When we boarded the ship in the morning, the big boy stepped lively up the gangplank with a smirking laugh, all prepared for Lieutenant Blaines, in case he happened to be around. But that gentleman was nowhere in sight. The officers at the rail gave my overloaded comrade a matter-of-fact glance, the top-kicker accepted his mumbled “some o’ General Backett’s stuff” and waved us past, and we followed the stream of traffic to the hole wherein we were supposed to spend the next fortnight or more.
The compartment assigned to our company proved to be too small by three bunks and the top-kicker finally assigned the big fellow and another odd number to join me in a little cubby-hole that used to be a paint shop and was now a hole just big enough for three bunks. Here we rested.
I found that the big boy’s name was Ben Garlotz and that he used to be a prizefighter, under the ring name of Big Ben Bailey. He certainly had all the attributes of a rough, tough, genuine he-man. I liked him immensely and so did Esky, who was doomed to spend the duration of the trip under my bunk. The other bunkmate’s name was Maurice Getterlow, and I believe he was some kind of a Semitic. We certainly made up a strange trio of bed-fellows—and Esky made an even stranger fourth member of the squad.
Dawn saw us in the lower harbor—and Private Canwick was en route to France. God help Leon and preserve Aunt Elinor from hysterics! I hoped they were both praying for me and that for once they might stand in with Mr. John Q. Headman!
CHAPTER 6
A Joy Hole
—1—
I have never forgotten the first days on board that boat. “Well,” I said to myself, “if I am off to the war: to the war I must go!” And how! That tub we were on must have been a poor relation to a river steamer before it was commandeered for transport purposes. I don’t see how we kept up with the other ships that made up that squadron—I thought the destroyers or torpedo boats or whatever they were that we saw way off in the distance, hopping around like snake feeders, would lose us in the night. We were just chugging along—and a more monotonous voyage I never could imagine.
We sailed down into the lower harbor just after dawn, joined four other transports and set out to sea. Next day we picked up three more ships and a flock of these wasp-like naval boats, and now there were ships all around us as far as we could see. It was rather a pretty sight: sort of majestic, all these ships loaded with fighting men, plugging along sort of irresistibly; I mean, it made you feel so strong and invulnerable, or something like that. I know what I mean, so it’s all right.
As a matter of fact, I didn’t have much time to admire the scenery, because General Backett continued mercilessly to find things for me to do. Of course, in a way I was glad, because being busy kept me from worrying about my predicament and from getting into trouble. Anyway, the General never seemed to have a single moment when there wasn’t something on his mind, and anything that was on his mind automatically fell upon mine, for he depended upon little Leona unreservedly. That clerk that got blood poison must have spoiled him: he expected his dog-robber to be clerk, adviser, encyclopedia, file cabinet, errand boy, confidant, valet and information service, all in one and at once. He said the powers that be played a dirty trick on him, in that the officers who had been assigned to attend him were a collection of nitwits who were of no earthly good to him except for “show purposes.” “A staff’s a staff, even if for no other reason than that it exists and can be seen and counted,” he said.
Well, as far as I could see, he was about right. At least this Chilblaines was a total loss: he was a worse dog-robber than I. He and the others were just a bunch of errand boys and I often wondered if they were heroes in the eyes of their respective friends and families. I suppose they were truly heroic to some people: they say that every man is a hero to someone somewhere, but if that is so I don’t see how the Bible crack about great men being without honor in their own country can also be true. I guess there’s no man living who isn’t great in the eyes of somebody. I could even imagine how this Chilblaines was looked up to and admired in his home town. Well, he might be Lieutenant Blaines in his home town, but he was just plain “Chilblaines” around the ship. Ben said, “That snotty little runt could be dropped overboard and nobody’d miss him atall!”