Chapter IV: Land Ho!

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 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.

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 match. Some said she was the _Montana_, 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!

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 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 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.

“We’re not supposed to tell,” he had replied, “but if you won’t let it go any further――――”

Steve had promised.

“Well, then, we’re going――――” the Q.M. looked cautiously around the crowded car――“to an Atlantic port!”

After that Steve gave it up and joined with the others in singing “Where Do We Go From Here?”

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, 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!

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.

“We’re getting into the U-boat zone, they say,” announced Steve, “and tonight we’ve all got to sleep in life-preservers. What do you know about that?”

“I’ll bet they’ll be mighty uncomfortable,” commented Joe. “How long do we stay in the zone?”

“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.”

“I know if it’s so,” replied Joe pessimistically. “It isn’t!”

“How do you know?”

“Common sense, Steve. We _thought_ we were going to Boston when we started from Newport and we went to Halifax. If we _think_ we’re going to Bordeaux we’re certain sure to bring up at――at Liverpool, or any place we don’t expect.”

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“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!”

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.

“Safety first!” murmured Steve. “Looks like business, what?”

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 morning when we have our next boat drill I’ll be the first one at station!”

Steve laughed. “Good thing we didn’t have to abandon ship yesterday, eh? What would you have done, Joe?”

“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!”

“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!’”

“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?”

“Oh, you get over it pretty soon,” answered Steve, comfortingly. “Remember how jolly sick you were on the _Adventurer_ 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, because I’m plaguey sure I’ll have to have mine before I’m through.”

“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!”

“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?”

“Better than Newport,” said Joe. “We’ll be around where things are doing, anyway. Say, isn’t it ’most dinner time?”

“Pretty near.” Steve grinned. “You must be feeling better, old scout.”

“I’m mighty hungry, if that means anything. Let’s go down and be on hand, eh?”

“All right. We haven’t had our French lesson yet. Maybe there’ll be time for it. Come on.”

“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 _une table_ and _une plat_ and _une tasse_, and I know that a newspaper’s a _journeaux_――no, that’s two newspapers. Well, anyway, I know enough French to get along with.”

“Never mind how much you know,” replied Steve sternly. “You get your little book and behave yourself.”

“Some day,” murmured Joe, “that little book――I mean _petite livre_ is going to accidentally fall overboard into _le mer_, which will be _tres beau_!”

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, after all, one did feel a certain sense of security that almost atoned for the discomfort.

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!”

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!”

There was a wild rush from below as the message went around that the British convoy was 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.

“They’re going back home, Steve,” he murmured.

“Yes, the poor things! It’s hard luck, isn’t it?”

“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!”

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.

Fair weather carried them through another day 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.

“Land ho!” was the cry that came down from aloft. “Land ho, sir! Two points off the starboard bow!”

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:

“_England!_”

A few hours later the transport dropped her anchors in Plymouth harbour.