Meanwhile, for the second occasion in a short time, lifeboat stations were sounded, and the soldiers, donning their life preservers, took their places to await what might follow—possibly, an order to abandon ship after she had been struck by a torpedo.
But this contingency did not arise. The destroyers swarmed around the transport, seeking in vain for something substantial on which to expend their ammunition, and then the scare was over.
And whether it was only a scare, or whether a real submarine had shown her periscope and then dived before sending a torpedo, could, of course, only be surmised. But no chances were being 65 taken, and the transport on which the Cresville boys traveled was not the only one of the American Expeditionary Forces that believed itself the object of a frustrated attack.
“If that was a sub, it came out pretty far to meet us,” observed Jerry, when the excitement had died away and they were at ease once more.
“No telling where they’ll be found,” said a noncommissioned officer. “If that had been one I believe we’d have got her, though.”
“Surest thing you know!” declared Ned Slade emphatically.
This was the only incident that marked the passage. Of course, at various times, especially during the nights, the lookouts may have imagined they saw the wake of a periscope or a torpedo, but there was no general alarm.
And finally, after what really was a tiresome voyage, and one the end of which was welcomed by all, the transport docked at a certain port in France, and Ned, Bob and Jerry were able, with their water-weary comrades, to go ashore.
“Here at last!” murmured Jerry, as he and his chums sought their own company.
“And where are the Huns we’re going to fight?” asked Bob, looking around at the strange scenes.