THE NIGHT ATTACK
Instantly Ned and Bob turned to look in the direction indicated by
Jerry. Both the tall lad’s chums saw the individual referred to as “_le
cochon_.”
“It’s him all right!” asserted Bob, with complete disregard for the
rules of grammar.
“But what’s he doing here?” demanded Ned.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Jerry in a low voice. “It can’t be
that he feels so indignant at us for having honestly mistaken him for
Professor Snodgrass that he has followed us here.”
“If he has,” voiced Ned, “he’ll find we have our gang with us, and he’d
better watch his step!”
“We’ll take no more of his insults,” declared Bob. “I’ve a good notion
to go up to him now and ask him what his game is.”
“No, don’t!” interposed Jerry, as his stout chum seemed about to put
this into execution. “Let’s lay low for a while, and see what we can
find out. No use starting anything. We’ve had trouble enough already.”
“Exactly,” chimed in Ned. “There’s been enough of a hoodoo about this
homeward trip. Let’s get out to sea before we tackle _le cochon_. Then
he can’t dodge us by getting off and walking ashore.”
“He’s going below, anyhow,” remarked Jerry, as they saw the little man
descending a companionway. “He must feel at home. I didn’t know they
allowed any civilians to travel on the troopships.”
“They’ve made an exception in his case,” decided Jerry. “Well, it is
queer, and I’d like to know what it all means. This man is an American,
by his talk, but he isn’t at all like our dear old professor, no matter
how much he looks like him from the rear.”
“I’d like to see the professor once more,” said Ned.
“Same here,” agreed Bob. “Well, we’ll see him, I suppose, when we get
back home. Gee! After what we’ve gone through it hardly seems as if
there is any such a place.”
“You said a mouthful, buddy!” exclaimed a tall soldier who wore the
_croix de guerre_. “I’d rather see my back yard with the sunflowers and
the hollyhocks in it than all the gardens of the too-de-loories over
here.”
The _Sherman_ was now again rapidly leaving the harbor of Brest and
making her way toward the open sea.
“There isn’t going to be much of a joy-ride about this,” observed Ned,
as he and his chums found their sleeping quarters and stowed away their
few belongings.
“No; it’s too crowded,” decided Bob. “There isn’t much more elbow room
than we had in the trenches.”
“Trenches!” exclaimed Jerry. “Don’t name ’em!”
Any one who heard, saw, or had any experience in connection with
the return of the first of our fighting forces back to their homes
need not be told that the transports were no place for a comfortable
voyage. While everything possible was done to insure the comfort of the
soldiers, the first requisite was to bring back as many as possible
in the shortest possible time, and also transport as many casualties
as could safely and comfortably be accommodated. The recovered, or
partly recovered, wounded were the first consideration, and none of
the soldiers who were comparatively well and strong, even though some
of them had been in hospitals, begrudged an inch of space that went
to make life easier for those who had lost an arm, a leg, who were
suffering from the effects of gas or shell shock, or who were among
the most terribly afflicted--some being blinded.
So, as Bob said, the transport was no place for joy-riding. There was
such a crowd that the soldiers had to stand up to eat, many of them,
and they were glad of a place to sleep. They could not move around much
on the boat, big as it was.
“Now we’re really on our way at last!” exclaimed Bob to his chums. “And
do you know what I think will be the best thing to do?”
“I can make a pretty good guess,” laughed Ned. “It has something to do
with eating, hasn’t it?”
“Don’t get fresh,” advised the stout lad. “You may be thankful to me,
later, for suggesting this.”
“What were you going to say, Chunky?” asked Jerry. “Go on, tell me!
Don’t mind the shrimp!”
“Well, I was going to say it would be a good thing if we located
the place at the lunch counter where we’ll be handed our rations,”
suggested Bob. “They’ll be giving the mess call soon, and if we know
where to fall in, and the shortest route to the dining car, so much the
better.”
“Not such a bad suggestion at that,” commented Jerry. “We’ll do it, old
top!”
“Yes, you said something--for once,” conceded Ned.
Accordingly, led by Bob, who might perhaps qualify as an expert in the
matter of eating, the three lads asked their way about the troopship
until they found where their particular company would be fed, and at
about what time.
“About an hour more!” sighed Bob, as he looked at his wrist watch.
“Listen to him!” cried Ned. “And it’s only a little while ago that _la
belle Marie_ was feeding him!”
“It’s the sea air!” confessed Bob. “It always did make me hungry!”
There was not a great deal to do on board the _Sherman_--at least
during the first day of the homeward-bound voyage. The soldiers stood
about on deck, or sought such sheltered places as they could find, and
smoked, played cards, talked or read. Later on some entertainments
might be gotten up, it was said. But the wounded required the attention
of the nurses and the doctors, and the well and strong were well able
to shift for themselves.
Bob’s wisdom in finding out in advance where they were to assemble at
mess call proved to be a commendable bit of forethought. For while some
of the soldiers hurried here and there in what approached confusion,
the three chums got in line, and with a few other knowing ones were
among the first to be fed.
“Chunky, we’ve got to hand it to you!” complimented Jerry, as he
cleaned his plate. “You sure are one good little feeder.”
“And I take back all I said,” added Ned. “You may come to my party,
Bob, when I have it.”
“Thanks!” murmured the stout one, smiling between bites.
After the dinner mess there was nothing to do until the middle of the
afternoon, when word went around that there was to be boat drill. That
is, each man was to be told where his station was, and what boat he was
to try to get into in case of danger. This program held for two days of
ocean travel, until some began to complain of too many boat drills.
But, in spite of the fact that the war was over, there was a chance
that a floating mine might be struck.
Following the short boat drill, Ned, Bob, and Jerry came back to a
comfortable place they had preempted on the after deck, and they were
sitting there talking when Bob nudged Jerry, who was nearest him, and
whispered:
“There he is again!”
“Who?” asked the tall lad.
“The pepper-pot,” was the answer. “_Le cochon!_”
As he spoke he nodded toward a secluded and shadowed corner. There,
staring at the three boys, they could make out the little bald-headed
man of the restaurant. He was peering at them through his spectacles
over the top of what to the boys seemed to be a pamphlet and which he
was holding just below the level of his eyes.
“Well, he’ll know us again, anyhow,” mused Jerry. And then, as if
conscious that he was under observation and had been detected in spy
work, the peculiar individual hastily turned and went below.
“I’d like to know what his game is!” exclaimed Ned.
“So would I!” agreed Jerry.
“We’ll have to keep watch,” said Bob. “He seems to have it in for us.”
“Let’s see if we can find out something about him,” suggested Ned. “We
can ask some of our officers, and, if they don’t know, maybe they can
find out from the ship’s captain. It may be this fellow is a German
spy, or at least a Hun sympathizer, who would like to play some mean
trick on those who put the ‘Fatherland’ on the blink.”
“Yes, let’s see if we can get a line on him,” agreed Bob.
Jerry was about to assent to this when the three chums were approached
by a group of their comrades who wanted them to join a party that was
going to call on some of the wounded who were below decks. This was
done, and, for the time being, the queer little bald-headed man was
forgotten.
Indeed the minds of the Motor Boys did not revert to him until late
that night when they were turning in, and then Jerry said:
“We’ll make some inquiries in the morning.”
The boys were tired enough to sleep soundly, even though their beds
were not as comfortable as those oftentimes they had stretched out on
when in some camp. But they were too happy over going home to find
fault, and soon all were asleep, as were hundreds all around them.
It was shortly after midnight, Jerry declared later, stating that he
had glanced at his radium-faced wrist watch, when the midnight attack
took place. And it was made on Bob. He was sleeping between Ned and
Jerry, and they were awakened by hearing the stout lad yell.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Jerry, suddenly awakening and
instinctively glancing at his watch. “What is it, Bob?”
“I’ve got him! I’ve got him!” cried a voice savagely, and the tones
were not those of Chunky. Then followed the sound of a struggle.