that sub stayed right square in the eye
+of the sun, and there wasn’t any use waiting for
+the sun to get out of the way, because they were
+making about every shot a bullseye and by the
+time the sun had got up out of our way we
+wouldn’t have been there much! So we got off
+in two boats, thirty-two of us in all, leaving three
+dead aboard. Our boat was the first away and
+the first officer sent us off to lie by out of range.
+Somebody stopped to get the ship’s dog and the
+second boat was five minutes later than we were,
+I guess. Most everyone of any consequence was
+in her, including the officers and the rest of the
+two gun crews. Just what happened I don’t
+quite know, for we had pulled a half-mile away,
+but it looked as if a shell came through the hull
+and went plump into that life-boat on the further
+side. Our engines were banged to bits by then
+and the <i>Arapahoe</i> was drifting side on to the
+sub. We rowed back as quick as we could and
+picked up two men, a sailor and a stoker. That
+was all that ever showed up, although we laid
+around two or three minutes. The sub was still
+pegging away, just as though they were having
+target practice. The stoker died about half an
+hour afterward. He’d got a piece of shrapnel
+in his lung.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Were any of the officers in your boat, Phil?”
+asked Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“Not one. The second mate was supposed to
+come off with us, but he didn’t.”</p>
+
+<p>“Phil was in command of that life-boat,” said
+Harry, “and you want to believe he filled the
+bill, too.”</p>
+
+<p>“How’d you get your glad rags on?” inquired
+Steve. “Go back for them?”</p>
+
+<p>“I did,” said Phil. “Harry was dressed and
+on watch at the time. I thought I might as well
+have something on besides a life-preserver, which
+isn’t very warm. Well, we started off finally and
+pulled eastward, partly to keep out of the way
+of the sub and partly with the notion of making
+the French coast. We’d rowed about an hour,
+I suppose, and were thanking our lucky stars
+that we’d got off when suddenly there was a
+commotion and we saw that confounded U-boat
+coming straight for us. She was about three-quarters
+of a mile away, well out of water and
+doing about sixteen knots. As she came nearer
+we could see about a dozen men on her deck.
+There wasn’t any use in trying to run away, so
+we took it easy and waited. She proved to be
+one of the smaller class, about two hundred feet
+over all, but she looked brand new and had
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span>‘3-U-9’ on her hull. There was a four-inch forward
+and a four-seven aft.”</p>
+
+<p>“Nice guns they were, too,” said Harry
+sleepily. “Awfully—awfully <em>intelligent</em> looking
+beasties!”</p>
+
+<p>“‘Who is captain?’ shouts a voice on the sub.
+I called back that the captain was not there. The
+sub ran up close to us and stopped and we saw
+that three of the men on the deck were officers:
+captain, lieutenant and a junior. The rest were
+seamen and gunners, I guess. Smart appearing
+they were, too. Lots of gold braid on the officers,
+and their uniforms looked as though they’d just
+been pressed. Maybe they had. Anyway, they
+had about everything you could think of on that
+sub, and if there wasn’t an electrical clothes-presser
+it isn’t my fault.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did you go aboard her?” asked Steve eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes. Wait a bit. I’m coming to it in my
+own peculiar way. Gee, but I am sleepy, fellows!”
+Phil yawned and stretched. “The captain
+refused to believe we weren’t hiding our
+officers somewhere for awhile, and when we’d
+convinced him he asked who was in charge and
+someone said I was. ‘Stand up,’ he shouted. I
+stood up. Then he pointed to Harry. ‘You
+stand up, too!’ So Harry stood up.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span></p>
+
+<p>“I stood up so quick,” chuckled Harry, “that
+I almost fell overboard.”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s lucky you understood German and knew
+what he was saying to you,” said Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“German nothing! He spoke as good English
+as you or I. He told Harry and me to come
+aboard. The rest were to stay in the boat and
+help get salvage from the steamer. We went
+onto the deck of the sub and four or five men
+and the junior officer got into the life-boat and
+pulled back to the <i>Arapahoe</i>. The captain, first
+lieutenant, Harry and I went below, all quite sociable
+and polite, although I wanted terribly to
+bash that captain in the eye! Down there he
+asked us a bunch of questions. First of all
+wanted to know our branch of the service. Guess
+the Reserve uniform had him beat. He seemed
+kind of annoyed when he found we weren’t officers,
+and I was afraid for a minute that he would
+shoot us or something. But he got over it and
+he and the luff, who didn’t talk the lingo,
+growled at each other in German. Then he asked
+the name of the steamer, what her tonnage was,
+who owned her and when and where she was
+built. I told him all I knew, which wasn’t so
+much, and blessed if he didn’t check me off in
+a Lloyd’s register! And afterwards, when they
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span>brought back the ship’s papers—or some of them,
+anyway—with the first load in the life-boat he
+checked off again. ‘You see,’ he said, sort of
+grinning, ‘we get a bonus for tonnage over a certain
+amount that we sink, so it pays us to be
+accurate.’ What do you think of that? Aren’t
+they the—the——”</p>
+
+<p>“S-sh,” said Harry soothingly. “You’ve said
+it all twenty times, Phil. It always excites you,
+you know.”</p>
+
+<p>“It surely does! Well, when he said that I
+couldn’t help asking him if he’d had much luck.
+‘Oh, several hundred thousand tons so far,’ he
+said, ‘and we’re still on our first month of duty.
+We take three months at a time.’ ‘Huh,’ said
+Harry, ‘it’s pretty profitable, isn’t it, so long as
+you don’t get caught!’ Well, the captain didn’t
+like that very much and he looked ugly for a
+minute. He growled something to the luff and
+then they both went topside again, leaving us
+down there with a sailor and a couple of mechanics.
+I’d noticed right along that the sailor
+was dying to speak and so, as soon as the officers
+were gone, he burst out:</p>
+
+<p>“‘Profitable, eh?’ he said, pulling out a roll
+of bills. ‘Throw your eyes over that, feller.
+Some roll, eh?’ Well, it was. There must have
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span>been three or four thousand dollars of all kinds
+of money in that wad. ‘Are you German?’ asked
+Harry. ‘Sure, but I lived in America fourteen
+years. I was an American citizen, too, feller:
+mate in the coastwise trade. When war broke
+out I beat it home. There’s another feller here
+just like me, good American citizen.’ He grinned
+and I wanted to punch his ugly face for him. I
+wanted to ask him what sort of an American citizen
+he considered himself, but I thought it was
+just as well not to. I had to kick Harry’s shins
+to keep him from saying something to get us in
+wrong.”</p>
+
+<p>“I hope some day I’ll come across that chap
+again,” said Harry, wistfully. “Sometime when
+he hasn’t got his gang with him!”</p>
+
+<p>“So do I,” said Phil. “He couldn’t seem to
+understand why the United States had entered
+the war and asked us to explain it to him. But
+what was the use? He wouldn’t have understood
+if we’d drawn him a diagram and thrown pictures
+on the screen! So we said we guessed it was
+principally to lick Germany. That didn’t seem
+to bother him a bit, for he just laughed and
+winked, and said, ‘Well, I should worry. We’ll
+have the lot of you licked in six months. Isn’t
+that what you think?’ I told him I guessed about
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span>three years more of it was coming, and he looked
+as though he thought I was crazy. ‘Gee whiz!’
+he said. ‘Three years! You’re just talking,
+aren’t you?’ We said no, and he looked a bit
+serious for a minute. Then he shrugged and
+said: ‘Well, I’ve been submarining two years
+and I’ve had them go down under me, so I guess
+I’ll worry through all right. But this three year
+business is new stuff to me. And I hope you’re
+wrong. I’m dead sick of it, in spite of the good
+money.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘How did you escape drowning when your
+submarine went down?’ Harry asked him. So he
+pulled his coat open and showed us a life-belt
+underneath. It was deflated, but he said it only
+took a minute to blow it up, and he made fun of
+our bulky ones. Then he invited us to have a
+look over the boat and you can bet we were ready
+to. They had ten torpedoes in sight forward,
+small fourteen-inch ones they were, and a bunch
+of shells big enough to sink the British Navy.
+And then the instruments strewn around the
+bunks! Everyone seemed to have a passion for
+sextants and chronometers. I suppose they’d
+swiped them off various ships they’d sunk, and
+Harry guessed they were keeping them on account
+of brass being worth so much in Germany.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span>Anyway, they had about a thousand dollars’
+worth of truck lying around loose. There were
+about thirty men in the crew, I think, and all
+looked pretty fit. I asked that ‘American citizen’
+if submarine work didn’t get on the nerves
+and he said it didn’t. ‘Still,’ he added, ‘only a
+fool would pick a job on a submarine. We can’t
+help ourselves. We don’t have any say in the
+matter. I don’t mind it much, though.’ He took
+us all over the boat and explained everything
+beautifully. On the captain’s desk was the chart
+and I said that it didn’t look much different from
+any other ship’s chart.</p>
+
+<p>“‘It isn’t,’ he said, ‘only we take our position
+every four hours.’ He spread it out for us and
+traced the sub’s course from Kiel into the North
+Sea and down around the Shetlands, past Ireland
+and into the transatlantic lanes. ‘Here’s where we
+are now,’ he said, pointing, ‘and here’s our North
+Atlantic ocean base.’ And blowed if he didn’t
+point out the very spot, or what he said was the
+very spot! Maybe he was lying. It looked to
+me about eighty or ninety miles northwest of
+where we were lying then. I told your captain
+and he made a note of it, but he didn’t say
+whether he took any stock in the yarn or not.
+The Huns are such frightful liars that they’ll
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span>have to show me. Anyway, this crook said that
+they have big cargo subs, like the <i lang="de">Deutschland</i>
+that came over to see us once, lying at these ocean
+bases filled with oil and ammunition and supplies
+of all sorts. Every so often, or whenever necessary,
+I suppose, the subs make for a base and
+a mother boat and put off their sick men, give
+up their loot and take on fresh supplies. That’s
+how they can stay out for three months at a
+stretch sometimes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Do you believe it?” asked Joe doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>Phil shook his head. “I believe some of it. I
+believe that what that thug told us was what they
+did in theory, but I don’t believe that it works
+out in practice.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pipe-dream,” grunted Harry. “I wanted to
+tell him so. There was a bunch of things I
+wanted to tell that guy. The one thing I’m living
+for now is to run across him some day on
+some nice quiet street back home. If I ever do
+I hope I’ll have a United States flag with me.”</p>
+
+<p>“What for?” asked Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“So I can stuff it down his throat.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why soil the flag?” inquired Phil gently.
+“Well, if I don’t finish this yarn I’ll go to sleep,
+fellows. Say, this packet of yours sort of rolls,
+don’t she?”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Oh, in a sea she does. She’s steady enough
+today,” replied Steve.</p>
+
+<p>“Is she? You call this steady? My head’s
+aching from wobbling back and forth.”</p>
+
+<p>“I should think you’d call her the <i>Parker
+House</i> instead of the <i>Warren</i>,” suggested Harry,
+with a sort of ask-me-why intonation.</p>
+
+<p>“I get you,” said Steve. “On account of the
+rolls. Give him a good heave, fellows, so the propellers
+won’t chop him!”</p>
+
+<p>“They made four trips in all,” Phil went on,
+“and they cleaned the <i>Arapahoe</i> to the bone.”</p>
+
+<p>“Five trips,” corrected Harry. “The last
+time the boat came back she was so low in the
+water that I never thought she’d make the
+sub!”</p>
+
+<p>“They had the captain’s papers from the safe
+in his cabin, his sextants, chronometers, watch,
+clothes and, probably, money. They even carried
+off the photographs on the cabin wall. They
+swiped every mattress they could find, and every
+blanket and sheet and pillow. They had all the
+cooking things and enough brass and copper fittings
+to sink the sub. I suppose they would have
+taken the cargo if they could have stored it anywhere.”</p>
+
+<p>“They took a bag of dog biscuits, too,” said
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span>Harry. “I’ll bet they didn’t know what they
+were. Bet you the captain’s munching on ’em
+this minute.”</p>
+
+<p>“Mighty suitable chuck for him, I’d say,” observed
+Joe.</p>
+
+<p>“You’re dead right. Anyway, I’ve got to hand
+it to those Huns for salvaging. They’ve got a
+gang of Italian house-wreckers beaten at their
+own game. What I suspect is that when the
+war’s over and there aren’t any more murders
+to be done they’ll all reform and become burglars
+and safe-breakers! Well, they brought us up on
+deck again when they’d finished their neat little
+job and I give you my word there wasn’t room
+to set your foot because of the junk they had
+strewn over it! They told us to go back into the
+life-boat. Just as we were stepping in one of
+our men, a stoker named Hogan, saw a can of
+beef lying within reach on the sub’s deck and
+made a snatch at it, thinking he could get away
+with it. You see, we had only hard-tack and
+water in the boat, and that beef would have come
+in handy. But the junior luff saw him and
+snarled like a tiger. He had a hatchet in his
+hand that he’d been slashing things up with on
+the steamer and he came down on Hogan’s hand
+with it. That’s how Hogan hasn’t any fingers
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span>to speak of on that hand now. The hatchet
+wasn’t very sharp, but it did the business.”</p>
+
+<p>“Gee!” muttered Steve.</p>
+
+<p>“We pulled off then and they waved good-bye
+to us, some of the crew did, and Harry got fresh
+and shook his fist.”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, and Phil wanted to yard-arm me. He
+couldn’t do that because we had no yards, so he
+cut me out of my allowance of grub all day, the
+brute!”</p>
+
+<p>“You deserved to be pitched overboard,” said
+Phil, grimly. “It was a fool thing to do, Harry.
+If they’d seen it and resented it it’s a fair bet
+they’d have put a shell through the boat. Your
+little kid-trick put all our lives in danger, and
+you got off easy when you missed out on two
+meals.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right. Don’t rub it in. It <em>was</em> a crazy
+thing to do, but I was so blamed mad——”</p>
+
+<p>“There are times when you can’t afford to be
+mad,” said Phil. “We rowed all that day and
+all last night. It was pretty cold after sun-down.
+Yesterday afternoon we passed through a regular
+sea of wreckage: empty boats, life-belts, rigging,
+barrels, tubs—all sorts of stuff. I suppose a sub
+had been having a pleasant strafe thereabouts.
+Just before dark we struck through an oil pool
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span>as big as the Polo Grounds. I guess they’d got
+a tanker there not very long ago. Well, that’s
+our yarn. To say that we were slightly tickled
+when we caught sight of your smoke this morning
+is hardly necessary. But you kept altering your
+course every little while and we were awfully
+afraid you wouldn’t spot us.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did they sink the <i>Arapahoe</i>?” asked Steve.</p>
+
+<p>“I guess so. One of the men said they placed
+time-bombs on her, but I can’t say. I know they
+were still firing at her the last we heard.
+They must have ammunition to burn, those
+chaps.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well, it’s the strangest thing,” said Joe,
+“you fellows turning up like this out in the middle
+of the ocean! I couldn’t believe my eyes when
+I caught sight of Phil coming aboard.”</p>
+
+<p>“Lots of queer things are happening these
+days,” responded Harry philosophically. “Nothing
+surprises me any more. After you’ve woke
+up at four G. M. and found yourself floating out
+of your bunk in the dark, as I did on the old <i>North
+Easton</i>, you—you sort of lose your ability to be
+surprised.”</p>
+
+<p>“Was she torpedoed?” inquired Steve.</p>
+
+<p>“She was. Shut up, Phil. This is my story.
+You’ve done all the talking so far, and now it’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span>my turn. We were off Belle Isle, on our way
+to Nantes with a cargo of supplies for the Engineers:
+knocked-down houses and steam engines
+and a lot of truck. It was fine weather all the
+way, and we had only had about six U-boat scares,
+which was quite peaceful in those days. It was
+July, you know: the fifth, I think. No, the sixth,
+because we’d celebrated the Fourth two days before
+by knocking the tar out of a deck hatch that
+we took for a submarine. Both Phil and I were
+off duty. It was dark, not pitch dark, you know,
+but that sort of—seven-eighths dark that is worse
+to see in. There wasn’t any warning at all, we
+heard afterwards. The first thing anyone knew
+there was a muffled sound alongside, a spout of
+water went up above the deck and that was all.
+Then the pesky thing went off inside us and <em>that</em>
+was some noise. She got us square in the engines
+and there was a fine exhibition of escaping steam
+and water. I did the deck in one and four-fifths
+seconds, closely pursued by Phil and a couple of
+dozen others. The old hooker was already going
+down, stern first, and as there wasn’t a boat
+where there should have been one—the torpedo
+stove in three at once—we took headers into the
+water. My life-belt got down around my legs
+and I nearly drowned before I could pull it off
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span>and put it where it belonged. A lot of us swam
+around and watched the ship sink and waited to
+be picked up by the other transport. There were
+two of us and two destroyers. It was one of the
+destroyers who fished us out, because the transports
+have orders to mind their own business and
+beat it for safety.</p>
+
+<p>“Finally I got into a boat that was bobbing
+around about half-full and we all watched the
+old ship plunge. One thrilling thing was the
+exhibition of climbing and diving given by Neilsen,
+one of our lookouts. Neilsen was in the foremast
+cross-trees when the moldie struck and there
+wasn’t time to climb down. So as the ship sank
+and the bow came up higher and higher Neilsen
+kept on climbing. Finally the ship was standing
+almost straight up, about two-thirds submerged,
+and that foremast was almost parallel with the
+surface. And there was Neilsen, as cool as you
+like, perched on the mast with one hand steadying
+himself on a rope. Just as the water poured
+into the smokestacks Neilsen gathered himself together
+and made as pretty a high dive as I ever
+saw. He had to get distance, too, you see, to
+keep from being dragged under, and he did it.
+Swear to goodness, fellows, he made thirty yards
+straight out and struck the water head-first at
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span>a mile a minute! We got him when he came up
+and pulled him out.”</p>
+
+<p>“And what were you doing, Phil?” Joe asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Just swimming around,” said Phil, smiling
+reminiscently. “The water wasn’t bad. I went
+over on the other side from Harry and swam so
+far off to keep from being drawn under with the
+ship that I had about given up hope of being
+found when someone ran a boat-hook through the
+shoulder of my best pair of pajamas and pulled
+me into a whaleboat.”</p>
+
+<p>“The silly idiot was almost drowned when they
+got him,” said Harry. “Fact is, I thought he
+had been. I went all over the destroyer looking
+for him and couldn’t find him anywhere. They’d
+dumped him down on deck, thinking he was all
+right, and I found him rolling around and trying
+to butt a torpedo tube overboard and oozing salt
+water.”</p>
+
+<p>“Did they find the U-boat?” asked Steve.</p>
+
+<p>“Never even saw it. Did a lot of firing and
+dropped some depth bombs, but there was nothing
+doing. They landed us in Nantes the next
+day—or that day, it was—at noon.”</p>
+
+<p>“Well,” said Joe, “I don’t see but what you
+fellows have seen a bit of life since you joined
+up.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span></p>
+
+<p>“Why, yes, that’s so, Joey. And we expect
+to see more before we’re through, don’t we, Phil?
+Hello, the beggar’s sound asleep! And I’m going
+to be in a minute.”</p>
+
+<p>“Come down and pile into my bunk,” said
+Steve. “We’ll wake Phil and put him into Joe’s.
+Come on, Phil! Wake up! Moldie just blew the
+lid off the coffee-pot and the galley’s awash!”</p>
+
+<p>“Set your sights,” muttered Phil. “Seven
+thousand five hundred yards.... Knots fifty-two....”</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+
+<div class="chapter">
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span></p>
+
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">
+    CHAPTER XXIV
+    <br>
+    <small>THE WARREN DROPS ANCHOR</small>
+  </h2>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> had two days more of sea duty to
+perform, but special orders were caught by the
+radio “sharks” that afternoon and the destroyer
+swung quickly about and stopped loafing. Just
+at twilight a blinker far off to the southeast said
+things and an hour later a second blinker twinkled
+further to the south. When morning came the
+<i>Warren</i> was bucking along through a heavy sea
+in company with two Limie destroyers, black,
+funereal looking sleuths with their funnels set
+at queer intervals along the wet decks as though
+the builder had been undecided until the final
+moment and had then stuck them up haphazard.
+High, stiff bows they had, too, those Britishers,
+but they looked their parts most convincingly.
+All day the trio pegged eastward to some far
+mid-ocean rendezvous, with only one incident to
+disturb the settled monotony of standard speed
+and cards in the tiny room far up in the nose.
+That was when a two-stack sloop, once somebody’s
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span>pet and treasure but now a blackened,
+grimy, dishevelled but still lady-like U-boat
+chaser, came close and signalled, and then, with,
+somehow, the determined air of a school girl bent
+on caramels, streaked off westward just full of
+business.</p>
+
+<p>Two decks down, in that tiny forward compartment,
+they played coon-can to the strains of
+“Spud” Doolan’s harmonica, while Browny gave
+an imitation of Pavlowa on the cocoa matting of
+Number Two gun. And they sang songs that
+were new on Broadway four months back and
+that were by now probably forgotten. And they
+sang newer ballads, too, things evolved in the
+forecastle to the slap of water and the wail of
+wind and the hum of Diesels:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“I want to go back, I want to go back,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">Back where the wind don’t blow,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent1">Where the waves don’t leap and a gob can sleep</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">All night till the roosters crow.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent1">I want to go back! Oh, <em>sure</em>, go back!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">I’m tired of eating foam.</div>
+    <div class="verse indent1">Chasing Huns may be fun, but I’m done, kid, done!</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">And I want to go back, back home!”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span></p>
+
+<p>Or:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“We joined the Limie gobs, we did,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">To battle with the Hun,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent1">And still we’re waiting patiently</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">A Fritz who will not run!”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Or, echo of the Spanish War, this:</p>
+
+<div class="poetry">
+  <div class="stanza">
+    <div class="verse indent0">“Oh, it’s home, boys, home, and it’s home I want to be,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">Home once again in my own countree,</div>
+    <div class="verse indent1">Where the ash and the oak and the bonny willow tree</div>
+    <div class="verse indent3">They all grow together back in North Amerikee!”</div>
+  </div>
+</div>
+
+<p>But it wasn’t all fun and frolic in that forward
+cubby hole, for there was lookout work and a
+dozen other jobs calling at intervals, and there
+were letters to write, too, for if one doesn’t write
+one is likely not to receive, and, when all is said
+and done, it’s the little wrinkled envelope with
+the indistinct American post-mark on it that
+brings the biggest smile to the gob’s face.</p>
+
+<p>Steve did his hour in the foretop and climbed
+down at four, chilled and stiff, and sought Phil
+and Harry who had found bunks and hospitality
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span>with the port mess. But before he had located
+them a hurrying Q.M. passed the word that the
+transports had been sighted and Steve hustled on
+deck again. They didn’t reach the ships until
+sunset and it was almost dark when the commanders
+had finished talking things over and the
+destroyers were in position. The convoy consisted
+this time of but two troop-ships, but they
+were bigger than any Steve had seen so far and
+their decks were massed with troops.</p>
+
+<p>“Them’s the boys can fight,” said a voice at
+his elbow as they raced under the bow of one
+of the monsters. Steve looked a question, and
+Hearn said briefly:</p>
+
+<p>“Canadians.” Then he added, with a chuckle:
+“They say the Kaiser looks under his bed every
+night since the Canucks butted in.”</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren</i> turned to her place to the sound
+of the cheering from the transports and the start
+was made. That evening they guessed Bordeaux
+and Brest and Nantes, but in the morning the
+bulletin told them Plymouth. The usual haze hid
+the ships half the time and made lookout work
+maddeningly uncertain, and to add to the pleasure
+of the occasion a warning came of a U-boat
+in their path a hundred miles ahead. That
+meant a change of course, although the destroyers,
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span>could they have had their way, would not
+have altered their wheels an inch.</p>
+
+<p>It was mid-afternoon of the next day when
+Livingstone, a snub-nosed youth whose round
+cheeks still held the freckles of the hayfield back
+in Vermont, sighted “something.” That’s what
+he reported it, for he had never reported anything
+before except smoke and he couldn’t lay his
+tongue to any word that seemed to fit it. But
+what it was was the last two feet of a submerging
+submarine away off to the east, and the <i>Warren</i>,
+signalling to the others, picked up her skirts and
+lit out with boilers roaring.</p>
+
+<p>It was only the ghost of a chance that she had,
+for it was a thousand to one against that U-boat
+showing her periscope again unless she had
+other U-boats with her. But for once a Fritz
+didn’t run, or, at least, not until too late. A mile
+from her convoys the <i>Warren</i> again saw her.
+This time it was only an innocent looking steel
+tube that broke the sunlit water, but it was
+enough. Quarters had been sounded long ago,
+and, as luck would have it, that periscope had
+been seen the instant it popped its head out, so
+that the forward gun crew had a good seventeen
+seconds to sight and fire. And the first three-inch
+sped true to its mark and away went that
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span>periscope at something over six hundred yards!</p>
+
+<p>Having found the range made the rest easier,
+for Number Two gun elevated her muzzle and
+dropped a shell squarely on top of the submerged
+craft, and Number Four gun followed with a
+second and the U-boat came gently to the surface
+and men piled up through the hatch and opened
+fire with the deck guns. They managed to put
+a shell through the <i>Warren’s</i> second stack before
+Number Two put the submarine’s bow gun out
+of action and cleared away more than half the
+crew on her deck. That ended the affair, for <a href="#i_fp293">an
+officer sprang to the deck with a white flag and
+held it fluttering from outstretched arms</a>, and the
+<i>Warren</i> went mad with joy!</p>
+
+<figure class="figcenter" id="i_fp293">
+  <img src="images/i_fp293.jpg" alt="" title="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p class="noic"><a href="#Page_293">An officer sprang to the deck with a white flag and held it
+    fluttering from outstretched arms</a></p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+<p>Behind, the first of the Limie destroyers was
+ploughing up, but she was too late for anything
+but the cheering. She stopped, panting like an
+exhausted runner, set signals, was answered, and
+swinging off again went back to her duty, a trifle
+envious it is to be supposed.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Warren’s</i> hope of capturing the U-boat
+was short-lived, for by the time the last of the
+crew had reached the deck she was settling fast.
+As quickly as possible the Germans were taken
+off to the destroyer and then Lieutenant Lyke
+and four men pulled across and examined her.
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span>Their report was discouraging and the <i>Warren</i>
+chugged back, dropped a depth-charge gingerly
+into the sea and fled for safety. There was a
+geyser-like upheaval of water and the U-boat
+lifted her stern and went down like a turtle slipping
+from a log. And in the moment that she
+stood up-ended Steve and Harry, standing side
+by side on the <i>Warren’s</i> after deck, read the inscription
+painted there:</p>
+
+<p>“<i>3-U-9</i>”!</p>
+
+<p>“<em>Got him!</em>” cried Harry, and sprang away to
+find Phil.</p>
+
+<p>Later they talked it over below, hearkened to
+by a circle of interested shipmates. They had
+seen the officers and recognised them beyond the
+shadow of a doubt, if the evidence of that
+“<i>3-U-9</i>” was not enough, and Harry had even
+had speech with that “American citizen” who
+had entertained them so affably aboard the submarine.
+What he had said to the German he
+would not relate, however.</p>
+
+<p>“It was enough,” he growled, scowling fiercely.</p>
+
+<p>But Phil laughed softly, and, in response to
+Harry’s frowning regard, said: “’Fess up,
+Harry. You took pity on him and offered him
+a ‘fag.’ Now didn’t you?”</p>
+
+<p>“I did not,” replied Harry with emphasis, but
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span>the disavowal somehow didn’t sound awfully convincing.</p>
+
+<p>“Well, they got theirs,” said Phil, with intense
+satisfaction. “And I hope they’ll hang every
+mother’s son of them. But they won’t,” he
+added dejectedly. “They’ll just put them in a
+nice comfortable internment camp; the officers,
+I mean. The rest will have to work, and I hope
+that ‘American citizen’ has to break stones for
+the duration of the war!”</p>
+
+<p>They were a proud lot aboard the <i>Warren</i> all
+the way in to Plymouth. It is much to sink a
+German U-boat, but it is infinitely more to bring
+off her officers and crew first. It is done so seldom,
+in fact, that there are no prescribed rules
+for behaviour, and the crew of the triumphant
+<i>Warren</i> debated long and seriously how best to
+celebrate the feat on arrival at port.</p>
+
+<p>The news had, of course, preceded them and
+that morning when they passed Rame Head and
+entered Plymouth Sound they found their path
+strewn with congratulations. Hooters and sirens
+greeted them and all the way to anchorage they
+were kept busy replying to messages.</p>
+
+<p>“If,” sighed Joe, “we could only have brought
+the sub in in tow!”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes,” Phil agreed, “that would have been
+<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span>great, but you’re a lot of unspeakable heroes
+already, and if you’d done that there’d have been
+no living with you. Say, look yonder. Isn’t that
+one of our cruisers?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I think so. What’s the name? Can you
+make it out?”</p>
+
+<p>“N-no. It looks like Car—Car—something.
+There’s a T, I think——”</p>
+
+<p>“It’s the <i>Carthage</i>!” cried Joe. “And Han’s
+on her! That’s great, isn’t it? Phil, this is going
+to be some reunion of the Adventure Club!
+You and I and Steve and Harry and now Han.
+Five out of the thirteen of us! Let’s tell Steve.”</p>
+
+<p>“All right. But wait a minute, Joe. I’ve been
+thinking. Do you suppose Harry and I could
+get into this? Into the destroyer service, I
+mean.”</p>
+
+<p>“By Jove! I wish you could! And—and I
+believe you can! Phil, do you know what I think?
+Well, I think that, now that we fellows have got
+together, the old Kaiser hasn’t the ghost of a
+show!”</p>
+
+<p>“He never had,” answered Phil quietly.</p>
+
+<p>With a deafening rattle of chains the <i>Warren</i>,
+momentary hero of the “Suicide Fleet,” dropped
+anchor in the blue waters of Plymouth Harbour.</p>
+
+
+
+
+<hr class="chap">
+<div class="tnote">
+<p class="noi tntitle">Transcriber’s Notes:</p>
+
+<p class="smfont">Printer’s, punctuation, and spelling inaccuracies were silently
+corrected.</p>
+
+<p class="smfont">Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.</p>
+
+<p class="smfont">Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.</p>
+</div>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78754 ***</div>
+</body>
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--- /dev/null
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author	www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org>	2026-05-25 20:12:56 -0700
committer	www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org>	2026-05-25 20:12:56 -0700
commit	796ed346240cab3e892d283fdda07b402dfe807a (patch)
tree	4330025ae3ca0dfa8ced1ff7adbd55e4d62c7f9e /78754-h