[Illustration: “WHALES!” SHOUTED JERRY, “WE’RE IN THE MIDST OF A SCHOOL
OF WHALES!”]
THE MOTOR BOYS
BOUND FOR HOME
OR
Ned, Bob and Jerry on the
Wrecked Troopship
BY
CLARENCE YOUNG
AUTHOR OF “THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES,” “THE JACK
RANGER SERIES,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
BOOKS BY CLARENCE YOUNG
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Colored Jacket.
=THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES=
THE MOTOR BOYS
THE MOTOR BOYS OVERLAND
THE MOTOR BOYS IN MEXICO
THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS
THE MOTOR BOYS AFLOAT
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE ATLANTIC
THE MOTOR BOYS IN STRANGE WATERS
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE PACIFIC
THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE CLOUDS
THE MOTOR BOYS OVER THE ROCKIES
THE MOTOR BOYS OVER THE OCEAN
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE WING
THE MOTOR BOYS AFTER A FORTUNE
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE BORDER
THE MOTOR BOYS UNDER THE SEA
THE MOTOR BOYS ON ROAD AND RIVER
THE MOTOR BOYS AT BOXWOOD HALL
THE MOTOR BOYS ON A RANCH
THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE ARMY
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE FIRING LINE
THE MOTOR BOYS BOUND FOR HOME
=THE JACK RANGER SERIES=
JACK RANGER’S SCHOOLDAYS
JACK RANGER’S WESTERN TRIP
JACK RANGER’S SCHOOL VICTORIES
JACK RANGER’S OCEAN CRUISE
JACK RANGER’S GUN CLUB
JACK RANGER’S TREASURE BOX
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
=The Motor Boys Bound for Home=
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I TURNING BACK 1
II SUSPICIONS 9
III THE LITTLE MAN 18
IV OFF AGAIN 26
V THE NIGHT ATTACK 37
VI A STRANGE ENCOUNTER 45
VII A MIDNIGHT BLAST 52
VIII DISABLED 60
IX THE MYSTERIOUS CABIN 68
X CALLING IN VAIN 76
XI DRIFTING 83
XII THROUGH THE OPEN DOOR 91
XIII A WELL-KNOWN VOICE 101
XIV THE FOG 109
XV THE CRASH 117
XVI A WAIF OF THE SEA 125
XVII NED WONDERS 133
XVIII A QUEER CRAFT 140
XIX A LONE NAVIGATOR 149
XX THREE ON A RAFT 156
XXI REUNITED 165
XXII NED AND PEPPER-POT 175
XXIII MAKING THE BEST OF IT 181
XXIV NED LEARNS SOMETHING 189
XXV THE BOW GUN 198
XXVI LEAKING 208
XXVII THE WIRELESS 214
XXVIII THE SEARCH 222
XXIX “DERELICT AHOY!” 232
XXX ALL’S WELL--CONCLUSION 237
THE MOTOR BOYS,
NED, BOB AND JERRY
BOUND FOR HOME
CHAPTER I
TURNING BACK
Slowly and ponderously the United States transport, _Sherman_, moved
out of the maze of boats that had clustered about her at the Brest
dock. With ever-gathering speed she thrust her prow into the rippling
water, leaving behind, on the wharf, cheering hundreds of Uncle Sam’s
boys who envied the lot of their fellows in thus sailing for home after
the Great War. Mingled with the resonant voices of the Americans were
the shriller notes of their French comrades, who were bidding God-speed
to their allied comrades.
“Well, we’re really off at last,” remarked a tall, bronzed youth,
speaking to some of his chums who leaned over the rail with him, waving
to friends on the wharf.
“Yes, Jerry,” remarked a rather stout khaki-clad soldier lad, “off at
last. And now that the captain can dispense with my valuable services
in warping the ship away from the dock--I believe warping is the proper
word--I’m going to look----”
“For the kitchen!” interrupted a third member of the little group
clustered about the lad called Jerry, who wore on his coat the D. S. C.
of valor. “Isn’t that what you were going to say, Bob?”
“What’s that about a kitchen?” asked the youth called Jerry.
“Oh, Bob is up to his old tricks,” remarked the soldier who had
interrupted his friend’s facetious words.
“Perhaps I may be, Ned,” came in reply from the stout one; “but I know
enough not to call the place on board a ship where food is prepared a
‘kitchen.’ Why don’t you say galley, you land-lubber?” and with this
parting shot Bob Baker, winking one eye at his tall friend, Jerry
Hopkins, strolled aft.
He was soon lost in the throng of soldiers which crowded every
available part of the transport, and Ned and Jerry, retaining their
places by the rail, looked down at the water of the harbor which they
were leaving behind. This was one of the first transports to depart
for the United States after the terrible conflict, and in addition to
taking home a number of unwounded men, it also carried many casual
cases.
Among the former were many friends and comrades of Jerry Hopkins, Ned
Slade, and Bob Baker, three chums known to many of my readers as the
“Motor Boys,” of whom more will later be told.
“Yes, we’re on our way,” remarked Ned to Jerry, as the two stood
somewhat apart for the moment, their friends at the rail having moved
to one side. “We’re on our way, and Bob hasn’t lost much time in
starting his favorite indoor sport.”
“Well, I don’t know that I blame him,” announced Jerry. “The eating
problem has been a hard one for all of us since this war started, and
there’s such a crowd on board that it isn’t likely to be an easy matter
to get a feed now. Bob always was one who believed in safety first,
when it comes to his stomach.”
“You’re right!” assented Ned. “But there’s one thing about him: He
isn’t mean, and if he finds a way to get an extra supply of grub he’ll
share it with us.”
“You said a mouthful!” agreed Jerry.
For several moments they stood looking at the gradually disappearing
reminders of the late conflict--the docks and the buildings at the
Brest camp, in France, where they had spent some days in waiting for
transportation back to the United States. Then Ned turned to look over
the seething deck.
“This is some crowd!” murmured Ned. “I hope Bob doesn’t get lost in it.”
“Especially if he does manage to find the galley, and can bribe or
intimidate one of the cooks into slipping him something on the side,”
added Jerry. “In that case I hope Bob’s memory carries him back to us,
for, to tell you the truth, I’m hungry.”
“So’m I,” admitted Ned; “though I did pull a raw one on Chunky. But I
guess we ought to consider ourselves lucky to be on board.”
“You said it!” declared Jerry. “There’s a lot of the boys who would
give up a wound stripe for the sake of going back on one of these early
boats. Now that the war is practically over, there’s going to be a big
slump in the enthusiasm that kept us going when nothing else would have
done it. Yes, we’re dead lucky to be going back.”
And so, amid the whistle salutes of other craft, the waving of hands
and the tossing of hats and caps from unknown well-wishers, the
_Sherman_ kept on her way.
Out toward the west she headed, out toward the land of the Stars and
Stripes, and deep in their hearts Ned, Bob, and Jerry were thankful for
the Providence that had picked them as among the first to go back home
after the fighting was over.
They had covered themselves with glory, for in addition to the D. S. C.
bestowed on Jerry Hopkins, Ned and Bob had received honorable mention,
and their company was one picked out for signal honor, the three boys
sharing in the general praise.
“I wonder how things are going back in Cresville,” mused Ned, after a
period of silence on the part of himself and Jerry.
“That’s queer! I was just thinking that same thing myself,” the taller
lad exclaimed. “It will seem mighty quiet after the hail-storms we’ve
been through.”
“Hail-storms is right,” agreed Ned Slade. “But it can’t be too quiet
for me. All I want to do is to sit under a tree back of the house,
with plenty of books and magazines to read, clean clothes--real clean
clothes--to wear, a bath-tub where I know where it is, and----”
“Something to eat!” interrupted a voice behind him, and, turning, Ned
and Jerry beheld their stout chum, Bob Baker, who smilingly held out
some sandwiches.
“Running true to form,” murmured Ned, as he accepted one, and also a
bit of chocolate candy his friend extended. “How’d you manage to do it,
Bob?”
“Oh, my hypnotic eye. Just told one of the cooks I had to have
something if they didn’t want the captain to read the service for
burial at sea. And the cook allowed he didn’t want that to happen
so soon after we’d got started. This is the result,” and Bob began
munching on his share of the auxiliary rations, an example followed by
Ned and Jerry.
“Am I right?” mumbled Bob, between bites.
“Right-O, Chunky!” murmured Jerry. “This touches the right spot.”
“Do you accept my amendment regarding the necessities you require on
reaching home, Ned?” asked Bob, after a period of eloquent silence.
“Amendment accepted, all in favor say ‘aye!’” exclaimed Ned, adding, a
moment later: “The ayes have it!”
“Didn’t see anything of Professor Snodgrass, did you?” asked Jerry of
his chums, as they disposed of the last of the sandwiches and chocolate
Bob had procured in some mysterious way.
“No,” answered Ned. “The last I saw of him was when he had seen to it
that Gladys Petersen and Dorothy Gibbs were safely on their way home
and he was packing up his pictures and specimens of bugs and things to
ship to the college.”
“He said he might possibly join us on this transport,” said Bob. “And
he may be here, for all we know. Looks as if everybody I ever met in
France is on board.”
“Not that pretty little girl with the black hair and brown eyes you
were so fond of in the restaurant--she isn’t here, is she?” asked Jerry.
“Oh, cut it out!” growled Bob. “You know what I mean.”
“But did she know what _you_ meant?” asked Ned pointedly. “You know you
never could get the hang of the French words, and she used to rip them
out like a drygoods clerk tearing off a yard of muslin.”
“Say, if you fellows think I’m going to rustle grub for you, and then
have you insult me, you’ve got another guess and a half coming!” cried
Bob hotly--so hotly, in fact, that Jerry quickly interposed.
“That’s all right, Bob,” he said quietly, laying a cautioning hand on
Ned’s shoulder. “We two were just as fond of Marie as you were, only
she seemed to take more of a notion to you than she did to us.”
This admission apparently brightened Bob visibly, and his anger slowly
died away.
“And, going back to the original subject,” said Ned, “did either of you
see the professor?”
They had not, they admitted.
“Well, we’re not likely to hear from him until we get across, then,”
decided Bob.
But it was not to be long before his words were disproved.
Gathering speed, the transport moved ahead, and the craft was
approaching the open sea, leaving behind, in a misty haze, the camp at
Brest, when without warning she suddenly slowed up, not gradually, as
if making a regular stop, but with a jar and a shudder that seemed to
go through her whole structure.
“What’s that?” cried Bob, as he and his chums felt the tremors and the
vibration.
“Something’s wrong!” said Ned in a low voice.
“Could we have struck a mine?” asked Bob in a half whisper, as though
he feared to start a panic. “It couldn’t be a sub, could it? I
thought----”
He did not finish the sentence, for in the midst of it the vessel
started on again; but, to the surprise of all, she began turning slowly
back toward the port she had so recently left.