Chapter XI: The Armada

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 _Warren_ 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 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 _Warren_ 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 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.

“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!”

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 _Warren_ turned on her heel with a smartness and precision that brought a gleam of gratification to 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.”

“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?”

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?”

“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?”

“Yes. How many soldiers are there there, do you suppose?”

“About a million, I’d say! They’re regulars, aren’t they?”

“Yes. That ship over yonder, though, is filled with marines. I noticed as we passed her.”

“Good old Billy Blues,” murmured Joe. “How’s the song go?

“‘If the Army or the Navy ever visit Heaven’s scenes,
They will find the streets are guarded by United States Marines!’”

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:

“There’s a lot of those guys will never be sailin’ back again, fellows.”

“That’s right,” someone agreed, “but you can say the same of us, I’m thinking.”

“’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.”

“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?”

“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!”

“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!”

“That’s no dream,” agreed someone. “Here’s to ’em!” And he drained his coffee.

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.

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 colour. From the _Warren_ 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.

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!

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 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.

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 _Warren_, 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 _Warren’s_ 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 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.