It was nearing the dawn, and flaming heralds gave promise of a
brilliant day coming up out of France to the east. Three of us stood
in the "crow's-nest" on an American transport, where we had been
standing our "watch" since four o'clock that morning.
Suddenly as we peered through our glasses off to the west we saw the
masts of a great cruiser creeping above the horizon of the sea. We
reported it to the "bridge," where it was confirmed. Then in a few
minutes we saw another mast, and then another, and another; four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine, ten, twenty--five, six--twenty-six ships
coming up over the western horizon, bound for France, bearing the most
precious burden that ever a caravan of the sea carried across the
waters of the deep; American boys! Your boys!
It was a marvellous sight. We had been so intently watching this that
we had forgotten about the dawn. Then we turned for a minute, and off
to the east a brilliant red dawn was splashing its way out of the sea.
"What are those dots on the sun?" Doctor Freeman shouted to me.
[Illustration: "What are those dots on the sun?" Doctor Freeman shouted
to me.]
"Why, I believe it's the convoy of destroyers coming out to meet those
transports," I replied.
Then before our eyes, up out of the eastern horizon, just as we had
watched the transports and the cruiser come up over the western
horizon, those slender guardians of the deep came toward us in
formation. There were ten of them, and they met the great American
convoy just abreast our transport. We saw the American flag fly to the
winds on each ship, and the flashing of signal-lights even in the
dawning.
"Those destroyers coming out of the east against that sunrise remind me
of the experiences one has in France in these vivid war days," I said
to my fellow watcher in the "crow's-nest."
"How is that?"
"They stand out like the Silhouettes of Mountain Peaks against a
crimson sunrise," I replied.
And so have many Silhouettes of the Sea stood out.
There was the afternoon that we stood on the deck of a ship bound for
France. The voyage had been full of dangers. Submarines had harassed
us for days. One night such a lurch came to the ship as threw
everybody about in their staterooms. We thought it was a storm until
the morning came, and we were informed that it was a sudden lurch to
avoid a submarine. The voyage had been full of uneasiness, and now we
were coming to the most dangerous part of it, the submarine zone.
Everybody was on deck. It was Sunday afternoon. Suddenly off to the
east several spots appeared on the horizon. What were they, friendly
craft or enemy ships?
Nobody knew, not even the captain. There was a wave of uneasiness over
the boat.
Speculation was rife.
Then we saw the signal boy go aft, and in a moment the tricolor of
France was fluttering in the winds, and we knew that the approaching
craft were friendly. Then through powerful glasses we could make them
out to be long, low-lying, lithe, swift destroyers coming out to meet
us. They were a welcome sight. Like "hounds of the sea" they came,
long and lean. Headed straight for us, they came like the winds. Then
suddenly a slight mist began to fall, but not enough to obscure either
the destroyers or the sun. Through this mist the sun burned its way,
and almost as if a miracle had been performed by some master artist, a
beautiful rainbow arched the sky to the east, and under the arch of
this rainbow fleetly sailed those approaching destroyers.
It was a beautiful sight, a Silhouette of the Sea never to be forgotten
while memory lasts. The French flag fluttered, the band started to
play the "Marseillaise," and a ship-load of happy people sang it.
A sense of peace settled down over us all. The rainbow, covenant of
old, promise of the eternal God to his people, seemed to have new
significance that memorable day.
Another Silhouette of the Sea! Troops are expected in at a certain
port of entry. The camp has been emptied of ten thousand men. That
means but one thing, that new troops are expected. The great
dirigibles sailed out a few hours ago. The sea-planes followed.
Thousands of American men and women lined the docks waiting, peering
with anxious eyes out toward the "point." Here at this point a great
cape jutted out into the ocean, and around this cape we were accustomed
to catch sight of the convoys first.
A sense of great expectancy was upon us. We had heard rumors of
submarines off the shore for several days. Then suddenly we heard a
terrific cannonading, and we knew that the transports and the convoys
were in a battle with the U-boats that had lain in wait for them. An
anxious hour passed. The sun was setting and the west was a great rose
blanket.
Then a shout went up far down the line of waiting Americans as the
first great transport swung around the cape. Then another, and a third
and a fourth, and finally a fifth; great gray bulks, two of them
camouflaged until you could not tell whether they were little
destroyers or a group of destroyers on one big ship. Then they got
near enough to see the American boys, thousands of them, lining the
railings. Through the glasses we could make out the names of the
transports. They were some of the largest that sail the Atlantic.
When as they came slowly in on the full tide, with that rose sunset
back of them, the bands on their decks playing across the waters, and
five thousand boys on the first boat singing "Keep the Home Fires
Burning," then the "Marseillaise," and finally "The Star-Spangled
Banner," in which the crowd on the shore joined, there was a Silhouette
of the Sea that burned its way into our souls.
There were the great ships, and beyond them the cape, and beyond that
the hovering dirigibles, and beyond them the great bird seaplanes, and
beyond them the background of a rose-colored sky, and beyond that the
memories of home.