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diff --git a/78754-h/78754-h.htm b/78754-h/78754-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a26b976 --- /dev/null +++ b/78754-h/78754-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9615 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta name="format-detection" content="telephone=no,date=no,address=no,email=no,url=no"> + + <title> + The Adventure Club With the Fleet | Project Gutenberg + </title> + + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + + <style> + +/* DACSoft styles */ + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +/* General headers */ +h1 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +/* Chapter headers */ +h2 { + text-align: center; + font-weight: bold; + margin: .75em 0; +} + +div.chapter { + page-break-before: always; +} + +.nobreak { + page-break-before: avoid; +} + +/* Indented paragraph */ +p { + margin-top: .51em; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-align: justify; 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+} + +/* Images */ +img { + max-width: 100%; /* no image to be wider than screen or containing div */ + height:auto; /* keep height in proportion to width */ +} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowe6 {width: 6em;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 90%; /* div no wider than screen, even when screen is narrow */ +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poetry { + display: block; + text-align: left; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} + +.poetry .verse { + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {padding-left: 3em;} +.poetry .indent1 {padding-left: 3.5em;} +.poetry .indent2 {padding-left: 4em;} +.poetry .indent3 {padding-left: 4.5em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.tnote { + background-color: #E6E6FA; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + padding: 0.5em; +} + +.tntitle { + font-size: 1.25em; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +/* Title page borders and content. */ +.title { + font-size: 1.75em; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.halftitle { + font-size: 1.5em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.author { + font-size: 1.25em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +.works { + font-size: .75em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +/* Advertisement formatting. */ +.adauthor { + font-size: 1.25em; + text-align: center; + clear: both; +} + +/* Hanging indent. */ +.hang { + text-indent: -2em; + padding-left: 3em; +} + + </style> +</head> + + +<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"> </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"> </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> +</html> + diff --git a/78754-h/images/cover.jpg b/78754-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..699faf6 --- /dev/null +++ b/78754-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78754-h/images/i_fp118.jpg b/78754-h/images/i_fp118.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..58e2530 --- /dev/null +++ b/78754-h/images/i_fp118.jpg diff --git a/78754-h/images/i_fp180.jpg b/78754-h/images/i_fp180.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8fc6936 --- /dev/null +++ b/78754-h/images/i_fp180.jpg diff --git a/78754-h/images/i_fp293.jpg b/78754-h/images/i_fp293.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2d57862 --- /dev/null +++ b/78754-h/images/i_fp293.jpg diff --git a/78754-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg b/78754-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..01e29dd --- /dev/null +++ b/78754-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg diff --git a/78754-h/images/logo.jpg b/78754-h/images/logo.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4a8e464 --- /dev/null +++ b/78754-h/images/logo.jpg |
