"It c-can't be morning," stuttered Bart, while a babel of questions and answers arose all about them. "Gee, isn't six o'clock bad enough without getting routed out at--what time is it, Frank--my watch has gone on a strike." "Just two o'clock," returned Frank, consulting his radio watch, while all about him was noise and confusion as the boys hastily got into their things. "I know what it is," he added, shouting to make himself heard above the din. "The time's come to sail and they didn't give us any warning for fear the news would get out! Bart, here's adventure for you!" "Sure, I'll begin to enjoy it too," grumbled Bart, "when I get my eyes open." The boys never forgot that ghostly march to the great transport which was to bear them across to the scene of conflict. No sound was heard, save the steady tramp, tramp of their feet, the occasional hoot of an owl far off in the woodland, and the eerie sighing of the wind among the trees. When at last, after several miles of this weird marching, the huge, shadowy bulk of a ship rose before them, their hearts beat madly and they thrilled with a wild exultation. Silently they marched on board. Then, the whispered commands of officers to men, the throbbing of the screws, the soft gliding of the great ship from the pier--and they were off! "For France," murmured Frank, his eyes gleaming in the starlight. "For France and victory!" CHAPTER XIII THE LURKING PERIL The shipping of the men had been carried through so smoothly and swiftly, and everything had moved with such clockwork precision, that before the sun fairly rose the giant steamer was out of sight of land. And any spy who might have been lurking at any point on the coast would have had his trouble for his pains. The night had been a broken one, but the army boys were so excited that no one cared for the loss of sleep. Here at last was action. Now they were fairly launched on the great adventure. Every mile that the great ship traversed was bringing them nearer to the scene of actual fighting, the roar of the cannon, the shriek of shells, the hand to hand conflict with the enemy. "It must make the Huns sore," laughed Frank, "to think that one of their own great ships is carrying us over the ocean to fight the men who built it." "Sort of poetic justice, eh?" grinned Billy Waldon. "They felt they had the goods on us when they smashed the machinery," said Bart. "They figured it would take at least a year before we could get the ships in shape again, and yet its only five months since they scrapped the engines and here they're pounding along as good as new." "It's not the first mistake the Kaiser's made," agreed Frank. "What was it that fellow Von Papen called us?--idiotic Yankees." "We weren't so idiotic after all, that we didn't get on to his game and send him and his pals packing," said Tom.