FRANCE AT LAST
From that moment the watch on each vessel in the fleet was redoubled,
and there was constant speculation, especially among the soldiers, as to
whether another submarine would be sighted, and, if so, under what
circumstances.
They had now abandoned the zig-zagging course and were taking a direct
route around the north of Ireland and toward the North Channel.
On the following morning two additional destroyers bore down upon them
from opposite points off the bow almost simultaneously, and as they came
both code-telegraphed their identity. With these extra convoys it seemed
indeed unlikely that a submarine would get near them, or, if it did,
would attempt to do other than make its own safe escape.
Fair Head, at the northeast corner of Ireland, gave them their first
sight of land since they had left the shores of America; and for many of
them this first glimpse of Erin's Isle brought with it the sentimental
thrill of seeing the country where their parents had been born and spent
their youth--for there was many a lad of Irish ancestry aboard the
_Everett_.
Rounding Fair Head without mishap or contact with a submarine, the
danger from that source was practically over. The convoy was reduced to
a cruiser and destroyer, and thus they laid a southeasterly course to
what your old-time sailor would have described as "a piping breeze."
They flanked the Isle of Man off its westward coast, and thence sped
directly across the Irish Sea and into the harbor of Liverpool.
Their arrival was unannounced. It was only one of many, and a thing to
which the people of that and other cities of England and France had
become quite accustomed. Nevertheless they welcomed the hosts of Uncle
Sam in the warmest manner, and in every possible way showed the deep
sense of appreciation and feeling of increased safety with which they
viewed the arrival of more and more thousands of American troops in
their land, on their way to the trenches of France to help conquer the
common enemy.
But there was not much time to be spent in Liverpool. Indeed, they had
scarcely become accustomed to feeling their feet on solid ground again
before the order to march was given, and they left the river front to go
to the railroad station.
There they received a plain but substantial meal, were inspected and
admired by their British cousins, and then boarded the long troop train
that already awaited them.
"Take your seats, Yankees!" shouted the bearded conductor jovially, and
the boys piled in.
The details of that ride through England the boys from Brighton never
will forget, although it was a long and tiring trip from Liverpool all
the way to Dover, on the channel which separates England from the
mainland of Europe.
They crossed fair fields and beautiful streams that reminded them of
their own native land, and came within view of giant ancient forests.
They passed through cities and towns and again came out into the open
country.
Occasionally there were stops, when the soldiers were allowed to leave
the train "to give their legs a stretch." At such times they were
greeted affectionately on all sides by the men and women of England.
"Hi say, Slim, old top," Jerry imitated good-naturedly as they boarded
the train again after one of these delays. "Hi say, did you 'ear that
'andsome little Hinglisher out there say as 'ow 'ealthy you looked?"
"Did 'e?" asked Slim, grinning.
"'E did," answered Jerry. And then, winking to Joe. "But 'e added, old
top, that 'e thought you looked a trifle 'eavy."
Only the sudden jolt of the starting train saved Jerry from the wallop
that Slim directed at him; and had it landed, Jerry doubtless would have
found it "a trifle 'eavy," also.
There was a general laugh from the others in the car, for all three of
the boys from Brighton had become immensely popular with their
companions in arms, all of whom by this time had become well accustomed
to this sort of gentle fun between the red-headed Jerry and "the
'ealthy, 'eavy lad" called Slim.
When they had been riding for another hour they came upon one of those
vast English concentration camps where thousands of young Britons were
being trained and equipped for war.
As the train slowly, very slowly, passed around the outer edge of this
camp, England saluted America, and America saluted England through
their fearless young warriors. The young Britons shouted, waved flags,
threw their hats into the air and sang. And the Americans, hanging from
the car windows, and crowded out upon the platforms and steps, returned
the demonstration with something for good measure.
From this point forward the journey constantly was punctuated by scenes
and incidents significant of war. Here was an ambulance and Red Cross
unit mobilizing for removal to the very heart of smoke and battle and
bloodshed; there stood a row of houses whose battered roofs and
tottering walls testified to a ruthless aerial night raid of the
Germans.
It fired the blood of the Americans as they were reminded that these
meagre evidences of Boche barbarity were as nothing compared to the
deliberate and vicious ruin wrought in Belgium and northern France.
Dover at last--the channel port which marked the beginning of the last
lap of their journey to France! The boys hardly could wait until the
train came to a stop, to get a glimpse of the water, across which lay
the scene of the bloodiest war in all history--a war in which they were
to take an important part.
"They say this channel is awfully choppy," said Slim apprehensively, as
they left the car. "Do you think, Jerry, that we're likely to get
seasick again?"
"Don't know," responded Jerry, also somewhat dubiously, "but there's one
consolation about it--it's only a short trip."
Never had the three boys from Brighton anticipated such co-ordinated
efficiency in the workings of a war machine. They had expected long
delays, frequent disappointments and protracted periods of training
before they should reach the front-line trenches.
Instead, they experienced consistent progress, many pleasant surprises
and few disappointments; and now, upon reaching Dover, they soon learned
that if it was at all possible they would board a transport that same
night for the French side of the channel.
From the train they were marched to a great cantonment on the edge of
the city. The procession there was like a triumphant march, with throngs
lined along the streets to cheer them as they passed.
For more than a year before, enemy propaganda in the United States had
constantly preached that England was weary of the war. This did not look
like it. The very atmosphere breathed the spirit of "carry on," of
renewed determination to fight to a finish.
Amid such a spirit the Brighton boys reached the cantonment and after a
hasty roll-call sat down to what they one and all pronounced a "fine
feed."
They rested for several hours and then were again ordered to fall in.
The march was begun to the docks, where three steamers to be used as
transports were being loaded with provisions and ammunition.
Together with other American troops which had been awaiting their
arrival, they went aboard the transports, but it was not till long after
midnight that they were under way.
Not a light was permitted on board. Not even the officers were allowed
to strike a match or to smoke. No unnecessary noises were permitted, and
the whole proceeding spoke of the secrecy of war work and the danger of
revealing their plans or their whereabouts to any prowling enemy.
With the dawn, scores of the men were on deck, including Joe, Jerry and
Slim--and they were well within sight of land. Preparations already
were being made for their landing, and a great excitement prevailed on
each of the ships. Their long-held hopes were coming to fruition.
France at last!