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A really huge Armada it was, considering the actual number of fighting men that it carried. A dark, uncanny-looking fleet it was, too, with an air of stealth and secret enterprise that could not be dispelled. Nowhere on any of the troopships did a light glow that could, by any possibility, be seen by those aboard another craft. Visible lights had been forbidden from the very moment that the ships had set sail from American ports.
To this rule of no visible lights the sole exception, occasionally to be observed, was the use of the red, white and blue electric lights that sometimes glowed briefly from the yard-arms of the vessels. These lights, slangily called blinkers, convey necessary messages from one war craft to another at sea.
Nineteen thousand fighting men and some five thousand to serve them behind the fighting lines in France, were thus crossing the ocean, under dark skies, and with every ship in complete darkness. It was a weird sight, and Uncle Sams soldiers aboard these ships had not yet gotten over the wonder of it.
All through the fleet, conversations as to the probability of submarine attack on the morrow, or on succeeding days, were infrequent and brief. Hardly a soldier, however, was fooled by the absence of talk on the subject. Each soldier knew that he was thinking a good deal about the chances of the ships being torpedoed on the high seas, and he knew, too, that his comrades were thinking of the same thing.
At last the bugles through the fleet softly sounded the call to turn in. Nearly all of the men had remained up on deck this evening. Now they stole below, hurriedly making up their bunks, and as hurriedly undressing and getting in under the blankets before taps should sound.
And so the decks were left to the gun-crews, to the lookouts and the members of the guard posted there. Below, on the berth-decks, some of the soldiers slept little, if any, that night. Others went promptly and soundly asleep.
It was on this same night that Lieutenant-Commander Dave Darrin was presently obliged to put out of his mind, as far as possible, further thought
of the supposed treachery of Seaman Jordan, for they were on their way to the rendezvous where they were to meet the troopship fleet.
Dan Dalzell, as executive officer, came in breezily, saluting briskly and giving his cheery report as to the results of his inspection:
All secure, sir.
Dave was on the bridge, with Lieutenant Briggs, when Ensign Phelps came to report that he had been unable to find any of the looked-for bottles in Jordans duffle-bag or other effects, or, for that matter, anywhere else.
Very good, Mr. Phelps. Thank you. I recommend that, until your watch is called, you get all the sleep you can. To-morrow there may be no sleep for any of us.
Later in the night cautious signals, blinker lights, were observed off the port quarter.
The Logan, comprehending, replied with her own blinkers. The two craft presently came closer, and after that kept each other company, for the destroyer John Adams was also bound for the rendezvous of the early morn.
Two hours before dawn Darrin gave the order to lie to. The Adams also stopped her engines, nearly, for the destroyers had reached the point of rendezvous. Soon afterward a third destroyer signalled and joined; not long after that a fourth. There were two more on hand before dawn.
Through the dark sky came three short, quick flashes of a searchlight. It was the Logan that returned this signal. Then other signals were swiftly exchanged with the craft to the westward.
The troopship fleet is going to be punctual to the minute, Darrin remarked to his watch officer.
And our biggest time will be ahead of us, sir, Im thinking, responded Lieutenant Briggs.
In a way the big time will be welcome, smiled Dave. Even if we are unfortunate enough to sustain some losses the Hun will get the worst of it.
Why do you say that, sir? Briggs inquired.
Because, so far, in every encounter with naval vessels or troopships the Hun has seemed fated to get the worst of it.
In the east a pale light appeared in the sky. This slowly deepened. Then came the early red and orange tints of what promised to be a bright day.
Theres the troopship fleet! cried Darrin, joyously. The head of it anyway. Well soon see more of it.
Lieutenant Briggs held his glass for a full thirty seconds on the first ships visible to the westward.
And there goes our signal to join! exclaimed Darrin, as bunting broke from the foremast of the leading destroyer with the fleet. Acknowledge the signal, Mr. Briggs, and give the order for full speed ahead.
Racing westward went six torpedo boat destroyers to meet their comrades of the Navy and of the Army.
As they drew nearer, those on the destroyers could see a wild waving of hats by the soldiers crowding the decks of the leading transports. One moment the hat-waving was visible; then as suddenly it ceased, and the spar decks were nearly bare of men, for mess-call had sounded for breakfast. The only soldier who fails to answer mess call is a sick or a dead one.