Part 2 (1/2)
The fleet was in direct column ahead, or should have been. Some were surely having their troubles staying there. This steaming close behind a s.h.i.+p, with another s.h.i.+p close behind you--and you have to be close up to see from one to the other on such a night--made me think as I stood under the bridge that night: ”Give me all the submarines in the world before this with a fleet that has not had a chance to practise evolutions.”
There was not a steaming light of any kind, not even one shaded little one in the stern, which an enemy might see and, seeing, swing in behind it. Rather than show even the smallest little guiding light, our fellows preferred to steam this way in the night.
The glad morning came, glad for the reason that an almost warm, bright sun came with it. The sun showed three s.h.i.+ps gone from the column. There was more than one of us who wished that we too had gone from the column about six hours ago. We would have slept better. Still, it was a good experience to have--behind you. Wind and sea went down; all hands felt better--especially the lookouts. Those who came down from the crow's nest looked as if the grace of G.o.d had suddenly fallen on them.
By and by we picked up the drifters. They were looking just as hard for us as we were for them; and later that day we ran into our escorts from the other side. Everybody at once felt as if the trip was as good as over. The fact was that the worst part of the war zone was ahead of us.
All hands were still turning in with life-belts handy, and most of them with clothes on, but there was a feeling that now it was up to these new escorts.
Before we reached France on this run we were in a U-boat fight, which I shall tell of later. What I want to say now is that the submarine fight had an enjoyable side to it, but as for that night run of our troop-s.h.i.+ps in gale and sea--a big s.h.i.+p just ahead, a big s.h.i.+p just behind, big high-bowed s.h.i.+ps plunging down at fourteen knots an hour from roaring waters in the dark--there was no fun in that!
Of the scores of devices the fleet used to beat the U-boats on that run across, a man can say nothing here. But to get back: our naval officer stuck to his bridge until one most beautiful morning he took his s.h.i.+p into a most beautiful port on a most beautiful sh.o.r.e. I never before heard anybody so describe that same port, but the general verdict says it did look pretty good.
This story of our troop-s.h.i.+p's run across is given from the view-point of the naval officer in charge. It could just as well have been written from the view-point of the merchant captain or his officers aboard--all on the job; or the chief engineer or his a.s.sistants--all on the job, and who put in more than one hour guessing at what was going on above; or from the view-point of the quartermaster captain, or his clerks, or the oilers, or the firemen, or the water-tenders, or the cooks, or anybody else, high or low, in the s.h.i.+p's regular service.
This transport service is one tough game. It is well enough for us who have but one trip to make. But one trip after another! They had good right to look a bit younger when they made the other side. But before we can win this war we've got to get the million or two or three million men across; and the millions of tons of supplies. Somebody has got to see them across. These men on the troop-s.h.i.+ps are doing it. May nothing happen to them!
THE U-BOATS APPEAR
The soldier lookouts in the forward crow's nest had been especially advised to have an eye out for the convoys which were to pick us up as we neared the other side; and they were very much on the job.
One bright morning came: ”Smoke three points off the port bow.... Smoke broad off the starboard bow.... Smoke dead ahead.... One point off the ... Broad off the ...” and so on. Their excited calls rattled down like rapid fire to the bridge; the thrill in their voices rolled like a wave through the s.h.i.+p. That smoke, incidentally, meant that the strangers, whoever they were, had already identified us and so were not afraid to let us see them.
Everybody that was not already on deck came running up to have a look for himself. It was our escort. Darting across our bows they came--low-riding, slim, gray bodies. The ranking one reported to our flag-s.h.i.+p; and all, without any fuss or extra foam, took position and went to work as though they had been there for weeks. And as they did our big war-s.h.i.+p and the little ones which had come across with her wheeled about and went off. There was no ceremonious leave-taking. They simply turned on their heels and flew. They might as well have said: ”We are glad to have met you and been with you, but we can do no more for you, so good-by and good luck; we're going back home as fast as we can get there.”
A soldier watched them going and said: ”The night before we left home I went to a show, and a fellow sang: 'Good-by, Broadway! h.e.l.lo, France!' I thought it was great. I know what they're saying aboard those s.h.i.+ps there now. 'h.e.l.lo, Broadway! Good-by, France!' is what they're saying.
And I betcher it'll be a straight line with no time wasted zigzagging for them on the way back!”
He had it about right. They carried the most eloquent sterns that any of us had seen on s.h.i.+ps for a long time. The big one in the middle, the others like chickens under either wing--away they went, belting it for about sixteen knots good. In one half-hour all we could see of them was a cloud of smoke to the west'ard. Just how far off the French coast we were at this time does not matter here, or from what direction we were approaching; but we were far enough off for that group of destroyers to show how they went about their work of guarding the troop-s.h.i.+ps. To comb the sea about us was their mission; and they were attending to it every minute. The fleet steamed on.
We proceeded under advices not to fall asleep with too much clothes on, and never to get too far away from our life-belts. It may have been true that some men slept with their life-belts on, but it is probably not true that one man took his to the bathroom with him--not true because about the time we got that far along the steward refused to prepare any more baths. He had enough on his mind, he said, without fussing with baths.
There was one place we looked forward to pa.s.sing with lively feelings.
We may not name the place here, but here is how it was described: ”Ever been to that big aquarium in Naples? Yes? Well, remember those devil-fish hiding behind the rock on the bottom? Along comes an innocent young fish who is a stranger to those waters. Mr. Devilfish, hiding behind, has a peek at it coming. He waits. Mr. Young Fish drifts by his hiding-place, and then--Good night, young fis.h.i.+e.”
That kind of talk in the watches of the night sounded like lively action before us. We waited for--call it the Devilfish's Cave--and waited; and the first thing we knew when we came to inquire further about it, we were safely past it, with never a sign of any devil-fish, unless it would be the one torpedo which went by the bow of one of us from some distance one noontime. Some distance it must have been because it was a clear day with a smooth sea, and under such weather conditions, with the hundreds of wide-awake lookouts in the fleet, no U-boat could have put up a periscope within any near distance and not be seen by somebody. As for long-distance shots from submarines--there is small need to worry about them. Subs like to get within a thousand yards or less. Those three and four mile shots--it is like trying to hit a sea-gull with a rifle. Amateurs try that kind of shooting, but the professional, who has to reckon the cost of powder and shot, lets it pa.s.s. Not that the Germans are sparing of the cost of war, but a sub which has to make a voyage of three thousand miles to take on a fresh load of torpedoes is not firing too many for the mere practice.
We drew near the coast of France, and still nothing had happened. We were getting hails, of course, from the lookouts. There was one who called it a dull watch when he did not see at least one periscope. He had never seen a periscope in his life, but he had read about periscopes.
One night just at dark he stood us all on our heads by reporting one just alongside. We all got a flash at it then, an ominous object, bobbing under our port quarter, and then it went down into our wake. It bobbed up again, and we all had another look. It was a beer-keg. The s.h.i.+p's first officer, the one who had a gold medal as big as a saucer for saving life at sea, eyed the keg, and then he eyed the lookout, saying: ”An empty one too! If you'd only report a full one, we might gaff it aboard.”
When that same first officer was one day asked if he intended taking his big medal with him in case we had to take to the boats, he replied: ”With twenty-eight persons in the boat! Good Lord, don't you think she'll be carrying enough freight?”
We steamed along, dark night astern this time and the white morning above our bow. The bridge--three naval and two s.h.i.+p's officers--had for some time been using the gla.s.ses. From aloft forward came the sudden yell: ”Land ho!”
The bridge nodded that it heard. ”Land ho!” repeated the lookout stentoriously. ”Two points off the port bow,” and then, peering doubtfully down at the bridge: ”Am I right?”
”You are,” said the bridge sweetly; ”we've been looking at it for half an hour.” Which was rather rough, for to sh.o.r.e-going eyes land does at first look like a low cloud on the horizon and, naturally, a fellow wants to make sure.
Pretty soon we could most of us see it from the deck, and it did look good. I once saw the flat, bleak Atlantic coast of Patagonia after ten days at sea, and the high iron wintry coast of Newfoundland after another period at sea, and I clearly recall that even they both looked like fine countries. And the coast of France was neither bleak nor icy, so you may guess that it was a pleasing sight on this summer morning. It was a dream of a day, the sea like a green-tinted mirror, the sky blue as paint, and the softest little breath of air floating off the land to us. We were perhaps ten miles offsh.o.r.e.