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diff --git a/34190-h/34190-h.htm b/34190-h/34190-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3f1a51b --- /dev/null +++ b/34190-h/34190-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8670 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of H.M.S. ——, by Klaxon. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + margin: 3em auto 3em auto; + height: 0px; + border-width: 1px 0 0 0; + border-style: solid; + border-color: #dcdcdc; + width: 500px; + clear: both; +} + +hr.hr2 { + width: 250px; + margin: 3em auto 3em auto; +} + +table.toc { + margin: auto; + width: 50%; + border-collapse:collapse; +} + +td.c1 { + text-align: left; + vertical-align: top; + padding-right: 1em; +} + +td.c3 { + text-align: right; + padding-left: 1em; + vertical-align: bottom; +} + +td { padding: 0em 1em; } +th { padding: 0em 1em; } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: #999; +} /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + .center {text-align: center;} + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +/* Transcriber Notes */ +div.tn { + background-color: #EEE; + border: dashed 1px; + color: #000; + margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + margin-top: 5em; + margin-bottom: 5em; + padding: 1em; +} + +ul.corrections { + list-style-type: circle; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +div.fn { + background-color: #EEE; + border: dashed 1px; + color: #000; + margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + margin-top: 5em; + margin-bottom: 5em; + padding: 1em; +} + + .footnote { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size: 0.9em; +} + + .footnote .label { + position: absolute; + right: 84%; + text-align: right; +} + + .fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none; +} + +/* Poetry */ + .poem { + margin-left: 35%; + margin-right: 10%; + text-align: left; +} + + .poem br { display: none; } + + .poem .stanza { margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; } + + .poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i1 { + display: block; + margin-left: 1em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i3 { + display: block; + margin-left: 3em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i33 { + display: block; + margin-left: 3.35em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i5 { + display: block; + margin-left: 5em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i6 { + display: block; + margin-left: 6em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of H.M.S. ----, by Klaxon + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: H.M.S. ---- + +Author: Klaxon + +Release Date: November 1, 2010 [EBook #34190] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK H.M.S. ---- *** + + + + +Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Brian Foley and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>H.M.S. ——</h1> + +<p> </p> + +<h4>BY</h4> +<h2>KLAXON</h2> + +<p> </p> + +<h3>William Blackwood and Sons<br /> +Edinburgh and London<br /> +1918</h3> + +<p> </p> + +<h4><i>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</i></h4> + +<hr /> + +<h3><i>TO</i></h3> + +<h2><i>D. V. B.</i></h2> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Homer launched his epic on the literary sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The critics were as merciful as they can ever be:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"We take it that the author did the best that he can do,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"And the book should be remembered for at least a year or two...."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Homer let the critics go, and listened with a smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he had heard a verdict that was better by a mile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a code that only Homer as a husband understood,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"You <i>are</i> a funny clever thing—I'd no <i>idea</i> you could."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<table class="toc" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td class="c1"> </td><td class="c3"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">"1923"</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">PRIVILEGED</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">ACCORDING TO THEIR LIGHTS</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">A NAVAL DISCUSSION</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">THE GUNLAYER</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">A WAGE SLAVE</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">AN "ANNUAL"</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">"OUR ANNUAL"</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">MASCOTS</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">THE SPARROW</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">A WAR WEDDING</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">A HYMN OF DISGUST</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">THE "SPECIAL"</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">BETWEEN TIDES</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">LIGHT CAVALRY</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">A TRINITY</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">IN THE MORNING</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">AN AFFAIR OF OUTPOSTS</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_147">147</a> + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">1917</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">IN FORTY WEST</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">A RING AXIOM</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">CHANCES</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">THE QUARTERMASTER</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">A LANDFALL</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">NIGHT ROUNDS</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">IN THE BARRED ZONE</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">A MATTER OF ROUTINE</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">WHO CARES?</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">THE UNCHANGING SEX</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_213">213</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">TWO CHILDREN</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">AN URGENT COURTSHIP</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_234">234</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">LOOKING AFT</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_254">254</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">GRIT</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">A MAXIM</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">FROM A FAR COUNTRY</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_272">272</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">THE CRISIS</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_279">279</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">A SEA CHANTY</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_281">281</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">THE WAR OF ATTRITION</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_284">284</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">THROUGH AN ADMIRALTY WINDOW</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_303">303</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="c1">A MOST UNTRUE STORY</td><td class="c3"><a href="#Page_318">318</a></td></tr> +</table> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2>H.M.S. ——.</h2> + + +<hr class="hr2" /> +<h2>"1923."</h2> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>[The following is the description by Professor J. Scott, F.R.S., +of his recent Airship Journey across the old Bed of the +North Sea. July 1, 1923.]</p> +</div> + +<p>It is perhaps unnecessary for me to state the +objects and purpose of my journey of last week, +as it would be false modesty in me not to +recognise the great interest taken by the +geologic and antiquarian worlds in my proposed +enterprise. For the benefit, however, of +those for whose intelligence the so-called +"Popular" geologic works are compiled, I will +recapitulate some points which are ancient +history to my instructed readers.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> + The winter of 1922 witnessed the greatest +geologic change in the earth's surface since the +last of the Glacial epochs. Into the causes and +general results of this change I do not propose +to enter, beyond mentioning my opinion that +the theory propounded by Professor Middleton +(a theory designed only for one purpose—that +of attempting to throw doubt on the data and +reasoning of my first monograph on the subject) +is not only childish, but based on a fallacy.</p> + +<p>I will confine myself to the results as they +affected this country and the continent of +Europe, of which it is now a prolongation or +headland—not, as the Daily Press erroneously +labels it, a peninsula.</p> + +<p>The total change in elevation of the land is +now calculated at 490 feet 7 inches, but more accurate +measurements are still being taken. This +great change brings us back to a geologic age +when man and mammoth co-existed in the +primeval forest of Cromer, and when the Dogger +Bank was a great plain where wild beasts +roamed and palæolithic man left the traces of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +his industry in the bones and shaped flints which +we hope soon to collect in quantities from the +mud and ooze with which thousands of years of +sea-action has covered them.</p> + +<p>I had little difficulty in obtaining Admiralty +permission to accompany the Captain of a Naval +Airship on one of his regular patrol trips across +the great expanse of mud which was once the +North Sea.</p> + +<p>Of course in the six months since the departure +of the Ocean from the new lands, the +district has been regularly patrolled by the +Navy, but the air is as yet the only safe route +by which to cross it. It will be some time, +perhaps years, before the surface becomes safe +to walk on, although the Government is plentifully +sprinkling grass and other seeds from all +passing aircraft. In the large and powerful +airship in which I was privileged to travel, +we had every modern device for enabling a +close inspection of the surface to be taken. A +trail-rope was used when it was desired to drift +slowly or to actually hover over some of the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +points of interest which we observed on our +passage.</p> + +<p>The day was fine and clear, and I could not +have wished for better weather conditions when +we rose over Dover and started the main engines +on a north-easterly course. As no maps can +yet be compiled of the New Lands (as popular +clamour has most inaccurately labelled them) +owing to their dangerous surface, we navigated +by the old Admiralty charts, marked in depths +of water, and I was amused at having the +Varne and Goodwin "shoals" pointed out to +me—the objects indicated being long ridges of +sandy hills rising from the shining surface of +the Channel bed. Off Deal and Dover a few +of the wrecks are being worked on by enterprising +local Salvage Companies—a road being +laid out to each composed of gravel, sand, and +brushwood. I fear, however, that the speculators +will not profit greatly. The roads are +good enough over the sand, but where they +cross the mud-flats they swallow not only their +traffic but the funds of their owners.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> + As we travelled up the valley with the drone +of our engines echoing from the whale-backed +ridges on either side, with our gondolas barely +a hundred feet from the ground, I discussed +our programme with the Captain, whose views +and reminiscences I found most entertaining. +On general subjects he was like most of his +service, almost contemptibly uneducated (I +might mention that he did not understand what +Magdalenian culture was!), but he was evidently +well read in his own trade. He told +me several stories which were no doubt excellent, +but which were marred to a point of +incomprehensibility by a foolish interlarding +of technical terms. I gave him a short précis +of what is known or deduced of prehistoric +life on the New Lands, and spoke of the bones +and fossils occasionally found in trawl-nets +by the fishermen. His point of view was that +the war overshadowed everything. He seemed +to think that that event was one from which +all others should date, although it had lasted +such a short time. As very little of interest + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +to me could yet be seen owing to the general +coating of slime with which the land was +covered, I amused myself by listening to his +experiences on his weekly air patrols, his conversation +being somewhat after this style:—</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was a fair snorter while it lasted—that +gale,—damn lucky we hadn't many ships +out. Yes, most of 'em got in. They either +ran down Channel (Lord! the Straits were like +opening the caisson gates to a graving-dock!) +and made New Queenstown, or else they got +into harbour on the East Coast and stranded +there. You see, what with mines and wrecks, +the North Sea wasn't being used much, and as +the navies were taking a rest there wasn't +much of value at sea. Some ships got stuck +though—fishing boats mostly. No, they were +all right—it took a week to drain off, and it +was calm weather when they grounded. Most +of them have wireless now, and they yelped +for help, and we took 'em off. Those that +hadn't were a bit hungry when we found them, +but I don't think we lost many. You see, all + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +nations sent air fleets out. Have you read +the U.S. Magazine? You ought to; there's +a damn good argument going on as to whether +it would have paid us or Germany most if it +had happened during the war. I think us, +myself. You see, there's only a narrow channel +now running past the Norwegian coast, and +we could have mined that. Look at that, Professor! +How's that for mines? That's Zeebrugge +with the houses showing over the sand-hills. +Whose? Oh! both sides put 'em there—that +hollow to the east is proper stiff with them, +isn't it? Port fifteen—Quartermaster! steer +east—What? No, just going to show you +something. You said it seemed a wicked waste +of material; well, look over there—two of them +got it. One's a U.C. boat but the other's a +big one. They picked them up coming back, +and that big chap's nearly in two halves—Starboard +twenty, Quartermaster! No, we +needn't go closer, you'll see one every half mile +between here and Heligoland—some of ours as +well as theirs. Yes—that's a Dutchman—torpedoed + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +by the look of him. See the hole in +the stern? Oh, butter and bacon and that +sort of thing! No, nobody in her. Why? +Well, look at the davits—they left her before +she sank—all the boats are gone.</p> + +<p>"Like these glasses? That's the <i>Hinder</i> over +there. Yes, they still live in her, and she's +still useful. A fine big lightship, isn't she? +She settled down at her moorings as peacefully +as could be, and when we sent a line down to +them on our first patrol trip after the show, +they sent up a note asking for some 'baccy, +and would we post some letters for them? +Nothing ever did worry the <i>Hinder</i> in the war, +and it won't now. You see, English and German +used to fight under her tail every other night, +and as she was an international light she just +flashed away and looked on. I wonder none +of their crew have written a book yet—'Battles +round the <i>Hinder</i>,' by an Eyewitness. It would +be better than most of the truck that has been +written in England about it. Yes, she lies in +a bit of a hollow, but the light shows up all + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +right, and that's all we want. Here you are; +this is what you wanted."</p> + +<p>We had reached the first object of interest +in my journey. More trail-rope was paid out, +and we swung with our engine stopped, downwind, +lying twenty feet above a great pit torn +in the earth by some tremendous explosion. +All around the pit-mouth lay masses of earth +and rock, and the face of the crater was thick +with bone-breccia and fossils of every kind. +The explosion had occurred over an old beach +on the bank of what had once been the old +Channel River. For thousands of years prehistoric +men and beasts had lived and died +there, and had left their skeletons to enlighten +us. And more than bones had been left. +Almost the first basket-load that our light +electric "grab" produced for us contained +among its numerous specimens of surpassing +interest a rough "hand-axe" of dark flint, +possibly of Pre-Chellean culture. However, +the whole of my notes and specimens obtained +on this visit are now being examined and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +classified, and I will postpone description of +them until the meeting of the Society on +the 18th.</p> + +<p>I would have liked to have descended into +the pit by a ladder or other means, but was +dissuaded, partly by the motion of the airship, +which swayed to and fro in the light wind, +and partly by the blunt negative with which +my suggestion was greeted by the Captain. +We took only three baskets of specimens from +this spot, as we had others to visit, and our +carrying capacity was limited. As we slowly +hauled in the trail-rope and prepared to continue +our journey, I asked the Captain whether +this crater had been intentionally formed by +the Government for purposes of research, or +whether it had been produced accidentally in +the late war.</p> + +<p>"Accident?" he said. "Well, no, hardly that—but +still, I expect he <i>thought</i> he might pull +it off without doing himself in." He pointed +to one of two big submarines which lay on +opposite sides of the crater. The one indicated + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +was the smaller of the two, and the least +damaged. She lay upright with a slight tilt +up by the bow (which was dented and torn +rather badly). The other was in two halves, +and lay on her side with a mound of earth, +bones, and rock, making a sort of rough junction +between the halves. The two submarines looked +like great guardians of the pit, and I wondered +at the madness of man that makes him revel +in war and killing to no purpose. I mentioned +something of this thought to the Captain, who +was still gazing at the more intact of the two +boats, and tapping a flint "Coup de poing" on +the side of our gondola.</p> + +<p>"Well, Professor," he said, "the man who +made this tool didn't make it to clean his nails +with, did he?" I observed that it was now +generally agreed that most of prehistoric man's +weapons were for use against his greatest foes—which +were wild beasts, and not men. The +Captain jerked the flint implement back into +the basket.</p> + +<p>"My oath! you've said it," he snapped. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +"<i>We've</i> been fighting wild beasts, and that +chap in the smaller boat was a friend of +mine. He took that Fritz fairly amidships +with his stem, but he couldn't get free, and +they went down locked. When Fritz hit +bottom his mines went, and that blew them +apart, and so there's your bone pit, Professor."</p> + +<p>I looked back at the pit and the two hulks +beside it, now dwindling astern. "How do +you know all that?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Read his number on the conning-tower for +one thing, and the chap who had that boat +would be pretty sure to take a Hun with him +when he had to go. The rest? Well, his +bows are bashed in, you see, and his lid is still +open, so he gave Fritz his bow first on the +surface. You may have some relics of curious +beasts in that basket, Professor, but I can show +you a relic, or a hundred if you like, of a damn +sight nastier beast. See the masts over that +mudbank? That's a Dutch liner—two torpedoes +and no warning. Full of women too. +Like to go and look? I thought not. Yes, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +Professor, I can show you two hundred sunken +ships in a few hours' run here, and they haven't +all got their davits empty by a long chalk. +Never mind—here's something more amusing."</p> + +<p>Our engine slowed and almost stopped while +we drifted across a flat, broad, muddy plateau +which sloped away to a valley on each side.</p> + +<p>"See those lines?" said my abrupt naval +friend—"those long straight scores along the +mud, I mean. Those are where the submarines—ours +and theirs—have been taking bottom +for a rest. Taking bottom? Oh! on winter +nights, when it's too dark to see or when +they're waiting for anything, or got defects or +struck fog, you know. They used to take +bottom a lot here, because it's good surface and +they had twenty fathom of water, too. The +marks haven't washed out yet. See this one? +He bumped three times before he settled: he +must have had a lot of headway on—his track's +all of half a mile. That bed is where he +settled for the night. It's soft there, and he +worked in over his bilge keel. There's another, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +fifty yards off him. Of course it was probably +made a year before or after he made his, but +there must have been cases when our boats and +Fritz's lay that much apart all night and didn't +know it. Pretty queer idea, isn't it? Perhaps +a banjo strumming in one boat and a gramophone +going in the other. Oh yes, they used +to have concerts on the bottom before turning +in! One of our chaps gave me a programme +once. There were twenty items in it, and it +was headed 'C/o G.P.O.—126 feet.' This was +a regular submarine traffic lane for both sides. +Some parts of the surface up north aren't +marked at all,—it was either too deep water +or there were too many mines about. Funny +thing is, that some of the areas which both +sides seem to have studiously gone round and +avoided have no mines at all in them. Just +rumour, I suppose. They gave the place a +bad name and damned it. Eh? No—that's +all right—tip 'em out on the deck—we can +scrub the place out when we get in."</p> + +<p>He spoke to a sailor, who stepped forward + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +and turned the nearest basket of specimens +upside down. As he did so, something rolled +from the heap to my feet, and with a thrill +which could only be understood by my brother +scientists I gazed on the greatest archæological +discovery of the ages. I have already announced +my discovery to the press, and the +scientists of all nations are now gathering in +London to inspect it, so I shall not enter now +on a detailed description. I may say that my +first thought was that I had in my hands a +copy of my confrère Keith's reconstruction of +the Piltdown skull, and that my own reconstruction +had been to a certain extent false; +but on mature reflection I decided that this +could not be so, and that I must classify my +find as belonging to a hitherto unknown branch +of the race of Homo Sapiens—akin to, but yet +distinct from, Eoanthropus. This prehistoric +man I have called Homo Scoticanthropus, and +my full report and conclusions will be shortly +before the Society.</p> + +<p>The skull is intact and requires no reconstruction. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +The lower mandible is of the chimpanzee-like +type found with Eoanthropus, and +as it was picked up by the same basket, must +undoubtedly belong to the skull.</p> + +<p>As to the remainder of our voyage, I can +only say that I spent the time on the floor of +the gondola measuring and inspecting my find. +I could not tear myself away from it, and we +therefore omitted our visits to other spots +where explosions were known to have occurred +near the old sea-bed, confining ourselves to a +hurried round of the Naval patrol route. Beyond +a casual inspection and a remark that it +looked like Hindenburg, the airship captain +took no interest in this now famous skull, but +confined himself to his duties of navigation and +control.</p> + +<p>It is unfortunate that the exact depth and +geological strata of the skull's position cannot +be given. The basket was drawn from the +bottom of the pit, but the skull may have been +either thrown up by the explosion or rolled +down later by the action of the tides.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> + When the new lands have dried we hope to +have a careful inspection of that and other +pits, when more and perhaps equally valuable +discoveries may be made.</p> + +<p>I have perhaps made undue mention of my +naval friend in this pamphlet, but to tell the +truth his type was new to me. Though, like +all his fellow-officers, his limited education had +tended to make him narrow-minded, he nevertheless +deserves mention here as having assisted, +albeit in a humble way, in the most wonderful +discovery in history.</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> +<h2>PRIVILEGED.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They called across to Peter at the changing of the Guard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At the red-gold Doors that the Angels keep,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Lend us help to the Portal, for they press upon us hard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They are straining at the Gate, many deep."<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then Peter rose and went to the wicket by the Wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where the Starlight flashed upon the crowd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he saw a mighty wave from the Greatest Gale of all<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Break beneath him with a roar, swelling loud—<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> + <span class="i0"><i>Let us in! Let us in! We have left a load of sin</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>On the battlefield that flashes far below.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>From the trenches or the sea—there's a pass for such as we,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>For we died with our faces to the foe.</i><br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>We haven't any creed—for we never felt the need,—</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>And our morals are as ragged as can be;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But we finished in a way that has cleared us of the clay,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>And we're coming to you clean, as you can see.</i>"<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then Peter looked below him with a smile upon his lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And he answered, "Ye are fighters, as I know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By your badges of the air, of the trenches, and the ships,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the wounds that on your bodies glisten so."<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> + <span class="i0">And he looked upon the wounds, that were many and were grim,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And his glance was all-embracing—unafraid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he looked to meet the eyes that were smiling up to him,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All a-level as a new-forged blade.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ye are savage men and rough—from the fo'c'sle and the tent;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ye have put High Heaven to alarm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I see it written clear by the road ye went,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That ye held by the Fifteenth Psalm."<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And they shouted in return, "<i>'Tis a thing we've never read,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>But you passed our friends inside</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That won to the end of the road we tread</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Long ago when the Mons Men died.</i>"<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> + <span class="i0">"<i>Let us in! Let us in! We have fallen for the Right,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>And the Crown that we listed to win,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That we earned by the Somme or the waters of the Bight;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>You're a fighting man yourself—Let us in!</i>"<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then Peter gave a sign and the Gates flung wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the sound of a bugle-call:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Pass the fighting men to the ranks inside,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who came from the earth or the cold grey tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With their heads held high and a soldier's stride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To a Friend in the Judgment Hall."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> +<h2>ACCORDING TO THEIR LIGHTS.</h2> + +<p>The world was a streak of green and white +bubbles, and there was a great roaring noise +which disturbed his thoughts. "Boots—boots—I +must get them off." He remembered the only +occasion on which he had experienced an anæsthetic, +the mental struggle to retain his ego, and +the loss of will-power he had known at every +breath. He was going down now, the roaring +was less terrible and he felt very tired. A +check in his descent and a little voice at the +back of his brain: "There was a big sea +running." Then a blur of white foam and a +long gasping breath. Something rasped his +forehead and a rough serge sleeve was across +his throat. He fought feebly to keep the choking +arm away, but as they rose on the crest of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +a long blue-green swell, he was jerked from the +water by the neck and the belt of his overcoat. +His first clear sensation was one of intense chill. +Although there was little wind, it was cold +in the air. He raised his head and moved to +avoid the uncomfortable pressure of something +on his chest. As he saw his situation he dropped +his head again quickly and lay still. He was +across the keel of a broad grey boat which +pitched and heaved at terrifying angles as the +seas passed. He crawled cautiously round, pivoting +on his stomach till his legs straddled the +keel and he had a grip on it with his hands +under his chin. Facing him in a similar attitude +was a seaman he knew, a tall brawny torpedoman +whom he had noticed rigging the lights +in the Wardroom flat on occasions when Evening +Service had been held there. What was his +name—Davies? Denny? No, Dunn! of course—the +ship's boxer, and the funny man at the +concerts. Were they two all that was left? +He opened his mouth and gasped a little before +speaking.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> + "All right, sir—take it easy—I've been off +this billet twice, and it's no joke getting back +to it. Good thing you're a light weight, sir, +or you'd've pulled me in just now."</p> + +<p>"Are there—are there any more, Dunn?"</p> + +<p>"God knows, sir—beggin' your pardon, that +is—the mine got us forr'd and the magazine +went. This is the pinnace we're on, and it's the +biggest bit of the ship I've seen floating yet."</p> + +<p>"Good God! Where were you?"</p> + +<p>"On the bridge, sir, just sent for by the +Officer of the Watch about the telephones; but +I'm—I don't know 'ow I got away, sir—flew, +I reckon. Where were you, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Coming up the Wardroom ladder, and as I +got on deck I was washed away. Dunn! do +you think we'll be picked up?"</p> + +<p>The seaman raised his head and shoulders +cautiously and took a rapid glance around as +they topped a sea, then resumed his attitude +along the keel, his chin on his crossed wrists. +"You're a parson, sir," he said, "and you're +ready for it, so I'll tell you. We were on detached + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +duty, and there mayn't be another ship +here for a week yet."</p> + +<p>"A week! But, man, a merchant ship or +fisherman might pass any time."</p> + +<p>"A fisherman might, sir; but I never saw a +merchantman since we came on this trip, and +I don't see anything now."</p> + +<p>There was a pause, and the padre shivered +in his thin wet clothes. "The sea was going +down this morning; how long do you think we +could stay alive on this?"</p> + +<p>"That's the trouble, sir. This is the pinnace, +and she's stove in a bit."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean she'll sink? But they float +when they are waterlogged, don't they?"</p> + +<p>"Not this one, she won't, and she's got the +launch's slings in her too—half an hour I give +her; but you're right, sir; the sea's going down, +and I'm keeping a watch out for more wreckage +if it goes by, sir."</p> + +<p>The shivering-fit passed and he tried to collect +his thoughts. Yes, the pinnace <i>had</i> settled a +bit since he had been dragged aboard. She did + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +not lift so easily to the sea, and had lost the +tendency to broach-to which had made him grip +the keel so tightly at first. He was quite calm +now, and everything seemed much more simple. +Half an hour! He lowered his forehead to his +hands and his thoughts raced. What had he left +undone? Yes, the ship was gone, so he had +nothing to think of in connection with her. As +Dunn would say, his affairs in her were all +"clewed up" by her loss. But ashore, now—ah! +For a full minute he fought with his panic. He +felt a rage against a fate that was blindly killing +him when he had so much more of life to enjoy. +He wanted to scream like a trapped rabbit. He +felt his eyes wet with tears of self-pity, and at +the feeling his sense of humour returned. He +thought of himself as a child about to be +smacked, and when he raised his head he was +smiling into Dunn's eyes. "Half an hour is +not long, Dunn," he said, "but it is longer +than our friends had."</p> + +<p>Dunn took another swift glance to right and +left, then, reaching a hand cautiously into his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +jumper, pulled out a wet and shiny briar pipe, +and began to reflectively chew the mouthpiece.</p> + +<p>He was a young <i>padre</i>, but he had been in +the Service most of the war. He knew enough +to choose his words with care as he spoke again.</p> + +<p>"Dunn," he said, "we haven't got long. I am +going to pray."</p> + +<p>"Yessir," said the bony, red face before him.</p> + +<p>He tried again. "Dunn, you're Church of +England, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yessir. On the books I am, sir."</p> + +<p>"You mean you have no religion?"</p> + +<p>Dunn blew hard into the bowl of his pipe and +replaced the mouthpiece between his jagged +teeth. "Not that sort quite, sir—but I'm all +right, sir."</p> + +<p>The <i>padre</i> moved a little bit nearer along the +keel. The pinnace was certainly deep in the +water now, but his mind was at ease and he did +not feel the cold. "Listen, Dunn," he said; "I +am going to pray—I want you to repeat what +I say after me."</p> + +<p>Dunn moved his hands from under his chin + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +and took his pipe from his mouth. "Yessir," +he said.</p> + +<p>The <i>padre</i> paused a moment and looked at +the long blue slope of a sea rising above his +eyes. He wondered vaguely why he was not +feeling sea-sick. "O God, Who made the sea +and all that therein is, have mercy on us Thy +servants called to-day to Thy judgment-seat. +Pardon us the manifold sins we have committed, +and lead us to a true repentance; and to us, who +have in the past neglected Thee in our hearts, +send light and strength that we may come +without fear before Thy throne. Have pity, +O Lord, upon those who are made widows and +orphans this day. Grant to our country final +victory and Thy peace. Amen."</p> + +<p>The sun was behind clouds now, and the seas +were washing occasionally along the sinking +boat.</p> + +<p>"You did not join me in the prayer, Dunn," +he said. "Was it not within the scheme of your +religion?"</p> + +<p>Dunn put his pipe carefully back in his jumper + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +and took a firmer grip of the keel. "Yes, sir," he +said, "it was—but I don't whine when I'm down."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean I was whining, Dunn?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, I don't. You've always prayed and +you're not going back on anything. I don't go +much on Church, and God wouldn't think nothing +of me if I piped down now."</p> + +<p>The <i>padre</i> was, as has been said, a young man, +and being young he did the right thing and +waited for more. It came with a rush.</p> + +<p>"You see, sir, it's God this, and God that, and +no one knows what God is like, but I'm a Navy +man and I think of Him my way. If I'm not +afraid to die I'm all right, I think, sir. It wasn't +my fault the ship sank, sir. I've always kept +my job done, and I've got 'Exceptional' on my +parchment. When I joined up I took the chance +of this, and I ain't kicking now it's come. I +reckon if a man plays the game by his messmates, +and fights clean in the ring, and takes +a pride, like, in his job—well, it ain't for me to +say, but I don't think God'll do much to me. +He'll say, 'Jack,' He'll say, 'you've got a lot of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +things against you here, but you ain't shirked +your work and you aren't afraid of Me—so pass +in with a caution,' He'll say. You're all right, +sir, and it may be because you're a good Christian; +but I reckon, sir, it's because you know you've +done your job and not skrimshanked it that you +ain't afraid, just the same as me.... Hold +tight, sir,—she'll not be long now."</p> + +<p>The <i>padre</i> ducked his head as a swell passed, +but the sea had no crest now, the weather was +certainly improving. "I don't say you're right," +he said, "but I haven't time to bring you to my +way of thinking now."</p> + +<p>The pinnace began to stand on end with a +gurgling and bubbling of air from her bow. The +two men slipped off on opposite sides, still holding +the rough splintery keel between them.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Dunn—repeat this after me: 'Please +God, I have done my best, and I'm not afraid +to come to You.'"</p> + +<p>"'Please God, I've done my best, and I'm not +afraid to come to You,' sir. Good-bye, sir."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Dunn—good-bye."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> + The sunset lit up the slope of a sea that looked +majestically down on them, and flashed on +something behind it. As they looked the wet +grey conning-tower of a submarine showed +barely fifty yards away. The startled sea +pounded at her hull as she rose and grew, and +a rush of spray shook out the folds of a limp +and draggled White Ensign that hung from +the after-stanchion of her bridge.</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> +<h2>A NAVAL DISCUSSION.</h2> + +<p>The air was thick with smoke, and a half-circle +of officers sat clustered round the stove in the +smoking-room. True—there was no fire in the +stove, but that did not count. A stove was a +place you sat around and jerked cigarette ash +at, or, if you were long enough, rested your +heels on. The party consisted of six ship's +officers and a guest. A few feet away a +Bridge-party was in progress. It was the usual +Naval party, and was composed of one man +who could play, two who thought they could, +and one who had come in in response to urgent +demands to "make up a four," and who held no +illusions about his own play or his partner's. +However, he argued well, which was a help. +The game appeared to go in spasms—a few +minutes' peace punctuated only by subdued + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +oaths, and then a cross-fire of abuse and recriminations—usually +opened by the fourth player, +who had somewhere learnt the wonderful feminine +art of getting in first accusation, and then +dodging his opponents' salvoes behind a smoke-screen +of side-issues.</p> + +<p>The group by the stove were not in the +least disturbed by the game behind them. +They had heard Naval Bridge played before, +and knew that it was only when the players +became polite that trouble was in the offing. +The talk, as always, was of the War, and +swung with startling suddenness from one queer +aspect to another. The Senior Engineer was +leaning back in his chair, his pipe between his +teeth, listening to the mixture of views and +voices from either side of him.</p> + +<p>"What do they want this saluting order at +all for? They're making everybody salute +everybody in London now, and they say it +isn't safe to walk down the Haymarket to the +Admiralty, because the traffic stands to attention +for you."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> + "All damn nonsense. There's too much +saluting—that sort, I mean—and there's too +little of the other sort. Let's have an order +that every civilian must salute a wounded man, +or a man with a wound stripe, and then I'll +take Provost-Marshal and see it done."</p> + +<p>"They'd chuck their hands in. They're all +talking of Democracy now, and a wounded man +would count as a gilded autocrat."</p> + +<p>"Democracy, my foot! I know their sort of +Democracy. It's like Russia's special brand—do +as you please, and make all you can for +yourself. A civilian's no good till he's a conscript +or done his time in the Territorials. If +they want democracy they can come here. This +is the most democratic Service in the world."</p> + +<p>"But you can't run down civilians over this +war; why—the whole Army's civilian now. +They haven't done so badly, though they had to +wait for war before they moved."</p> + +<p>"Whose fault was it they didn't help before? +It wasn't ours. But that's just what I'm +saying. They're all right once they've been + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +drilled, but no damn good till they have been. +We ought to put the whole lot through a short +course of drill and a week of trench work, and +let them go again."</p> + +<p>The guest's voice broke in—"You mean, I +take it, that the people who are going to make +the peace are the people who have not yet +learnt discipline?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir—that's about it. They haven't +learnt to think for their side instead of their +own private ends."</p> + +<p>"Call 'em politicians and have done with it, +Pongo!"</p> + +<p>"Well, they are—aren't they? They get the +politicians they like, and they appoint men of +their own sort, so they are all politicians +really."</p> + +<p>"Well, I think that's being rather hard on +them. They have to take the men the party +whips gave them. I think they're a poor lot, +but I wouldn't call them politicians."</p> + +<p>The guest moved uneasily. "I don't quite see +your point," he said. "Is the term 'politician' + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +one of reproach or praise? I once stood for my +local constituency and——"</p> + +<p>The young officer with his heels on the stove +gave a sudden snort. "Don't you believe him, +he's pulling your legs—so don't apologise. He's +no politician, anyway."</p> + +<p>The guest laughed. "Well, I'm not in politics +now," he said. "What is your definition of this +strange animal?"</p> + +<p>There was a pause, and then a cautious reply, +"Well, he's an M.P."</p> + +<p>"But I know some very charming M.P.'s—are +they all politicians?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, sir. They're different. It's a question +of standards, really."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but what are the standards?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you see—we have one—and civilians +have another, business people and so on, and +then there's the politicians."</p> + +<p>"You ought to write a dictionary, Pongo—you +snub-nosed old shell-back. No, I ain't +scrapping, and if you get up I'll take your +chair."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> + "Whose got a cigarette? No, not one of +your stinkers—gimme one of yours, Guns."</p> + +<p>The officer addressed politely passed a cigarette +across in his fingers, and turning in his chair +beckoned to a marine servant who was just returning +with an empty tray from the Bridge table.</p> + +<p>"A cigarette, please, waiter—and debit it to +the account of my honourable friend Mr Maugham, +here. I'll stop your cadging, Pongo—if I +have to take on the tobacco accounts to do it."</p> + +<p>"Lucky there's no shortage of 'baccy, or all +the armies would strike."</p> + +<p>"Well, that'd be one way to stop the war. +You can't fight without it. Wish we had some +tobacco shares. Some people must be making +a lot."</p> + +<p>"Not so much as the food people."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe the food people do make so +much. It's the world shortage that causes the +trouble, not the prices—or rather one involves +the other."</p> + +<p>"It isn't so much that. It's a rise of prices +all round. Things get expensive, so the country + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +strikes for higher wages and gets them—then +prices go up because the sovereign has depreciated, +and they strike again. It goes on in a +vicious circle."</p> + +<p>"Can't be a circle—because that's progression. +You've got to get to a smash in time."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it means there'll be just as much cash +in the world, but every one will be poor. Cash +isn't wealth—work is wealth, and all work +nowadays is wasted. We're chucking it into +the air in Flanders."</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll last out this war, and then have +to lash out."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes—there'll be room to lash out in, too. +We'll be back in Elizabeth's days—lots of room +for every one, but no capital."</p> + +<p>"So long as there are no Huns we'll be happy, +so what's the odds? Give us a match."</p> + +<p>"Well, I want a few Huns left to compare +notes with after this. It would be dull to hear +our own side only. One couldn't meet their +Army, of course, but their Navy's not so bad. +They've tried to fight clean, at any rate, and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +they fight good and 'earty. Yes, I know about +Fritz, but if you had orders to torpedo liners, +wouldn't you do it? 'Course you would, if you +were told they were carrying munitions and +you were saving your country by it. There are +Fritzes who <i>like</i> it, certainly, but we have to +give the others the benefit of the doubt."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'd like to read their logs and so on +after the war, though we'll be so damn sick of +all the truck they'll publish here when the +Censor pays off that we wont want to read +much of anything."</p> + +<p>"It isn't the stuff just after the war one +would like to read. I'd like to be alive in a +hundred years to read the truth."</p> + +<p>"Well, you wont be if you knock my drink +over with your hairy hoofs—sit still!"</p> + +<p>"It'd do you good if I did knock it over—your +hoary-headed old rip. Guns, do you think +they'll have raised our pay in a hundred years' +time?"</p> + +<p>"I doubt it. They'll pay off the Navy and +economise as soon as peace is signed—"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> + "—And we'll have another war on our hands +inside six months—we always do; we've always +retrenched after a war, and then had to give +bonuses to get the men back inside a year."</p> + +<p>"Well, they'll pay off the battleships, anyway—and +only keep the fast cruisers and the +submarines."</p> + +<p>"You and your submarines! Have you heard +from your brother lately?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he tells me if I'm going to join I've got +to remember it's the greatest honour to be—half +a sec., I've got the letter here—to be alive +and able to get into the greatest and most +efficient Service of the Greatest Navy the world +has ever seen, in the Greatest event in History +since the Moon broke off."</p> + +<p>There was a two seconds' silence (which is +long for a Naval discussion), then—</p> + +<p>"Well, cutting out the swollen-headed tosh +about the Greatest Service, which I take it he +means to refer to submarines, I don't know that +he's far wrong."</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose we shall have our pasts and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +presents all looked up, and that people at the +U.S. Institution will argue about us like they +did a few years ago about Trafalgar."</p> + +<p>"No fear. They'll all be peaceful then, and +we'll be barbarians, and not to be spoken of."</p> + +<p>"Barbarian, my foot! We're the cleanest lot +in England, and the English are cleaner than +most races."</p> + +<p>"Do you think there'll be another battle?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, help! If that cag's going to start, I'm +off. Good-night, sir."</p> + +<p>"I must go too, Jim," said the guest, with +a startled glance at the clock. "Where did I +leave my coat?"</p> + +<p>The Senior Engineer rose and followed them +out, hearing as he passed through the door an +unwearying voice by the stove—"I know a +chap on Beatty's staff, and he says they'll fight +next spring or summer."</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE GUNLAYER.</h2> + +<p>"<i>Hit first—hit hard—and keep on hitting</i>, is +a good rule, but what I want to impress on you +is that in this war the last part of that rule is +the most important. The enemy shoots remarkably +well—at a target—but he does not appear +to stand punishment well himself. It is remarkable +how the German shooting falls off once he +gets a few big shells aboard him, and up to +date it has been noticeable that our own +practice is, up to a certain point, improved +by our being hit. It is just a matter of sticking +power...."</p> + +<p>The Gunnery Lieutenant paused in his lecture +and sighed. "Would these pasty-faced beggars +stick it?" He had had a week to train the crew—most +of them raw hands—of the latest and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +fastest light cruiser, into a semblance of war +efficiency, and the effort was tiring him. They +were so very new and unintelligent, and he had +had to go over the A B C of gunnery with them +as if they had never been through their course +before joining. Seven bells struck, and he +dismissed the class and sent them shuffling and +elbowing out of the flat.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>They had been stationed at the guns three +hours and had seen nothing. This was their +second day out, and the first nervousness and +feeling of shyness at being in enemy waters +was wearing off. The mist that had been with +them since dawn was clearing away too, and +the gunlayer of No. Five straightened his back +and stretched himself against the shield. This +was a silly game, he decided. Two cables astern +the knife-edge stem of a sister ship was parting +their wake into two creamy undulating waves +which seemed to spoil the mirror-like surface of +what the German wireless has with inimitable +humour termed "The fringe of the English barred + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +zone," or as their Lordships more drily put it, +"The mouth of the Bight."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The gunlayer spat carefully over the side +and felt in his cap-rim for a cigarette. He +calculated that he would make the "fag," with +care, last till breakfast. Fourteen days in +commission had at any rate taught him that +the art of shortening up the frequent spells of +boredom consisted in a judicious mixture of +tobacco and thinking, and as smoking was +barred under heavy penalties during the dark +hours, his brain had been somewhat overworked +since four. As he fumbled for his matches he +froze suddenly still as a bugle blared "Action +stations!" from the bridge above him. He +heard the beginnings of the clatter of men +closing up and the hum of activity along the +deck, but till the cold shiver had passed from +him he could not move. His one idea was that +this was <i>real</i>, and he would give anything to +be out of it. Then in a flash he was at his +sights, his hands on the focussing-ring and his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +head close up to the telescope, in fear that +others might see something in his face that he +did not want them to see. For exactly the +same reasons some hundred other men on the +upper deck were becoming feverishly busy, but +before the last note of the bugle had died the +guns' crews were over their stage fright, and +were, with perhaps a little more care and +intelligence than they had shown at drill, closing +up to their guns.</p> + +<p>The gunlayer of No. Five stepped to one side +and looked out on the beam. The mists had +cleared, and far to the east he could see a line +of little smoke puffs that could only mean one +thing—ships in station and burning high-speed +fuel. The cruiser heeled a little, and the smoke +dots swung from abeam to nearly ahead as +she turned, and he lost sight of them behind +the shield of the next gun. He wanted to go +forward and watch them. It seemed worse to +have it hanging over him like this. He did +not know if he would be quite ready if the +ship turned suddenly to bring his gun to bear + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +and he should see the enemy at close range, +and no longer as little brown smoke blurs.</p> + +<p>The sight-setter, a boy of seventeen, spoke +to him and he looked round. The boy's face +was rather white, and his lips trembled a little. +The gunlayer woke up at the sight, and broke +into a pleased grin.</p> + +<p>"Only little beggars," he said, "hardly enough +to make a mouthful. Don't you make no +blinkin' errors this morning, my lad, or I'll +land you one you'll be proud of!"</p> + +<p>The speech cheered him up, and he began to +believe he <i>might</i> come out of it alive—with +luck. The ship was travelling now. The white +water raced past at a dizzy speed, and a great +sloping V of bubbling foam followed them fifty +yards astern. Every few seconds a quivering +vibration started from forward and travelled +through the hull—reminding him of a terrier +waiting at a rat-hole. He wanted to smoke—there +would be just time for a cigarette—but +although he was afraid of death, he was afraid +of the Gunnery Lieutenant more. He snuggled + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +down to the shoulder-piece and began working +his elevating wheel slowly. There was little +roll on the ship, and he realised thankfully +that there was going to be no difficulty about +keeping his sights on. The oblong port in +the shield through which his telescope passed +worried him: it seemed so unnecessarily big. +That was just like the Admiralty designers, he +thought—so long as they didn't have to stand +behind the hole they didn't care how big it +was. Why, it would let a six-inch shell +through! He felt quite a grievance about it. +Then, with a heel and an increase of vibration +the ship turned. Lord! there they were—one—two—three—four—five +of them—going like +smoke, too. He pressed close to his telescope, +and the enemy sprang into view—many times +magnified. The boy sight-setter in a cracked +voice repeated an order, and he heard the quick +shuffle of feet and the word "Ready" come like +a whip-crack from behind him. The leading +enemy danced in the heat-haze as his telescope +swayed up and down her foremast. It all + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +depended on him and a few others now. The +responsibility worried him. The gun's crew +behind him were invisible, but he felt that +their eyes were glued to his back, and that +they were wondering if he was going to make +good.</p> + +<p>Boom—Br-r-room—Boom! That was the +next ahead. It sounded a rotten salvo. Was +she ranging—or would they all start now? He +saw no splashes by the ship in his sights. Was +it a complete miss, or was it fired at another +enemy?</p> + +<p>Boom—B-r-<i>room</i>! That was a better one. +Weren't <i>they</i> going to do anything? As he +wondered, the enemy cruiser flashed like a red +helio, and he gasped in admiration at the simultaneous +firing of her battery. A great sheet +of white shut out the view in his telescope, and +a deafening crack announced the bursting of +a short salvo. <i>Wow</i>-ooo! Something whined +overhead, and his own gun spoke—rocking the +shield, and making him flinch from the sights. +<i>Gawd!</i> had he fired with the sights on, or + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +were his eyes shut? Anyhow, the men behind +him did not seem to notice anything wrong. +The breech slammed viciously, and the word +"Ready" came on the instant. "<i>Clang</i>"—something +hit the shield and glanced upwards +as his gun spoke again. He knew he hadn't +had the sights on then—he hadn't been ready,—how +the hell could a man keep the sights +on with this going on? Behind him a man +began a scream, a scream which was cut +short suddenly with the crack of a bursting +H.E. shell and the whistle and wail of splinters. +Gawd! this was chronic—the ship must be +getting it thick. The enemy swung into his +telescope field again, and he saw the throbbing +flame jerk out and vanish from her upper deck.</p> + +<p>B-r-r-<i>oom</i>! That was a better salvo. He +must have been on the spot that time—another +one—no, he was aiming high then. Still, it +didn't matter. They'd all be dead soon and +nobody would know who'd fired well or badly. +Right abreast the enemy's bridge a great spout +of water shot up, and behind it he saw the yellow + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +sheet of flame that told of half a broadside going +home. "He <i>must</i> keep his sights on"—"<i>Must</i> +keep his sights on." His gun rocked as it fired, +and he swore under his breath at the delay before +the crew reloaded. Were they all wounded? +They might be—as he estimated at least three +full salvoes had been aboard since the first shot. +The enemy swung out of his field of view again, +and he took his eye from the telescope a moment. +What the hell was the ship turning for? The +flagship must be crazy—just when we were +hitting, too. He froze to his eye-piece again, +and saw the familiar bridge and curved stem +of his target as before. A haze of purplish-grey +smoke was over her forecastle, and as he +fired again he saw the flash of another salvo +along her side. What was it "Guns" had said? +<i>The one that sticks it out.</i> Why couldn't they +load quicker behind him? They seemed so slow. +The target vanished suddenly in a pall of brown +smoke, and he lost her for a moment, his sights +swinging down with the gentle motion of the +ship. He saw splashes rise from the sea, but + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +heard no whine and hum of splinters following. +There she was again! And there was another +salvo in the same place. A voice from behind +him said something, and he barked a profane +response,—a demand for quicker loading. The +voice replied with, "Stick it, Jerry—you're +givin' 'er bloody 'ell!" And he realised suddenly +that the hitting now seemed to be all one way, +and that his target was on fire from the bow +to the forward funnel. His sights swung off +again, and a moment later his gun brought up +against the forward stops with a bump. He +raised his head and looked round. Their next +astern was on the quarter now, and they must +have all turned together towards the enemy. +The bow gun still banged away, sending blasts +of hot air back along the deck, but no reply +seemed to be coming. The gunlayer scrambled +up on the shield and looked ahead to the east. +A blur of smoke hid the enemy—a great brown +greasy cloud—and he dropped on his knee to the +heel that announced another change of helm. +Round they came—sixteen points—and he had + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +a view of the Flagship, with a long signal hoist +at her masthead, tearing past in her own wake.</p> + +<p>"What the hell—ain't we going to finish it? +What's the game?" a chorus of voices spoke +from the deck below him, and then came the +"still" of a bugle and the pipe, "Sponge out +and clean guns—clear up upper deck. Enemy +is under the guns of Heligoland."</p> + +<p>"Well, who cares for Heligoland?" said the +gunlayer—and on the words he came down from +his perch on the gunshield with a run. A roar +like a twelve-inch salvo and a huge column +of tumbling water a hundred yards on the beam +had answered him. The next shell pitched in +their wake—then another well astern, and they +were out of range. He suddenly realised that +he was thirstier than he had ever been before, +and started forward to the water-tank. As he +moved, a hand clutched his arm and he found +the boy sight-setter at his side, a fountain of +words, dancing with excitement.</p> + +<p>"My Christ! that was fine. <i>Gawd</i>—what a +show, hey? An' you that cool, too. I didn't + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +'alf shake, till I looked at you, an' saw you was +laughin'. We didn't 'alf brown 'em off, did we? +an' they——"</p> + +<p>"Aw, go chase yerself," said the gunlayer. +"That weren't nothing. Wait till you sees a +battle, my son—and you won't think nothing +o' to-day."</p> + +<p>As he turned to lift the drinking-cup he +glanced at the clock and saw with amazement +that it was seven-fifteen. With a vague memory +of having done so before, he fumbled in his +cap-lining for a cigarette.</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> +<h2>A WAGE SLAVE.</h2> + +<p>The Coxswain nodded to the boy messenger and +reached for his cap.</p> + +<p>"All right, my lad—'ook me down that +lammy. What's the panic, d'ye know?"</p> + +<p>"No, <i>I</i> dunno. Sez 'e, 'Tell 'im to come up. +I want 'im at the wheel,' 'e sez. An' I come +along an'——"</p> + +<p>"All right—'ook it, and don't stand there +blowin' down my neck."</p> + +<p>The Coxswain jerked his "lammy" coat on, +and clumped heavily out of the mess, chewing +a section of ship's biscuit (carefully and cunningly—for +the shortage of teeth among torpedo +coxswains amounts almost to a badge of +office) as he went.</p> + +<p>"What's up, Jim—steam tattics?" asked the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +Torpedo Gunner's Mate—another Lower Deck +Olympian—looking up from a three-day-old +'Telegraph.'</p> + +<p>The Coxswain grunted in response. It is +not the custom of the Service to answer silly +questions. The reason the question was asked +at all may be put down to the fact of the +'Telegraph' being not only old but empty of +interest.</p> + +<p>As he reached the upper deck he buttoned +his coat and felt in his pockets for his mittens. +It was very cold—a cold accentuated by the +wind of the Destroyer's passage. There was +no sea, but it was pitch-dark, with a glint of +phosphorus from water broken by the wakes +of six "war-built" T.B.D.'s running in line +ahead at an easy twenty-four knots. The Coxswain +could never, in all probability, have +explained his reasoning, though the fact that +the speed had been increased was noticeable; +but he knew, as he swung up the ladders to +the unseen fore-bridge, that he had not been +sent for a mere alteration of course. His brain + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +must have received some telepathic wave from +the ship's hull which told him that the enemy +had had something to do with the break in +his watch below.</p> + +<p>His sea-boots ceased their noisy clumping +as he reached the bridge, and he was standing +by the helmsman with a hand on the wheel +before the man had noticed his arrival. With +an interrogative grunt he stepped to the steering +pedestal as the man moved aside, and he +stood peering at the dimly lit compass card, +and moving the wheel a spoke or two each +way as he "felt" her.</p> + +<p>"North Seventy East—carryin' a little starboard," +said the dark figure beside him, and +he accepted the "Turn-over" with another +characteristic growl—</p> + +<p>"That you, Pember? Follow the next ahead +and steer small." The Commander had spoken, +the white gleam from his scarf showing for a +moment in the reflected compass light.</p> + +<p>"Next ahead and steer small, sir." He leaned +forward and watched the blue-white fan of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +phosphorus that meant the stern-wave of the +next ship. Low voices spoke beside him, and +the telegraphs whirred round and reply-gongs +tinkled. Half, or perhaps a quarter, of his +brain noticed these things, but they were +instantly pigeon-holed and forgotten. He was +at his job, and his job was to hold his course +on the next ahead. Without an order, nothing +but death would cause him to let his attention +wander from his business. He heard the sub-lieutenant +a few feet distant crooning in a +mournful voice—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"How many miles to Babylon?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Three score and ten."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The back of his brain seized the words and +turned them over and over. Babylon was in +the Bible—he wasn't sure where it was on +the map though. How much was three score +and ten? Three twenties were sixty, and—"<i>Action +Stations</i>"—Babylon slid into a pigeon-hole, +and he relaxed for a second from his +rigid concentration on the next ahead. He +straightened up, stretching his long gaunt body, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +and a suspicion of a smile lit his face. Then +he resumed his peering, puckered attitude, +oblivious to everything but that phosphorescent +glow ahead. The glow broadened and brightened, +and he felt the quiver beneath his feet that +told of a speed that contractors of three years +ago would have gaped at. A vivid flash of +yellow light lit up the next ahead and showed +her bridge and funnels with startling clearness +against the sky. By the same flash he saw +another big destroyer on the bow crossing the +line from starboard to port. His own bow +gun fired at the instant the detonations of the +first shots reached him, and in the midst of +the tearing reports of a round dozen of high-velocity +guns, by some miracle of concentration, +he heard a helm order from the white scarf +six feet away. The little fifteen-inch wheel +whirled under his hand, and with a complaining +quiver and roll the destroyer swung after +her leader to port. In the light of a continually +increasing number of gun-flashes he +saw the next ahead running "Yard-arm to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +Yard-arm" with a long German destroyer, each +slamming shell into the other at furious speed. +He gave a side-glance to starboard to look for +his opposite number on the enemy line—and +then came one of those incidents which show +that the Navy trains men into the same mental +groove, whether officers or coxswains.</p> + +<p>The enemy destroyer was just turning up to +show her port broadside. She was carrying +"Hard-over" helm, and her wheel could hardly reverse +in the time that would be necessary if——. +The coxswain anticipated the order he knew +would come—anticipated it to the extent of a +mere fraction of port-helm and a savage grip +of the wheel. The order came in a voice that +no amount of gun-fire could prevent the coxswain +from hearing just then. "<i>Hard-a-port!</i> +<i>Ram her</i>, coxswain!" The enemy saw and +tried to meet the charge bow-on. There was +no room between them for that, and he knew +it. His guns did his best for him, but a man +intent on his job takes a lot of killing at short +range. Two shells hit and burst below the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +bridge, and the third—the coxswain swung +round the binnacle, gripping the rim with his +left hand. His right hand still held the wheel, +and spun it through a full turn of starboard +helm. The stiffened razor-edge bow took the +enemy at the break of the poop, and went +clean through before crushing back to the fore +bulkhead. At the impact the shattered coxswain +slipped forward on the deck and died +with a smashing, splintering noise in his ears—the +tribute of war to an artist whose work +was done.</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> +<h2>AN "ANNUAL."</h2> + +<p>A grey drizzly morning, with yellow fog to +seaward and every prospect of a really wet day. +At each side of the black basin gates stood +a little group of men, the majority "Dockyard +mateys" of the rigger's party. A few wore +the insignia of higher rank—bowler hats and +watch-chains. The bowler hats conferred together +in low voices, while the rank and file +conferred not at all, but stared solemnly out +at the wall of mist that cut the visibility in +the harbour down to a bare four hundred +yards.</p> + +<p>Round the corner of the rigger's store two +uniformed figures appeared walking briskly +towards the basin entrance. Both wore overcoats. +The shorter man was grey where the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +hair showed beneath his gold-peaked cap, while +the pale face and "washed-out" look of the +younger man indicated that the hospital ship +which took him away from Gallipoli had done +so none too soon.</p> + +<p>As they approached, one of the bowler-wearers +detached himself from the group and +spoke to the senior of the two. There was a +three-cornered comparison of watches and then +a move to the wall, over the edge of which +they gazed down at the slowly moving yellow +water.</p> + +<p>"We'll give her another quarter of an hour, +Mr Johnson, and then pack up," said the officer. +"I think it has cleared a little since six, and +I know they'll bring her up if they possibly +can."</p> + +<p>Through the medley of horns, syrens, and +whistles that had been sounding through the +fog, four short blasts caught the ear of a rigger +who leaned against the outward capstan bollard. +He lounged forward a couple of paces, and +the men nearest looked round at him with a + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +symptom of interest. The blasts sounded again, +and he turned and looked at the foreman +rigger behind him. The foreman nodded and +spoke and the group separated a little, some +of the men picking up long flexible "heaving-lines" +coiled in neat rings on the cobble-stones.</p> + +<p>"She's coming, sir," said the foreman, turning +to the King's Harbourmaster; "she'll just do +it nicely. That was the new tug's whistle."</p> + +<p>A couple of capstan bollards began to clatter +round as steam was turned on and a heavy +wooden fender swung with a crash over the +rounded edge of each entrance wall. The mist +was clearing now, and the traffic in the harbour +could be dimly seen. A foreman pointed to +seaward, and the younger officer followed his +arm with his tired eyes. Over the fog a +slender dark line showed with a blurred foretop +below. The unmistakable tripod mast of a +big ship showed gradually through, and as he +watched he was reminded of a magic-lantern +picture out of focus being gradually brought +into definition by the operator. The mist + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +cleared faster than she approached, and at a +quarter of a mile he could see the great looming +bow surmounted by tier on tier of bridges, +which mounted almost to the high overhanging +top. She crawled slowly on, using her own +engines, the hawsers leading to the furiously +agitated paddle tugs on bow and quarter +sweeping slack along the stream. On the tall +"monkey's island" a group of figures clustered +together, and the gleam of gold-peaked caps +showed among the blue overcoats. At half a +cable's length the voices of the leadsmen, inarticulate +and faint before, could be clearly +heard. "And a <i>ha-a-a-f</i> nine"—"and a <i>ha-a-a-f</i> +nine." The bow tugs sheered off to each side, +and whistles blew shrilly. The heavy bow +hawsers fell splashing in the water, and the +jingle of engine-room telegraph bells echoed up +the walls of the entrance. A couple of dingy +black "rigger" boats, propelled "Maltee fashion," +with the rowers standing facing forward, appeared +between the dockyard wall and the great +curved stem. Heaving-lines sailed through the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +air, uncoiling as they flew, and the boats rowed +furiously back to the entrance. From somewhere +aft by the turret a great bull voice spoke +through a megaphone. The riggers at the +entrance leapt into sudden activity, and for five +minutes the din and clatter of capstans, shrilling +of whistles, and splash of hawsers in the water +broke the spell of silence. The noise died +suddenly, and the note of telegraph bells came +ringing again from the high grey monster. +Slowly she gathered way, and to the clatter +of the dockyard capstans as the slack of the +hawsers was taken in, her forty-foot curved +stem passed the black caisson gates. The two +officers, the young and the old, stepped to the +edge of the wall and looked across. Her stem +had hit off the exact centre of the entrance, +but there was a good two hundred yards of +her to come yet. In dead silence, with groups +of men fallen in at attention along her side, +she flowed on, her speed a bare two knots, but +a speed in keeping with her enormous bulk and +majesty. As she entered, and the finer lines + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +of her bow passed, she seemed to swell, till +she almost filled the entrance, and it looked as +if one could step aboard her from the lock-side. +The eyes travelled from the mighty turret guns +that glistened in the rain, and were attracted +up and up till heads were tilted back to look +at the highest bridge of all. A quiet incisive +voice could be clearly heard: "Port ten"—"'Midships"—"Stop +both." Again the "kling-kling" +of bells and then silence. The grey-haired +officer on the wall raised his hand in +salute, and a tall grave captain, looking down +from above, saluted in return, showing a flash +of white teeth in a smile of recognition.</p> + +<p>As she passed the hawsers came with her, +transferred from bollard to bollard by gangs +of staggering men. The passage of her stern +past the outer entrance seemed to break a +spell, as if the hypnotism of hundreds of staring +eyes had passed away. The caisson gates +ground to with almost indecent haste behind +her, as some castle portcullis might do as the +last prisoner was dragged through. Whistles + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +blew, answering each other across the oily, +rain-pitted water of the basin, and to the <i>weeep +we-ooo</i> of pipes and the roar of the boatswains +mates' voices, the lines of rigid men on the +great ship's side broke up and fell back. She +had left the open sea and had become "Number +955—for refit—in Dockyard hands."</p> + +<p>"How long is she for, sir? Ten days?"</p> + +<p>The grey-haired officer turned: "No, only +eight. They want her back as soon as possible. +Four days' leave to each watch and she'll be +off again. You're looking cold, boy—come +up to breakfast. That malaria hasn't left you +yet."</p> + +<p>"I wish it would, sir. I want to get to sea +again.</p> + +<p>"I know. It's not so bad to watch them +come in, but it makes me feel old when I see +them leaving again. But you needn't worry, +the War's going on a long time yet."</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> +<h2>"OUR ANNUAL."</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Up the well-remembered fairway, past the buoys and forts we drifted—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw the houses, roads, and churches, as they were a year ago.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far astern were wars and battles, all the dreary clouds were lifted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As we turned the Elbow Ledges—felt the engines ease to "Slow."<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rusty side and dingy paintwork, stripped for war and cleared for battle—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw the harbour-tugs around us—smelt the English fields again,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">English fields and English hedges—sheep and horses, English cattle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a screen unrolled before us, through the mist of English rain.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> + <span class="i0">Slowly through the basin entrance—twenty thousand tons a-crawling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a thousand men aboard her, all a-weary of the War—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warped her round and laid alongside with the cobble-stones a-calling—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"There's a special train awaiting, just for you to come ashore."<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Out again as fell the evening, down the harbour in the gloaming<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the sailors on the fo'c'sle looking wistfully a-lee—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just another year of waiting—just another year of roaming<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the Majesty of England—for the Freedom of the Sea.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> +<h2>MASCOTS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the galleys of Phœnicia, through the gates of Hercules,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steered South and West along the coast to seek the Tropic Seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they rounded Cape Agulhas, putting out from Table Bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They started trading North again, as steamers do to-day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They dealt in gold and ivory and ostrich feathers too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a little private trading by the officers and crew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till rounding Guardafui, steering up for Aden town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tall Phœnician Captain called the First Lieutenant down.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> + <span class="i0">"By all the Tyrian purple robes that you will never wear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the Temples of Zimbabwe, by King Solomon I swear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ship is like a stable, like a Carthaginian sty.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am Captain here—confound you!—or I'll know the reason why.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every sailor in the galley has a monkey or a goat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are parrots in the eyes of her and serpents in the boat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the roaring fire of Baal, I'll not have it any more:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heave them over by the sunset, or I'll hang you at the fore!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What is that, sir? <i>Not</i> as cargo? <i>Not</i> a bit of private trade?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well, of all the dumbest idiots you're the dumbest ever made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Standing there and looking silly: <i>leave the animals alone</i>."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Sailors with a tropic liver always have a brutal tone.)<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> + <span class="i0">"By the crescent of Astarte, I am not religious—yet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would sooner spill the table salt than kill a sailor's pet."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SPARROW.</h2> + +<p>A perfectly calm blue sea, a blazing June sun, +and absolutely nothing to break the monotony +of a blank horizon. The sparrow was deadbeat, +and was travelling slowly to the north and +west on a zigzag course, about two hundred feet +high. The sparrow had no right to be there +at all. He hailed from a Yorkshire hedgerow, +and nothing but a real three-day fog and +westerly winds could have brought him over +such a waste of waters. He had been flying +in a circle all night, swerving at intervals down +to the water in the vain hope of finding rest +for his aching muscles. Now he was heading +roughly towards his home with but slight hopes +of ever reaching it.</p> + +<p>A faint droning noise to the north made him + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +turn, and low over the straight-ruled horizon +he saw a silvery-white line that every moment +grew larger. He headed towards it, but at a +mile range swerved away to pass astern of it. +It was not an inviting object for even a lost +sparrow to rest on. With engines running slow—so +slowly that the blades of the great propellors +could be easily seen—with a broad white-and-black +ensign flapping lazily below and +astern, the Zeppelin droned on to the south'ard, +a thing of massive grace and beauty on such a +perfect summer's day.</p> + +<p>With a vague idea that the monster might +lead him home, the sparrow turned and followed. +The Zeppelin slowly drew ahead and rose higher, +while far to the south another monster rose +over the skyline, black against the sun. The +great craft passed each other and turned away, +the first one heading back to the north whence +he had come, and the second disappearing to the +east, climbing slowly as he went.</p> + +<p>The sparrow turned also and fluttered and +dipped in pathetic confidence after his first + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +visitor. The fact of having seen <i>something</i>, +however unpleasant and strange-looking, had +given him a new access of strength, and he was +able to keep the great silver thing in easy view. +Suddenly the Zeppelin tilted like a hunter at a +high fence, and the note of his engines rose to +a dull roar. He climbed like—well, like a +sparrow coming up to a house-top—and at three +thousand feet he circled at full power, levelling +off his angle, and showing a turn of speed which +left the frightened bird gaping.</p> + +<p>The sparrow fluttered on vaguely, passing at +100 feet above the water, below the Zeppelin. +He had decided that a pilot who played tricks +like that was no sort of use to him, and that he +had better stick to his original idea of working +to the north and west, however lonely a course +it might be. He swerved a little at a rushing, +whistling noise that came from above him, and +which grew to a terrifying note. A big dark +object whipped past him, and a moment later +splashed heavily into the mirror-like surface +below. The rings made by its impact had + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +hardly started to widen, when there was a +great convulsion, and a column of smoky-white +water leapt up behind him, followed by the +roar of an explosion. The sparrow started to +climb—to climb as he had never done in his +life. Twice more—his weariness forgotten—he +was urged to further efforts to gain height, +by the shock of the great detonations from +the water below. The Zeppelin was down to +a thousand feet now, swinging round on a +wider circle. Five hundred feet below, the +sparrow saw a faint streak on the water which +faded at one end into blue sea, and at the +other narrowed to a little feather of spray +round a dark point that was travelling like +the fin of some slowly moving fish to the north-westward. +The Zeppelin saw it too, and came +hunting back along the line. Bang—bang—bang! +Great columns shot up again ahead +and astern of the strange fish, and away went +the sparrow to the south once more. Any +course was bad in this place, and it was better +to die alone in the waters than to be pursued + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +by such a monster of the air. As he went he +heard more and more detonations behind him, +until the noise of the droning engine had died, +when he was again alone over the sparkling +unfriendly sea. The exertions and alarm of +the last hour had taken the last of his reserve +forces, and in uneven flutterings his flight +tended lower and lower, till he was a bare +twenty feet from what he knew must be his +grave. Then came a miracle of war. A bare +quarter-mile ahead a thing like a tapering lance +began to rise and grow from the water. It +was followed by a grey black-lettered tower +which also grew and showed a rounded grey +hull, moving slowly south with a white band +of froth spinning away astern. A lid on the +tower clanged open, and two figures appeared. +One raised something to his eye, and faced +south. The other stood on the rail and pivoted +slowly round, staring at sky and sea.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what the deuce he was bombing—bit +of wreckage, I suppose," said the man +on the rail.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> + "Well, it wasn't us anyway. The blind old +baby-killer." The man with the sextant +lowered it and fiddled with the shades. "<i>We've</i> +got no boats near, have we, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Not for donkeys' miles. I hope it was a +Fritz, anyway. I say, look at that spadger!"</p> + +<p>"Where? I don't see it. Stand by. Stop, +sir."</p> + +<p>"All right, I got you. Here, catch this +watch. That spadger's gone down into the +casing, and he'll drown if we dip with him +there. Look out for those Zepps. coming back."</p> + +<p>The Captain swung quickly down the foreside +of the conning-tower, ran forward and peered +into the casing in the eyes of the boat.</p> + +<p>"Zepp. coming, sir,—north of us, just gone +behind a bit of cloud."</p> + +<p>"Zepp. be damned. Ah! got you, you little +beggar." He reached his arm into a coil of +wet rope and rose triumphantly to his feet. +The sparrow cheeped pitifully as he ran aft +again and took the ladder in two jumps. He +gave a glance astern and another all round + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +the horizon before following his sextant-clutching +subordinate below. The lid clanged, +and with a sigh, a gurgle, and a flirt of her +screws the submarine slid under, the blank +and expressionless eye of her periscope staring +fixedly at an unconscious but triumphant +Zeppelin that was gliding out from a fleecy +patch of cloud astern.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>"Here you are, Lizzie. Skipper said I was +to let him go soon's we got in, but I just +brought 'im to show you. We've 'ad 'im aboard +five days now, and 'e can't 'alf eat biscuit. 'E's +as full as 'e can 'old now. Open the window, +old girl, and we'll let 'im out afore I starts +'ugging yer."</p> + +<p>The lid of the cap-box opened wide and the +sparrow hopped to the table. He raised his +cramped wings and fluffed out his feathers as +he felt his muscles again. There was a flutter +and a flip of his impudent tail, and quicker +than the eye could follow him the wanderer +was gone.</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> +<h2>A WAR WEDDING.</h2> + +<p>Old Bill Dane? Yes, he's married now. We +got a week's refitting leave, and I've just been +seeing him through it. Ye—es, there was a bit +of a hitch when they were engaged, but——Well, +I'll tell you the story. I saw most of it, +because I was sort of doing second for him then +too. You see, he and I got it rather in the neck +in the August scrap, and we came out of hospital +together. I had a smashed leg and he had a +scalp wound. Nothing to write home about, but +it didn't make any more of a Venus of him +when it healed. They sent us on sick-leave, and +we stayed with his people. His guvnor's the eye +specialist, you know—got a home in town, and +keeps the smell of iodoform in Harley Street, and +doesn't let it come into the house. We were all + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +right. We led the quiet life, and just pottered +around, and saw the shows and so on. We gave +the social life a miss until Bill's sister let us +in. Bill didn't want to go, but she put it to +me, and as I was sort of her guest I had to +make him come. Who? The sister? Oh! all +right, you know. Don't be a fool, or I won't +tell you the yarn. Well, she took us poodlefaking, +and it cost me a bit at Gieves' for new +rig, too. It was about our third stunt that +way when Bill got into trouble. We were at +some bally great house belonging to a stockbroker +or bookie or some one, and they were +doing fox-trots up and down the drawing-room, +and Bill and I were rather out of it. I was +lame and he's no dancing man, unless it's just +dressed in a towel or two to amuse guests in the +wardroom when there's a bit of table-turning +going on. Some woman came and told him he'd +got to join up, and took him over to the girl. +She was dressed regular war-flapper fashion, +you know, like a Bank of Expectation cheque, +except she hadn't got a top-hat on as some of + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +them had lately. Most of 'em in the room were +togged out like that, and Bill and I had just +agreed we didn't go much on the style at all, +but Bill is a proper lamb about women. He +did one turn of the room with the girl, dancing +a sort of Northern Union style, and then she +stopped, and he brought her over to me and +plumped her on the sofa between us. I think +he wanted to see if I was laughing. She started +on me at once, and asked me all about my leg +and Bill's head, and talked like a Maxim. Asked +me if we were great friends, and made me +laugh. I said we had only forgathered because +I had beaten him in the middle-weights in the +Grand Fleet championships, and though I had +never seen his face before, his left stop had +touched my heart. She dropped me then—she +thought I was pulling her leg—and turned to +Bill, and then his sister took me off to get her +tea. I didn't realise Bill was getting soft about +it till his sister told me, though the fact of our +going to tea and dinner at the girl's home that +week had seemed funny to me at the time. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +The sister was rather pleased about it—said she +knew the girl and liked her. I said I didn't +think much of that sort, but she smoothed me +down a bit. She thought that they would do +each other good. I said Bill was such an old +lamb he'd only get sloppy, and do what the +girl told him; but she laughed. She told me I +might know Jim in the ring, but I didn't know +much about him otherwise. I was rather shirty +at that, but I think now she was talking sense, +though I didn't then. Well, Bill can get quite +busy when he makes his mind up, and the way +he rushed that girl was an education to watch. +They were engaged in ten days from the first +time we went to her house, and I don't think +we missed seeing her for more than twelve hours +in that time. I? Oh, I and the sister were +chaperons. I didn't mind. I was sorry for Bill, +but I wasn't going to spoil things for him if +he was set on it.</p> + +<p>The girl's people were all right. They were +rather the Society type, you know—thought +London was capital of the world, and that a + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +Gotha bomb in the West End ought to mean a +new Commander-in-Chief to relieve Haig; but +they were quite decent.</p> + +<p>The trouble? Well, I'm coming to that. It +came about a week after they had announced +the engagement. Old Bill had been getting a +bit restive over things. You see, he had begun +to wonder just where <i>he</i> came into the business. +He wanted to get the girl off by her lonesome +to a desert island, and tell her what a peach +she was, for the rest of her natural life; but +the girl hadn't got an inkling of what he thought +about it. He was towed round like a pet bear +and told to enjoy himself, while people talked +over his head. She was just a kid, and she +didn't know. It seemed to her that being engaged +was good fun, and getting married was a +matter they could think about later, when she'd +had time to consider it. She was all for the +tango-tea and the latest drawing-room crazes. I +didn't feel enthusiastic about his affairs, and I +told the sister so; but she laughed about it all. +I didn't. The girl, Hilda—her name was Hilda + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +Conron—was just like a kid with a toy. She +took him around and showed him off, and she +went on quacking away to all her pals as if +Bill wasn't in the room. She seemed to take it +for granted he was going to join up with her +crowd and learn to do the same tricks and talk +the same patter as they did. Bill certainly +tried; but they treated him like a fool, and he +told me several times he felt like one. Well +then, we came to the smash. Lord, it <i>was</i> a queer +show, and I'd sooner have had my leg off than +have missed it. We were taken off to a charity +auction, Red Cross or something, where they +sold bits of A. A. shell with the Government +marks on them as bits of Zepp. bombs, and +Pekinese dogs for a hundred quid or so. After +the sale, about twenty of the household and the +guests that had paid most clustered round to +add up the takings and drink tea and talk. +Miss Conron had been selling things, and was +dressed up to the nines. There was a bishop +there, and some young staff officers and some +civilians, M.P.'s, or editors or something like that. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +Old Bill was sitting with me and his sister, +looking like a family lawyer at a funeral, and +the girl was perched on a sofa with a lanky +shopwalker-looking bloke alongside her. He +was an indispensable of sorts—Secretary to the +Minister of some bloomin' thing or other. He +was the lad, I tell you,—sort of made you feel +you were waiting on the mat when he talked. +He was laying down the law about the War +and all about it, and he talked like all the +Angels at a Peace Conference. But it was the +bishop that put his foot in the mulligatawny +first. He agreed with the smooth-haired draper-man +about the need of peace, but he said we +should see that Germany provided suitable reparation +for Belgium. Bill sat up and got red +and stuttered, and said: "I don't think Germany +or anybody can give Belgium back what she +has lost."</p> + +<p>They all looked at Bill as if he had just +dawned on them, and Bill looked more foolish. +The draper-man shipped an eyeglass and looked +him over like a new specimen. "Ah!" he + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +said, "our naval friend? Perhaps you will tell +us in what way you consider the War can be +ended before the world comes to economic ruin. +Must we wait until you have had your fill +of fighting or have destroyed the High Sea +Fleet?"</p> + +<p>Bill stood up and stopped looking silly. Miss +Dane leaned back in her chair, and I heard +her sigh as if she was pleased about something.</p> + +<p>"Never mind the High Sea Fleet," said Bill. +"That's not your business to worry about. But +as to 'fill of fighting,' you've said it there. +When we've had our fill of fighting Germany +will have had more, but we're a long way from +that yet."</p> + +<p>The long stiff turned to Miss Conron. "Why, +little Miss Hilda," he said, "your fiancé is +charming. He should speak in the Park on +Sundays and we would all come to listen."</p> + +<p>The girl got red and looked daggers at Bill. +She didn't like his making a fool of himself, +and she wanted him back in his chair again. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +The long man put a hand on her knee and +spoke quietly to her, and she shook her head +at him and laughed. That did it. My oath! +that did it all right. Bill shrugged his shoulders +back and took station in the outer ring of +draper-worshippers, and spoke like a—a Demosthenes.</p> + +<p>"You blank, blank, blank," he said, "get off +that sofa and get away from Miss Conron."</p> + +<p>The Bishop looked as if the end of the world +had come and he was adrift with his cash +accounts. The staff officers looked blank and +the women got scary. I got up and took +station on Bill's quarter in case any one got +excited. The long man put up his glass again +and showed symptoms of an approaching +oration.</p> + +<p>"You stay then, you half-breed dog," said +Bill; "I'm going to talk to you." Bill put his +hands in his coat pockets and looked around. +"Now listen," he said; "I'm talking for a lot +of men who aren't here. <i>We're</i> fighting this +show, and there are some millions of us. Who + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +are you to talk of War or Peace? By God, if +you try and pack up we'll put you to work +again. If you're going to compromise with +Germany, we won't. Have you forgotten what +the Germans can do? My oath, you make +me sick. What can it matter if the nations +are all broken and ruined so long as we smash +Germany? <i>We</i> don't want money and luxuries +to fight on. Give us food and munitions till +we have done what we started to do. You +whining people—what do you know of it? +Have you got no guts at all? Have you read +the Bryce Report? Yes, I bet you have, and +locked it away so that your women shouldn't +see it. I tell you, it doesn't matter to us, and +we're about four million men, if we are all +killed so long as we kill eight million Huns. +I know a sergeant who has killed five Prussian +officers, and I think he's a real man, not like +you. He took to it after he saw a five-year-old +girl with her hands cut off hanging like +a sucking-pig on a meat-hook in a wrecked +French village. Doesn't that make you feel + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +it? I tell you, if you play the fool behind +our backs we'll take charge of you. Yes, +Bishop, you'll keep up the good work in a +munition factory, and you'll work hard too. +If you can't be a patriot now, you will be when +you've been caned across your lathe."</p> + +<p>They were as still as mice, and the rumble +of traffic along Piccadilly sounded very loud. +Miss Conron was as white as a sheet, and +her eyes were staring as if she were scared +to death. Bill took a long breath and +went on—</p> + +<p>"I've tried to see your point of view while +I've been among you, and I can't. I'm going +to leave you and get back to my own lot. I'm +giving up something I didn't think I could +give up, but I won't join you just to get it. +There are not so many of us as there are of +you, but you'll do what you're told if we take +charge. Most of us have seen dead men, and +some of us have seen dead women. None of +you have seen either, and you don't understand. +You want to hide things away and pretend + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +they're not there. They <i>are</i> there, and they +are going on wherever the Germans are, you +fools. There's a man here who has been impertinent +to me because he thinks I'm a fool. +I'm a better man than any six of his sort, and +I'm going to show him how. It will do the +rest of you good to watch, because you haven't +seen death yet, and a man with a bruise or +two will seem a big thing to you. Come along, +my sofa-king, you're for it."</p> + +<p>Bill walked up to him with his hands down +and the women began to squeal. The draper-man +was game. He took a step forward and +swung his right. Bill hooked him under the +chin and gave him the left in the stomach. +The poor beggar backed off, taking a wicked +upper-cut as he did so. As he straightened +again Bill sent a couple of full swings to his +head. He was going down, but Bill wouldn't +let him. I think if he hadn't been so clever +with Miss Conron on the sofa he would have +got off fairly cheap, but a girl makes a lot +of difference to any scrap. He took about six + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +more before he hit the deck, and then he +looked like a Belgian atrocity picture by +Raemaekers. Bill came over to me and +signalled his sister to the door. She moved +off. My oath, she hadn't turned a hair—she's +a sportsman. He looked across at Miss +Conron, who was still on the sofa looking at +the huddled figure in the middle of the carpet. +"I'm going now, Hilda," he said; "your people +aren't my people. I'm sorry."</p> + +<p>She never moved, but the colour had come +back into her face again. Bill shrugged back +his shoulders and turned his back, and we +started for the door. Miss Dane was there, +holding the handle and looking past us at the +horrified group we had left. As we got almost +up to her she smiled and came to Bill. She +took him by the shoulders and turned him +round, and I turned to see what she was +looking at. Miss Conron was walking that +sixty-foot plank after us, and I knew when +I saw her face that she and Bill were going +to be all right. She didn't say anything, and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +the four of us went out, and Bill kissed her +in the hall in front of the servants. Trouble? +No—not much. You see, Bill had had a scalp +wound, and they put it all down to that. The +draper-man didn't want to publish things much, +and Miss Conron's father has got a bit of a +pull. If he had no kick coming other people +could shut up, and—oh yes! Sound as a bell—he +wouldn't have got married otherwise. +But, by gum, his sister was right—wasn't she?</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> +<h2>A HYMN OF DISGUST.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">You wrote a pretty hymn of Hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That won the Kaiser's praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which showed your nasty mental state,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And made us laugh for days.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I can't compete with such as you<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In doggerel of mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But this is certain—<i>and</i> it's true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You bloody-handed swine—<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We do not mouth a song of hate, or talk about you—much,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We do not mention things like you—it wouldn't be polite;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One doesn't talk in drawing-rooms of Prussian dirt and such,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We only want to kill you off—so roll along and fight.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> + <span class="i0">For men like you with filthy minds, you leave a nasty taste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We can't forget your triumphs with the girls you met in France.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By your standards of morality, gorillas would be chaste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you consummate your triumphs with the bayonet and the lance.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You give us mental pictures of your officers at play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With naked girls a-dancing on the table as you dine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their mothers cut to pieces, in the knightly German way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the corners of the guard-room in a pool of blood and wine.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You had better stay in Germany, and never go abroad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For wherever you may wander you will find your fame has gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For you are outcasts from the lists, with rust upon your sword—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blood of many innocents—of children newly born.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> + <span class="i0">You are bestial men and beastly, and we would not ask you home<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To meet our wives and daughters, for we doubt that you are clean;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You will find your fame in front of you wherever you may roam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You—who came through burning Belgium with the ladies for a screen.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You—who love to hear the screaming of a girl beneath the knife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the midst of your companions, with their craning, eager necks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you crown your German mercy, and you take a sobbing life—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You are not exactly gentlemen towards the gentle sex.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With your rapings in the market-place and slaughter of the weak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With your gross and leering conduct, and your utter lack of shame,—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> + <span class="i0">When we note in all your doings such a nasty yellow streak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You show surprise at our disgust, and say you're not to blame.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We don't want any whinings, and we'd sooner wait for peace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till you realise your position, and you know you whine in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you stand within a circle of the Cleaner World's Police,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we goad you into charging—and we clean the world again.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For you should know that never shall you meet us as before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That none will take you by the hand or greet you as a friend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So stay with it, and finish it—who brought about the War—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when you've paid for all you've done—well, that will be the End.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE "SPECIAL."</h2> + +<p>She was not new, and nobody could call her +handsome. She was evidently more accustomed +to rough weather than paint, and her sloping +forecastle and low freeboard were old-fashioned, +to say the least of them. She jogged slowly +along, rolling to a short beam sea, with an +apologetic air, as if she felt ashamed of being +what she was—a pre-war torpedo-boat on local +patrol duty.</p> + +<p>She steered no particular course, and varied +her speed capriciously as she beat up and down. +Being in sight of the land—a grey, hard, low +line to the westward—there was no need for +accurate plotting of courses. On the bridge +stood her Captain, a dark, lean, R.N.R. Lieutenant, +pipe in mouth and hands in "lammy" + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +pockets. The T.B. was rolling too much for +any one to walk the tiny deck of the bridge; +in fact, a landsman would have had difficulty +in standing at all. He turned his head as his +First Lieutenant swung up the little iron ladder +behind him.</p> + +<p>"What's for lunch?" he asked, carefully +knocking out his pipe on the rail before him.</p> + +<p>"The same," said his laconic subordinate, who +was engaged in a rapid survey of the compass +card, revolution indicator, and the horizon astern. +The two stood side by side a moment looking +out at the sea and sky to windward. "Any +pickles?" said the Captain.</p> + +<p>"No, only mustard."</p> + +<p>The Captain sighed and turned to leave the +bridge. The First Lieutenant pivoted suddenly—"It's +better'n you and I had off the Horn in +the <i>Harvester</i>. You'd 've been glad to get beef +then, even if it was in a tin." He snorted, +and turned forward again to look ahead. The +Captain remained at the foot of the ladder, +reading a signal handed to him by a waiting + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +Boy Telegraphist. The argument on the subject +of tinned beef had lasted a year already, and +could be continued at leisure.</p> + +<p>The boy received the signal back and vanished +below, while the Captain climbed slowly to the +bridge again. He spoke to the man at the +wheel, and himself moved the revolution +indicator.</p> + +<p>"Panic?" said the First Lieutenant (neither +of them seemed to use more than one word +at a time, unless engaged in an argument).</p> + +<p>"Sure," was the reply. "Tell 'em to make +that blinkin' stuff into sandwiches and send +'em up."</p> + +<p>The First Lieutenant went down the ladder +in silence. The matter of the tinned beef was +to him, as mess caterer, a continual sore point.</p> + +<p>The T.B. started on a more erratic course +than before, tacking in long irregular stretches +out to seaward. Smoke was showing up +against the land astern, and there was a sense +of stirring activity in the air.</p> + +<p>Two more torpedo-boats appeared suddenly + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +from nowhere, hoists of coloured flags flying +at their slender masts. The three hung on +one course a moment, conferring, then spread +fanwise and separated. The first boat turned +back towards harbour and the growing smoke-puffs, +which rapidly approached and showed +more and more mine-sweepers coming out.</p> + +<p>A droning, humming noise made the Captain +look up, and he pivoted slowly round, following +with his eyes a big seaplane a thousand feet +above him.</p> + +<p>As the sound of the engines died away, it +seemed to start swelling again, as another +machine appeared a mile abeam of them, and +following the first.</p> + +<p>The T.B. swung round ahead of the leading +sweepers, and turned back to seaward. Her +speed was not great, but half an hour after +the turn the sweepers were hull down astern. +A small airship slipped out of a low cloud and +droned away on the common course. Every +type of small craft seemed to be going easterly, +and the sea, which an hour ago had been almost + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +blank, was now dotted with patrol ships of +every queer kind and rig. From overhead it +must have looked like a pack of hounds +tumbling out of cover and spreading on a faint +line. But, like the hounds, the floating pack +was working to an end, and whatever the +various courses steered, the whole was moving +out to sea.</p> + +<p>The Boy Telegraphist hauled himself, panting, +on to the bridge, and thrust a crumpled signal +before the Captain's eyes. The Captain grunted +and spoke shortly, and the boy dashed off +below. A moment later the piping of calls +sounded along the bare iron deck, and men in +heavy sea-boots began to cluster aft and at the +guns. The funnels sent out a protesting spout +of brown smoke as the T.B. began to work up +to her speed, and the choppy sea sent up a +steady sheet of spray along her forecastle and +over the crouching figures at the bow gun. +The rest of the pack appeared to have caught +the whimper too, for everything that could +raise more than "Tramp's pace" was hurrying + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +due east. A faint dull "boom" came drifting +down wind as the First Lieutenant arrived on +the bridge, and the two officers looked at each +other in silence a moment.</p> + +<p>"Bomb, sir?" said the junior, showing an +interest which almost made him conversational.</p> + +<p>"Sure thing," said the other. "She gave us +the tip when she saw him, and that'll be one +to put him under."</p> + +<p>"How far d'you think it was?"</p> + +<p>"Seven-eight mile. You all ready?"</p> + +<p>The First Lieutenant nodded and slipped +down the ladder again. Three miles astern +came a couple of white specks—the bow-waves +of big destroyers pushed to their utmost power. +The Captain studied them a moment with his +binoculars, and gave a grunt which the helmsman +rightly interpreted as one of satisfaction. +Slow as she was, the old T.B. had a long start, +and was going to be on the spot first. The +dark was shutting down, and the shapes of the +other T.B.'s on either beam were getting dim.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> + The night was starlit, and with the wind +astern the T.B. made easy weather of it. The +two officers leaned forward over the rail staring +ahead towards the unseen land. Lights showed +on either hand, and occasionally they swung +past the dark squat shape of a lit trawler, also +bound home.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to claim?" asked one of the +watching figures. The other paused before +replying—</p> + +<p>"We-ell," he said, "I'll just report. I think +we shook him to the bunt, but it's no good +claiming unless you can show prisoners, Iron +Cross and all." Another ruminative pause. +"Your people were smart on it—devilish smart." +Another pause. "What's for dinner?"</p> + +<p>A dark mass ahead came into view, and +turned slowly into a line of great ships coming +towards them.</p> + +<p>The T.B. swung off to starboard, and slowed +her engines. One by one they went past her—huge, +silent, and scornful, while the T.B. +rocked uneasily in the cross sea made by their + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +wakes. The Captain watched them go, chewing +the stem of his unlit pipe. They were the +cause of the day's activity, but it was seldom +he met them at close range except like this, in +the dark on his way home.</p> + +<p>The line seemed endless, more and more dark +hulls coming into view, and fading quickly +into the dark again. As the last swung by +the T.B.'s telegraph bells rang cheerfully, and +she jogged off westward to where a faint low +light flickered at intervals under the land.</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> +<h2>BETWEEN TIDES.</h2> + +<p>A stranger, if suddenly transplanted to the +spot, would have taken some time after opening +his eyes to realise that the boat was submerged. +He would probably decide at first that she was +anchored in harbour. Far away forward, under +an avenue of overhead electric lamps, figures +could be seen—all either recumbent or seated—and +from them the eye was led on till it lost +its sense of distance in a narrowing perspective +of wheels, pipes, and gauges. All the while +there was a steady buzzing hum from slowly +turning motors, and about every half minute +there came a faint whir of gear wheels from +away aft by the hydroplanes. From the bell-mouths +of a cluster of voice-pipes a murmur +of voices sounded—the conversation of officers + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +by the periscope; while the ear, if close to the +arched steel hull, could catch a bubbling, rippling +noise—the voice of the North Sea passing +overhead.</p> + +<p>The men stationed aft near the motors were +not over-clean, and were certainly unshaven; +some were asleep or reading (the literature +carried and read by the crew would certainly +have puzzled a librarian—it varied from 'Titbits' +and 'John Bull' to 'Piers Plowman' and +'The Origin of Species'): a few were engaged +in a heated discussion as they sat around a +big torpedoman—the only man of the group +actually on duty at the moment. His duties +appeared only to consist in being awake and on +the spot if wanted, and he was, as a matter of +fact, fully occupied as one of the leading spirits +in the argument.</p> + +<p>"Well, let's '<i>ear</i> what you're getting at," he +said. "We 'eard a lot of talk, but it don't go +anywhere. You say you're a philosopher, but +you don't know what you do mean."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> know blanky well, but you can't understand + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +me," said the engine-room artificer addressed. +"Look here, now—you've got to die +some time, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>"Granted, Professor."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's all arranged <i>now</i> how you're to +die, I say. It doesn't matter when or how +it is, but it's all settled—see? And you +don't know, and none of us know anything +about it."</p> + +<p>"That's all very well—but 'oo is it knows, +then? D'you mean God?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't—I'm an atheist, I tell you. +There's <i>something</i> that arranges it all, but it +ain't God."</p> + +<p>"Well, 'oo the 'ell is it, then—the Admiralty?"</p> + +<p>The Artificer leaned forward, his dark eyes +alight and his face earnest as that of some +medieval hermit. "I tell you," he said, "you +can believe in God, or Buddha, or anything +you like, but it's the same thing. Whatever +it is, it doesn't care. It has it all ready and +arranged—written out, if you like—and it will +have to happen just so. It's pre—pre——"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> + "Predestination." The deep voice came from +the Leading Stoker on the bench beside him.</p> + +<p>"Predestination. No amount of praying's any +good. It's no use going round crying to gods +that aren't there to help you. You've got to +go through it as it's written down."</p> + +<p>"Prayer's all right," said the Leading Stoker. +"If you believe what you pray, you'll get it."</p> + +<p>"That's not true. Have you ever had it? +Give us an instance now——"</p> + +<p>"I don't pray none, thank you. All the same, +it's good for women and such that go in for it, +like. It ain't the things that alter; it's yourself +that does it. Ain't you never 'eard o' Christian +Science?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; same as the Mormons, ain't it? Is +that what you are?"</p> + +<p>"No, it ain't—an' I'm a Unitarian, same as +you are."</p> + +<p>"I'm not—I'm a Baptist, same as my father +was; but I don't believe in it."</p> + +<p>"Well, if you believe in one God, that's what +you are."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> + "But I'm telling you, I <i>don't</i>. Look here, now. +I don't believe there's anything happens at all +that wasn't all arranged first, and I know that +nothing can alter it."</p> + +<p>"Well, 'oo laid it all down first go off, then?" +said the Torpedoman.</p> + +<p>"Ah! I don't know and you don't know; but +I tell you it wasn't God."</p> + +<p>"Well, 'e's a bigger man than me then, an' I +takes me 'at off to 'im, 'ooever it is. I tell yer, +yer talkin' through yer neck. You say if you're +going to be shot, there's a bullet about somewhere +in some one's pouch with yer name writ +on it. Ain't that it? Well, 'oo the 'ell put yer +name on it, then?"</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter to me so long's it's there, +does it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, if that was so, I'd like to know 'oo 'e +was, so's I could pass 'im the word not to 'ave the +point filed off of it for me, anyway."</p> + +<p>"Well, you couldn't—and he couldn't alter +it for you if he was there, either."</p> + +<p>The Torpedoman moved along the bench and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +twisted his head round till his ear was against +one of the voice-pipes. The others sat silent +and watched him with lazy interest.</p> + +<p>"We're takin' a dip," he said. "Thought I +'eard 'im say, 'Sixty feet.'" The faint rolling +motion that had been noticeable before died +away, and the boat seemed to have become even +more peaceful and silent. The Leading Stoker +leaned back against the hull and rested his head +against the steel. From the starboard hand +there came a faint murmur, which grew till +the regular threshing beat of a propeller could +be distinguished. The sound swelled till they +could hear in its midst a separate piping, +squeaking note. The ship passed on overhead, +and the threshing sound passed with her and +faded until again the steady purr of motors +remained the only reminder of the fact that +the boat was diving. They felt her tilt up a +little by the bow as she climbed back to regain +her patrol depth.</p> + +<p>"That's a tramp," said the Torpedoman; +"nootral, I reckon."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> + "Squeaky bearing, too," said the Artificer +judicially. "Don't suppose he's looked at his +thrust since he left port. What's the skipper +want to go under her for?"</p> + +<p>"Save trouble, I s'pose; didn't want to alter +helm for 'er. What was you talkin' of—yes, +Kismet—that's the word I've been wantin' all +along. You're a Mohammedan, you are?"</p> + +<p>"Aw, don't be a fool; I tell you I'm nothing."</p> + +<p>The fourth wakeful figure, another Torpedoman, +spoke for the first time. "If you're nothing, +and you think you're nothing, what the 'ell +d'yer want to make such a fuss about it for?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't make a fuss. It's all you people who +think you're something who make a fuss. You +can't alter what's laid down, but you think you +can. You fuss and panic to stave things off, +but you're like chickens in a coop—you can't +get out till your master lets you, and he can't +understand what you say, and he wouldn't pay +any attention to it if he did."</p> + +<p>The big Torpedoman put out a hand like a +knotted oak-root and spoke—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> + "You an' your Kismet," he said scornfully. +"Look 'ere, now. This is Gospel, and <i>I'm</i> tellin' +of yer. S'pose there <i>is</i> a bullet about with your +name on it, but s'posing you shoot the other —— first, +and there's to 'ell with yer Kismet. +Gawd 'elps those that 'elp themselves, I say. +S'pose we 'it a Fritz now, under water—'oo's +Kismet is it? Never mind 'oo's arranged it or +'oo's down in the book to go through it, the +bloke that gets 'is doors closed first and 'as the +best trained crew is goin' to come 'ome and spin +the yarn about it. I say it may be written +down as you say, but there's Someone 'oldin' +the book, an' 'e says: 'Cross off that boat this +time,' 'e say. 'They've got the best lot aboard +of 'em,' 'e'd say. Is it Kismet if yer thrust +collars go? Are you goin' to stop oilin' 'em +because it's in the book an' you can't alter it? +Yer talkin' through yer neck. Call it luck, +if yer like. It's luck if we 'it a mine, and +it's luck if we don't; but if we met a Fritz +to-night an' poop off the bow gun an' miss—that's +goin' to be our blanky fault, an' + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +you can call it any blanky name, but you +won't alter it."</p> + +<p>"But you don't understand," said the Artificer. +"I didn't——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Action Stations—Stand by all tubes.</i>" The +voice rang clearly from the mouth of the voice-pipe, +and the group leapt into activity. For +sixty seconds there was apparent pandemonium—the +purr of the motors rose to a quick hum, +and the long tunnel of the hull rang with noises, +clatter and clang and hiss. The sounds stopped +almost as suddenly as they had begun, and the +voices of men reporting "Ready" could be heard +beyond the high-pitched note of the motors.</p> + +<p>The big Torpedoman stretched across his +tube to close a valve, and caught the eye of the +fourth participant in the recent debate. "Say, +Dusty," he whispered, "'<i>ere's</i> Someone's Kismet—in +this blanky tube, an' I reckon I ain't +forgot the detonator in 'er nose, neither."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The Captain lowered the periscope, his actions +almost reverent in their artificial calm. He + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +looked up at the navigating officer a few feet +away and smiled. "Just turning to east," he +said. "We'll be in range inside three minutes." +He glanced fore and aft the boat and then back +at his watch. "By gum," he said, "it's nice to +have a good crew. I haven't had to give a +single order, and I wouldn't change a man of +'em."</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> +<h2>LIGHT CAVALRY.</h2> + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<p>Peter Mottin was an acting Sub-Lieutenant, +but even acting Sub-Lieutenants from Whale +Island may hunt if they can get the requisite +day's leave and can muster the price of a hired +mount. The hounds poured out of Creech Wood, +and Mottin glowed with intense delight as his +iron-mouthed horse took the rails in and out of +the lane and followed the pack up the seventy-acre +pasture from whence the holloa had come. +It was late in a February afternoon, and most +of the dispirited field had gone home, so that +there was no crowd—and a February fox on a +good scenting day is a customer worth waiting +for. Mottin sat back as a five-foot cut and laid +hedge grew nearer, and blessed the owner of his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +mount as the big black cleared the jump with +half a foot to spare. Two more big fences, cut +as level as a rule, and the field was down to six, +with three Hunt servants. The fox was making +for Hyden Wood, and scent was getting better +every minute. A clattering canter through a +farmyard, and Mottin followed the huntsman +over a ramshackle gate on to grass again. The +huntsman capped the tail-hounds on as he +galloped, and Mottin realised that if they were +going to kill before dark they would have to +drive their fox fast. Riding to his right he +saw Sangatte—a destroyer officer, whom he +knew only by name, but whom he envied for +the fact that he seemed able to hunt when he +liked and could afford to keep his own horses. +As they neared a ragged bullfinch hedge at the +top of a long slope, he saw Sangatte put on +speed and take it right in the middle, head +down and forearm across his eyes. Mottin +eased his horse to give the huntsman room at +the gate in the left-hand corner. The pilot's +horse rapped the top bar slightly, and as Mottin + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +settled himself for the leap, he saw the gate +begin to swing open away from him. There +was no time to change his mind—he decided he +must jump big and trust to luck, but the black +horse failed him. The hireling knew enough to +think for himself, and seeing the gate begin +to swing, decided that a shorter stride would +be safer. The disagreement resulted—as such +differences of opinion are liable to do—in a +crash of breaking wood and a whirling, stunning +fall. Mottin rose shakily on one leg, feeling as +if the ankle of the other was being drilled with +red-hot needles, and swore at the black horse +as it galloped with trailing bridle down the +long stubble field towards Soberton Down. He +saw Sangatte look back and then wrench his +brown mare round to ride off the hireling as it +passed. He caught the dangling reins and +swung both horses round, and came hurrying +and impatient back. As he arrived he checked +the mare and turned in his saddle to watch +the receding pack.</p> + +<p>"Come on," he said. "<i>Quick</i>—you'll catch + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +'em at Hyden." He turned to look at Mottin +by the gate-post, in irritation at feeling no +snatch at the black horse's rein. His face fell +slightly. "Hullo—hurt?" he said, and leapt +from his mare.</p> + +<p>"Go on. Don't wait. Go <i>on</i>," said Mottin. +"I'll be all right. You get on—it's only my +ankle."</p> + +<p>"Damn painful too, I expect. I'm not going +on. They'll be at Butser before I could catch +them now, and I bet they whip off in the +dark." He threw the reins over the mare's head +and left her standing. "Now," he said. "It's +your left ankle; come here to the near side, +and put your left knee on my hands and jump +for it."</p> + +<p>Mottin complied, and to the accompaniment +of a grunt and a pain-expelled oath arrived +back in the muddy saddle.</p> + +<p>"I say, this is good of you—you know," he +said; "but you've——"</p> + +<p>"Cut it out—it won't be anything of a run, +anyway," lied Sangatte gloomily.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> + "Come along—it's only three miles to +Droxford, but you'll have to walk all the way, +and we'd better get on."...</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>The big seaplane circled low over the harbour +and then headed seaward, climbing slowly. +There were two men aboard—a young Sub-Lieutenant +as pilot and Mottin as observer. +Mottin sat crouched low and leaning forward +as he studied the chart-holder before him and +scratched times and notes in his log-book. +They were off on a routine patrol, but there +was the additional interest to the trip that +on "information received" they were to pay a +little more attention than usual to a particular +locality.</p> + +<p>From his seat Mottin could see nothing of +the pilot but his head and shoulders—a back +view only, and that obscured by swathings of +leather and wool. The two men's heads were + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +joined by a cumbersome arrangement of listeners +and tubes which, theoretically, made conversation +practicable. As a matter of fact, the +invariable rule of repeating every observation +twice, and of adding embroidery to each repetition, +pointed to a discrepancy between the +theory and practice of the instrument. The +machine was a big one, and its engines were +in proportion. The accommodation in the +broad fuselage was considerable, but on the +present trip the missing units of the crew +were accounted for by an equal weight of +extra petrol and T.N.T. "eggs."</p> + +<p>The morning had been hazy and they had +delayed their start till nearly noon. It was +not as clear as it might be even then, for in a +quarter of an hour from leaving the slip the +land was out of sight astern. At a thousand +feet the pilot levelled off and ceased to climb. +He flew mechanically, his head bent down to +stare at the compass-card. At times he fiddled +with air and throttle, twisting his head to +watch the revolution indicator. The occasional + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +bumping and rocking of the machine he corrected +automatically without looking up. He +had long ago arrived at the state of airmanship +which makes a pilot into a sensitive inclinometer, +acting every way at once.</p> + +<p>Mottin finished his scribbling and sat up to +look round. He raised himself till he sat on +the back of his seat, and began to sweep the +sea and horizon with a pair of large-field +glasses. The wind roared past him, pressing +his arm to his side as he faced to one side or +the other, and making him strain the heavy +glasses close to his eyes to keep them steady. +An hour after starting he touched the pilot on +the shoulder and shouted into his own transmitter. +He waited a few seconds and shouted +again, with the conventional oath to drive the +sound along. The pilot nodded his swathed +and helmeted head and swung the machine +round to a new course. Mottin crouched down +again and began to study his chart afresh. +Navigation was easy so long as the weather +was clear, but with poor visibility, which might + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +get worse instead of better, he knew that it +was remarkably easy to get lost in the North +Sea, and at this moment he wanted to see +his landfall particularly clearly. Five minutes +later he saw it, and signalled a new course to +the pilot by a nudge and a jerk of his gloved +hand. A low dark line had appeared on the +starboard bow, a line with tall spires and +chimneys standing up from it at close intervals. +The seaplane banked a little as they turned +and headed away, leaving the land to recede +and fade on their quarter. The hazy sun was +low in the west and the mist was clearing. It +had been none too warm throughout the +journey, but it was now distinctly cold, the +chill of a winter evening striking through fur +and leather as if their clothes had been slit and +punctured in half a dozen places.</p> + +<p>Mottin had just slid back in his seat after +a sweeping search of the sea through his +glasses, and was slowly winding, with cold +fur-gloved fingers, the neat carriage clock on +the sloping board before him, when he heard + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +a yelping war-cry from the pilot and felt +the machine dive steeply and swerve to port. +He half rose in his seat and then slipped back +to feel for his bomb-levers. The submarine +was just breaking surface eight hundred feet +below and a mile ahead. As he looked she +tucked down her bow and slipped under again, +having barely shown her conning-tower clear +of the short choppy waves. The pilot throttled +well down and glided over the smooth, ringed +spot which marked where she had vanished. +As it slid past below them he opened up his +engines again and "zoomed" back to his height. +He turned his head to look at Mottin, but +said nothing. Mottin made a circular motion +with his hand and they began a wide sweep +round, climbing all the while. Mottin sat back +and thought hard. No, it had not been indecision +that had prevented him from dropping +bombs then. He knew it was not that, but +the exact reasons which had flashed through +his mind at the fateful moment must be hunted +out and marshalled again. He knew that his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +second self, his wide-awake and infallible substitute +who took over command of his body in +moments of emergency, had thought it all out +in a flash and had arrived at his decision for +sound reasons. Yes, it was clear now, but that +confounded fighting substitute of his was just +a bit cold-blooded, he thought. They had +petrol for the run home with perhaps half an +hour to spare. Fritz had not seen them, as +his lid had not opened—or at any rate if he +had seen them through his periscope, the fact +of no bomb having been dropped would encourage +him to think that the seaplane had +passed on unknowing. Of course they might +have let go bombs, but, well, Fritz must have +been at anything down to 80 feet at the +moment they passed over him, and it was +chancy shooting. Yes, it was quite clear. +Fritz should be up again in an hour (he evidently +wanted to come up), and if they were +only high up and ready they would get a fair +chance at him. Of course, they would not get +home if they waited an hour; but if that cold-blooded + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +second self of his thought it the right +thing and a proper chance to take, well, it was +so. Mottin looked over the side and wished +it was not so loppy. A long easy swell was +nothing, but this short choppy sea was going +to be the devil. The pilot shouted something +to him and pointed at the clock and the big +petrol tank overhead. Mottin nodded comprehension, +and shouted back. The Sub took a +careful look overside and studied the water a +moment. Then he laughed back at Mottin, and +shouted something about bathing, which was +presumably facetious, but which was lost in +the recesses of the headpieces.</p> + +<p>The sun was down on the horizon, and the +hour had grown to a full ninety minutes before +the chance came. They had not worried about +clocks or thoughts of petrol after the first half-hour +of circling. They were "for it," anyhow, +after that, and it was going to come in the +dark too, so that the question of whether it +was going to be fifty or a hundred miles from +land did not make much difference. Almost + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +directly below them the long grey hull rose +and grew clear, the splashing waves making a +wide area of white water show on each side +of her. The seaplane's engines stopped with +startling suddenness, and to the sound of a +rushing wind in the wires and of ticking, +swishing propellers they began a two-thousand-feet +spiral glide, coming from as nearly overhead +as the turning circle of the big machine +would allow. At two hundred feet the pilot +eased his rudder and began a wider turn, and +then the German captain saw. He leapt for +the conning-tower, leaving a startled look-out +man behind. The man tried to follow him +down, but the lid slammed before he could +arrive at it. He turned and looked helplessly +at the big planes and body rushing down a +hundred yards astern. With his hands half +raised and shoulders hunched up the poor devil +met his death, two huge bombs "straddling" +the conning-tower and bursting fairly on the +hull as the boat started under. Mottin had a +vision of a glare of light from the rent hull, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +a great rush of foaming, spouting air, and +then a graceful knife-edge stem, with the bulge +of torpedo-tubes on each side of it, just showed +and vanished in the turmoil of broken water. +The seaplane roared up again, heading west, +the young pilot—apparently oblivious to the +fact that he hardly expected to be alive till +morning—displaying his feelings on the subject +of his late enemy by a series of violent +"switchbacks."</p> + +<p>Mottin checked him, rose, and began a careful +look round. Any ship would be welcome +now, neutral or not; but this was an unfrequented +area to hope to be picked up in. +The petrol might last five minutes or half an +hour—one could not be certain. The gauge +was hardly accurate enough in this old bus to +work by. As he looked the engines gave a +premonitory splutter and then picked up again. +Well, it was five minutes, he reflected, not half +an hour—that was all. The pilot turned and +headed up wind. With the engines missing +more and more frequently they glided down, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +making a perfect landing of the "intentional +pancake" order on the crest of a white-topped +four-foot wave. Instantly they began to feel +the seas—the hard, rough, senseless water that +was so different to the air they had come from. +The machine made wicked weather of it, and +it was obvious that she could hardly last long. +She lurched and rocked viciously, constraining +them to cling to the sides of the frail body. +Mottin pulled off his headpiece, and the pilot +followed suit.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mottin, "it was worth it—eh?"</p> + +<p>"By gum, yes! It was that, and I give you +full numbers, sir. I thought for a moment you +had taken too long a chance, but you were right."</p> + +<p>A wave splashed heavily over the speaker +and laid three inches of water in a pool around +his ankles.</p> + +<p>"This is going to be a short business, sir, +unless we get busy."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Mottin. "Case of four anchors +and wish for the day. Sea anchor indicated, +and mighty quick too."...</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> + An hour later it was pitch-dark, and a semi-waterlogged +seaplane drifted south, head to +sea, bucketing her nose into the lop. Two +figures crouched together in the body of her, +baling mechanically. On the upper plane an +electric torch glowed brightly, pointing westward. +The figures exchanged disjointed sentences as +they baled, and occasionally one of them would +stretch his head up for a glance round for +possible passing lights.</p> + +<p>"Cheer up, Sub!" said Mottin. "Your teeth +are chattering like the deuce. Bale harder and +get warm."</p> + +<p>"It's not the cold, it's the weather that's doing +me in, sir. I'm so damned sea-sick."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's a filthy motion, but she's steadier +than she was. 'Fraid she's sinking."</p> + +<p>The Sub-Lieutenant ceased baling for a moment +and looked into his senior's face, dimly lit by +the reflection from the torch overhead. "Do +you know, sir," he said, "I don't feel as bucked +as I did? I believe I've got half-way to cold +feet about the show."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> + "Do you know, Sub"—Mottin copied the +hesitating voice—"I've had cold feet the whole +blinkin' time? If it wasn't for one thing I +keep thinking of, I'd be properly howling +about it."</p> + +<p>"And what's that, sir?"</p> + +<p>"D'you remember a line of Kipling's in that +'Widow of sleepy Chester' poem? It's about +'Fifty file of Burmans to open him Heaven's +gate.' Well, that's keeping me cheered up."</p> + +<p>"'Mm—that's true. How many do you think +that boat carried?"</p> + +<p>"Round about forty—she was a big packet."</p> + +<p>"Only twenty file—still, that's good enough. +Besides, they'd have done damage to-morrow if +we hadn't got them."</p> + +<p>"True for you, Sub—and they might have +killed women on that trip. Now they won't get +the chance."</p> + +<p>"Twenty file. Ugh! I'll make 'em salute +when I see them. Hullo! See that, sir?" The +two men rose to their knees and stared out to +the west. A bright glow showed beyond the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +horizon, and through it ran a flicker of pulsating +flashes of vivid orange light. The glow broke +out again a point to the northward, and the unmistakable +beam of a searchlight swung to the +clouds and down again. As they looked, the +glow spread, and the rippling flashes as gun +answered gun came into view over their horizon. +Mottin fumbled for the glasses, but found them +wet through and useless. The action was evidently +coming their way, and was growing into +a pyrotechnic display such as few are fortunate +enough to see.</p> + +<p>"Destroyers—coming right over us—Very's +pistol, quick! We may get a chance here. Don't +let the cartridges get wet, man—put 'em in your +coat." The guns began to bark clearly above +the straining and bumping noise of the crumbling +seaplane, and a wildly-aimed shell burst on the +water half a mile to windward. Both men were +standing up now, staring at the extraordinary +scene. A flotilla of destroyers passed each side +of them, one leading the other by nearly a mile. +The searchlights and gun-flashes lit the sea + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +between the opposing lines, and the vicious shells +sent columns of shining water up around the +rapt spectators, or whipped overhead in a continued +stuttering shriek.</p> + +<p>A big destroyer passed at half a cable's length +in a quivering halo of light of her own making. +The short choppy beam sea sent a steady sheet +of spray across her forecastle, a sheet that showed +red in the light of the guns. As she passed the +Sub-Lieutenant raised his hand above his head, +and a Very's light sailed up into the air, showing +every detail of the battered seaplane with startling +clearness for a few seconds. A searchlight +whirled round from the destroyer, steadied blindingly +on their faces a moment, and was switched +off on the instant. As swiftly as it had approached, +the fight flickered away to the eastward, +till the last gleam was out of sight, and +the two wet and aching men crouched back +into the slopping water to continue their baling.</p> + +<p>"If they <i>do</i> find us, it'll be rather luck, sir," +said the younger man. "She isn't going to +last much longer."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> + "Long enough, I reckon. But they may go +donkey's miles in a running fight like that. Is +that petrol tank free?"</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>"Yes, I couldn't get the union-nut off—it was +burred; so I broke the pipe and bent it back +on itself. It'll hold all right, I think—at least +it will only leak slowly. Hullo, she's going, sir."</p> + +<p>"Not quite. Pass that tank aft and we'll +crawl out on the tail. That'll be the last bit +under, and we may as well use her all we can."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>With gasps and strainings they half-lifted, +half-floated the big tank along till they had +it jammed on end between the rudder and the +control-wires. They straddled the sloping tail, +crouching low to avoid the smack of the breaking +seas, their legs trailing in the icy water. +With frozen fingers the Sub-Lieutenant removed +two Very's cartridges from his breast-pocket and +tucked them inside his leather waistcoat.</p> + +<p>A flurry of snow came down wind. The +two were too wet already to notice it, but as + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +it grew heavier the increased darkness made +Mottin lift his head and look round. At that +moment a gleam of brightness showed through +to windward; as he looked it faded and +vanished. He leaned aft and shouted weakly—</p> + +<p>"Come on, man—wake up! Fire another +one. They're here!"</p> + +<p>It seemed an age to him before the pistol +was loaded, and his heart sank as a dull click +indicated an unmistakable misfire. He watched +the last cartridge inserted with dispassionate +interest. If one was wet, the other was almost +certain to be, and—Bang! The coloured ball +of fire soared up into the driving snow, and +the pistol slipped from the startled Sub-Lieutenant's +hand and shot overboard. The +searchlight came on again and grew stronger +and nearer, and as the glare of it became +intolerable, a tall black bow came dipping +and swaying past at a few yards' range. +Mottin almost let his will-power go at that +point—the relief was too great. He had a +confused memory afterwards of crashing wood + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +as the tailplane ground against a steel side, +and of barking his shins as he was hauled +across a wire guard-rail and dropped on a +very nubbly deck. The wardroom seemed +a blaze of intense light after the darkness +outside, and the temporary surgeon who took +charge of him the most sensible and charming +person in the Service.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>"Sit down—take your coat off—lap this +down. That's right. Now, I have two duties +in this ship—I'm doctor and I'm the wine +caterer. They are not incompatible. You will +therefore go to bed now in the Captain's cabin, +and you'll have a hot toddy as soon as you're +there; come along now and get your clothes +off. Your mate is in the First Lieutenant's +cabin, and he won't wake up till morning."</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes later Mottin, from beneath +a pile of blankets, heard a tinkle of curtain +rings and looked out. A muffled, snow-covered +figure entered quietly and began to peel off +a lammy coat. Mottin coughed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> + "Hullo! How are you feeling? I've just +come for a change of clothes. I won't be long—I'm +Sangatte. No, that's all right. I won't +be turning in to-night; we're going right up +harbour, and I'll be busy till daylight."</p> + +<p>He bustled round the chest of drawers, +pulling out woollen scarves, stockings, &c., and +talking rapidly. "Lucky touch our finding +you. I noted position when your first light +went up, but as the chase looked like running +on ninety mile yet, I didn't expect to find you. +Your joss was in, because the snow came down +and they put up a smoke-screen and ceased +fire, so we lost touch, and I hadn't far to come +back to look for you. Got a Fritz, did you? +Good man! We'll have a bottle on your decoration +when we get in. The Huns? Yes, they +lost their rear ship right off, and the others +were plastered good and plenty. We lost +one on a mine, but we took the crew off +and sank her. I sank your 'plane just now—tied +a pig of ballast to her and chucked +it over. I thought you might have left some + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +papers—oh! you've got 'em, have you? That's +good."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they're in my coat pocket. I say, +haven't I seen you before? I seem to remember +you. Do you hunt?" Mottin stretched his +legs out sleepily as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Yes—met you with the Hambledon or +Cattistock, I expect. Haven't been on a horse +for all of three years, though; and I don't +suppose there'll be much doing that way for +a long time, now they're putting half the +country under plough. S'long. I'm for the +bridge; ring that bell if you want anything. +The Doc.'s got one or two wounded forrard, so +he'll be busy, but my servant'll look out for +you." The curtain clashed back, and Mottin, +turning over, slid instantly into a log-like sleep.</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> +<h2>A TRINITY.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The way of a ship at racing speed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In a bit of a rising gale,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The way of a horse of the only breed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At a Droxford post-and-rail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The way of a brand-new aeroplane<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On a frosty winter dawn.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">You'll come back to those again;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wheel or cloche or slender rein<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Will keep you young and clean and sane,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">And glad that you were born.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The power and drive beneath me now are above the power of kings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's mine the word that lets her loose and in my ear she sings—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> + <span class="i1">"Mark now the way I sport and play with the rising hunted sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Across my grain in cold disdain their ranks are hurled at me.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But down my wake is a foam-white lake, the remnant of their line,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That broke and died beneath my pride—your foemen, man, and mine."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The perfect tapered hull below is a dream of line and curve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An artist's vision in steel and bronze for gods and men to serve.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If ever a statue came to life, you quivering slender thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It ought to be you—my racing girl—as the Amazon song you sing.<br /></span> +</div> +<hr class="hr2" /> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Down the valley and up the slope we run from scent to view.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Steady, you villain—you know too much—I'm not so wild as you; <br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> + <span class="i0">You'll get me cursed if you catch him first—there's at least a mile to go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So swallow your pride and ease your stride, and take your fences slow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your high-pricked ears as the jump appears are comforting things to see;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your easy gallop and bending neck are signals flying to me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You wouldn't refuse if it was wire with calthrops down in front,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there we are with a foot to spare—you best of all the Hunt!"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Great sloping shoulders galloping strong, and a yard of floating tail,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A fine old Irish gentleman, and a Hampshire post-and-rail.<br /></span> +</div> +<hr class="hr2" /> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sun on the fields a mile below is glinting off the grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That slides along like a rolling map as under the clouds I pass.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> + <span class="i0">The early shadows of byre and hedge are dwindling dark below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As up the stair of the morning air on my idle wheels I go,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nothing to do but let her alone—she's flying herself to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unless I chuck her about a bit—there isn't a bump or sway.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So <i>there's</i> a bank at ninety-five—and here's a spin and a spiral dive,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And here we are again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>that's</i> a roll and twist around, and that's the sky and there's the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And I and the aeroplane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are doing a glide, but upside-down, and that's a village and that's a town—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And now we're rolling back.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And <i>this</i> is the way we climb and stall and sit up and beg on nothing at all,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The wires and strainers slack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now we'll try and be good some more, and open the throttle and hear her roar<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And steer for London Town.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> + <span class="i0">For there never a pilot yet was born who flew a machine on a frosty morn<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But started stunting soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To feel if his wires were really there, or whether he flew on ice or air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or whether his hands were gloved or bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or he sat in a free balloon.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> +<h2>IN THE MORNING.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Back from the battle, torn and rent,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Listing bridge and stanchions bent<br /></span> +<span class="i6">By the angry sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By Thy guiding mercy sent,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fruitful was the road we went—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Back from battle we.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If Thou hadst not been, O Lord, behind our feeble arm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If Thy hand had not been there to slam the lyddite home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When against us men arose and sought to work us harm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We had gone to death, O Lord, in spouting rings of foam.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> + <span class="i4">Heaving sea and cloudy sky<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Saw the battle flashing by,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">As Thy foemen ran.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By Thy grace, that made them fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We have seen two hundred die<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Since the fight began.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If our cause had not been Thine, for Thy eternal Right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If the foe in place of us had fought for Thee, O Lord!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If Thou hadst not guided us and drawn us there to fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We never should have closed with them—Thy seas are dark and broad.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Through the iron rain they fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bearing home the tale of dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Flying from Thy sword.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">After-hatch to fo'c'sle head,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We have turned their decks to red,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">By Thy help, O Lord!<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> + <span class="i0">It was not by our feeble sword that they were overthrown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Thy right hand that dashed them down, the servants of the proud;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was not arm of ours that saved, but Thine, O Lord, alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When down the line the guns began, and sang Thy praise aloud.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Sixty miles of running fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Finished at the dawning light,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Off the Zuider Zee.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Thou that helped throughout the night<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Weary hand and aching sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Praise, O Lord, to Thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> +<h2>AN AFFAIR OF OUTPOSTS.</h2> + +<p>The wardroom of the Depôt ship was just +emptying as the late-breakfast party lit their +pipes and cigarettes and headed for the smoking-room +next door, when a signalman brought +the news in. The Commander, standing by the +radiator, took the pad from the man's hand +and read it aloud. He raised his voice for the +first few words, then continued in his usual +staccato tones as the silence of his audience +showed that they were straining their ears in +fear of missing a word:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"<i>Lyddite</i>, <i>Prism</i>, <i>Axite</i>, and <i>Pebble</i> in action +last night with six enemy destroyers—<i>Pebble</i> +sunk—fifty-seven survivors aboard +<i>Lyddite</i>—enemy lost two sunk, possibly + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +three—<i>Lyddite</i> with prisoners and <i>Prism</i> +with <i>Axite</i> in tow arriving forenoon +to-day."</p> +</div> + +<p>There was a moment's pause as the Commander +handed the signal back, and then half +a dozen officers spoke at once. The Fleet-Surgeon +was not one of them. He gathered +up his two juniors with a significant glance, as +one sees a hostess signal to her Division as the +dessert-talk flags, and the three vanished through +the door to get to work on their grim preparations. +The Engineer officers conferred for a +minute in low tones and then followed them +out. The signal had given clearer data for +the workers in flesh and bone to act on than +it had for those who work in metals, and there +was nothing for the latter to do but to get their +men ready and to guess at probabilities. The +remainder of the Mess broke into a buzz of +conversation: "<i>Axite</i>, she must be pretty well +hashed up; it must have been gun-fire, a torpedo +would have sunk her.... Rot! why should it? + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +What about the <i>Salcombe</i> or the <i>Ventnor</i>? <i>They</i> +got home.... Yes, but not from so far out, +and there's a sea running outside too.... Well, +the Noorder Diep isn't a hundred miles, and that +must be where...."</p> + +<p>The Commander beckoned the First Lieutenant +to him, as that officer was rising from his chair +at the writing-table. "You'd better warn the +Gunner, Borden, that the divers may be needed; +and tell my messenger as you go out that I want +to see the Boatswain and Carpenter too—thank +you." He turned to the ship's side and looked +out through the scuttle at the dancing, sunlit +waters of the harbour. He had supervised the +work of preparation for assisting and patching +lame ducks more than once before, and he knew +that his subordinates needed little assistance +from him. What was troubling his mind was +the question of the casualties. The <i>Pebble</i> was +gone, so there was no need for spare hands to +be provided for her, while her survivors were +actually a gain. They would not be fit for work +for a bit, though, a good few of them probably + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +wounded, and the remainder perhaps needing +treatment after immersion in a December sea. +Then the three others—it sounded like a hard-fought +action, and hard fights meant losses. +That was the worst of these destroyer actions, +the casualties were mostly good men, and it +took so long to train good ratings. If only +one saved the officers and men it wouldn't really +matter how many destroyers were lost, he reflected, +as he walked out of the mess towards +his cabin and the little group of Warrant and +Petty officers who awaited him by the doorway.</p> + +<p>It was barely an hour later, and the bustle +of preparation aboard the Depôt ship was still +in progress when they came in sight. The +outer forts had reported them as approaching +the entrance, and the next news was good also, +for it was simply the deduction on the part of +the watching ships' companies, when they saw +the big black-and-yellow salvage tugs that had +been out since dawn come chugging up harbour +alone, that the victors had disdained assistance. +Then the <i>Lyddite</i> showed her high bow and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +unmistakable funnels as she swung round the +entrance shoals and steadied up harbour at a +leisurely ten knots. At that distance she looked +dirty and sea-worn, but intact. Close astern +of her came <i>Prism</i> and <i>Axite</i>, and as they +showed, the watchers involuntarily caught their +breaths.</p> + +<p>The <i>Prism</i> looked queer and foreign somehow, +with no foremast, a bare skeleton of a bridge, +and a shapeless heap where the forward funnel +had stood. The <i>Axite</i> looked just what she was—a +mere battered hull, with very little standing +above the level of her deck, her stern nearly +awash, and her bow bent and torn as if some +giant hand had gripped and twisted it. As the +pair of cripples neared the dock entrance, two +smaller tugs which had followed astern came +hurrying up to close on the <i>Axite's</i> sides, while +the towing hawser that had been watched with +such anxiety through three cold and stormy +watches splashed in the churned-up water under +the <i>Prism's</i> counter. The <i>Prism</i> increased speed +slightly, and up against the blustering wind + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +came the faint sound of cheering from the +cruisers down the harbour as she passed them. +She eased down into station astern of the +<i>Lyddite</i>, and the Yeoman of Signals on the +Depôt ship's bridge shifted his telescope from +the shaking canvas of the wind-dodger to the +steadier support of a stanchion.</p> + +<p>"What's she like—can you make 'er out?" +A Leading Telegraphist had walked out from +the wireless office, and, in obvious hopes of +getting hold of the telescope, was standing +at his elbow.</p> + +<p>"Pretty sight, I don't think," replied the +Yeoman grimly. "Dirty work for the hospital +there, and I reckon it's 'Port Watch look for +messmates'—all along under the bridge she's +been catching it, and I can't see—Yes, O.K.—He's +up there on the bridge—<i>Who?</i> The skipper, +of course. Mister Calton, Commander—begging +his pardon. Me and him were in the old +<i>Cantaloup</i> two years. Gawd! but ain't they +been in a dust-up! What do you say? +<i>Lyddite?</i>"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> + He turned to look as the big destroyer passed, +half-raised his glass, and then lowered it. +There was enough for his naked eye to see to +discourage him from a closer view. Her decks +were crowded with men, lying, standing, or +sitting down. The white bandages showed +up clearly against the general background of +dull grime, and the bandages were many. A +torpedo-tube pointing up like an A.A. gun, and +a dozen or so of splinter holes in funnel and +casing, showed that some, at least, of the +wounded were her own. About the casing, +between the wounded, lay dozens of dull brass +cartridge-cases, and aft—a curious touch of +triviality—two seamen and a steward were +emptying boxes of smashed glass and crockery +overside. A few men waved and shouted in +reply as the Depôt ship roared a welcome +across to her, but the greater number were +silent. The two scarred and blood-spotted +craft swung gently in to the jetty, where the +lines of ambulances and stretchers awaited +them, and as the first heaving-lines flew, the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +Yeoman turned to the Telegraphist with a look +almost of pride on his dark saturnine face—</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm ——," he said admiringly, "if +that ain't swank! Did you see 'em? Why, +stiffen the Dutch—they've got new Sunday +Ensigns hoisted to come up harbour with, and"—he +swung round and levelled his glass at the +<i>Axite</i>, now almost hidden in the smoke and +steam of the group of tugs around her at the +lock gates—"I'm damned if she ain't got a +new one up too. Here, have a look at it, man. +It's on a boathook staff sticking up in the +muzzle of the high-angle gun——"</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> +<h2>1917.</h2> + +<p>The "liaison officer" felt distinctly nervous as +his steamboat approached the gangway. He +had no qualms as to his capabilities of carrying +out the work he was detailed for—that of +acting as signals-and-operations-interpreter +aboard the Flotilla leader of a recently allied +destroyer division—but the fact that he had +been told that he must be prepared to be tactful +weighed heavily on his mind. His ideas on +the subject of Americans were somewhat hidebound, +but at the same time very vague. +Would they spring the statement on him that +they had "come over to win the War for you," +or would they refer at once to their War of +Independence? Did the Yankees hate all +Britishers, or—— His boat bumped alongside + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +the neat teak ladder, and he noted with a seaman's +appreciation the perfectly-formed coachwhipping +and Turks' Heads on the rails. A +moment later he was standing on a very clean +steel deck, gravely returning the salute of what +appeared to be a muster of all the officers in +the ship.</p> + +<p>A tall commander took a pace forward. +"<i>Malcolm</i>," he said, "I'm Captain—glad to +meet you." The Englishman saluted, and they +shook hands. "My name's Jackson," he replied, +and turned as the American, taking his arm, +ran through a rapid introduction to the other +officers. Each of these repeated the formula, +accompanied by the quick bow and handshake. +Jackson followed suit as best he could, and +began to feel that on such formal occasions he +had the makings of a real <i>attaché</i> or diplomatist +in him.</p> + +<p>A few minutes, and he found himself sitting +in a long-chair in a wardroom which might +have been a counterpart of his own, and +accepting a long cigar from the box handed + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +him. "Did you have a good trip over?" he +ventured.</p> + +<p>"We sure did, and saw nix—not even a +U-boat. Had a bit of a gale first day out, +but it blew off quick. But say, there wasn't +a German ship for three thousand miles. Don't +you ever see some about?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you see—er—no. They only show +out now and then, and it's only for a few hours +when they do. Of course, there are plenty of +Fritzes, but they keep under most of the time—you +don't see them much."</p> + +<p>"Well, we thought it real slow, didn't we, +Commander? We were just ripe for some gunplay, +but we never got a chance to pull."</p> + +<p>Jackson looked across at the Commander and +smiled. "We felt that way for a long time, +sir. But now we just go on hoping and keeping +ready. We've had so many false alarms, you +see."</p> + +<p>The Commander laughed. "That's one on +you, Benson," he said. "We won't get so +excited next time we see the Northern Lights."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> + There was a general shout of laughter, and +Jackson turned cold. This, he thought, was a +little early for him to start putting his foot in +it. The officer called Benson, however, did not +appear to be about to throw over the alliance +just yet. He walked to the sideboard, and +returned with a couple of lumps of sugar in his +hand. "Lootenant," he said gravely, "in the +absence of stimulants in the U.S. Navy, I can +only give you what we've got. We've no liquor +aboard, but we've sure got sugar."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the Commander. "We're all on +the water-waggon here, whether we like the +ride or not."</p> + +<p>Jackson sat up in his chair and shed his +official pose. He could, at any rate, talk without +reserve on Service subjects. "Well, sir," +he said, "I'm not a teetotaller, but it doesn't +worry me to go teetotal if I've got to. I don't +worry about it if I'm in training for anything; +and the fact is—well, if there was a referendum, +or something of that sort, in the Navy as to +whether we were to be compulsory teetotallers + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +or not, I believe the majority would vote for +'no drinks.' <i>I</i> would, anyway, and I'm what +you'd call an average drinker."</p> + +<p>"They didn't ask us to vote any, but if they +had—in war-time—I guess we'd have voted the +same way. If you can't get it you don't want +it, and we've kind of got used to water now. +And so your name's Jackson? Any relation?"</p> + +<p>Jackson's brain worked at high pressure. +This was a poser. Sir Henry Jackson? Stonewall? +How many noted Jacksons were there? +He played for safety and replied with a +negative.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well! there's perhaps some connection +you don't know of," said the Commander +encouragingly. "Which part of England are +your folk from? Birmingham. Well, of course, +it's a big family.... My father knew him +well, and was with him through the Valley +Campaign."</p> + +<p>Jackson sighed with relief. "You're from +Virginia then, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir—I'm from Maryland. My father + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +joined the Army of Virginia two days before +Bull Run."</p> + +<p>"Are you all Southerners here, then?"</p> + +<p>"We're sure <i>not</i>," came a chorus of voices. +"Nix on Secesh ... John Brown's Body...." +Jackson developed nerves again. He felt as if +he had asked a Nationalist meeting to join him +in drinking confusion to the Pope. The company +did not seem disposed to let him off, however.</p> + +<p>"Which do you think ought to have won, +Lootenant? You were neutral—let's hear it."</p> + +<p>Jackson looked apologetically at the Commander.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I think the North <i>had</i> to win; +and" (he hurried on) "it's just as well she did, +because if she hadn't there wouldn't be any +U.S.A. now—only a lot of small states."</p> + +<p>"That's so; but there need not have been +any war at all."</p> + +<p>"There needn't, sir; but it made the U.S.A. +all the same. The big event of the Franco-Prussian +War wasn't the surrender at Sedan; +it was the crowning of the German Emperor + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +at Versailles. And in the Civil War—well, it +made one nation of the Americans in the same +way as the other did of the Germans."</p> + +<p>"Well, Lootenant, if wars are just to make +nations into one, what was the good of our +wars with you?"</p> + +<p>Jackson was getting over his self-consciousness, +and it was dawning on him that the +American Navy has a method of "drawing" +very similar to that in use in his own.</p> + +<p>"They were a lot of use," he protested. "We +sent German troops against you, and you killed +lots of them."</p> + +<p>There was a general laugh.</p> + +<p>"Say, Jackson," came a voice, "this little old +country of yours isn't doing much with the +Germans now except kill them. Say, she's +great! You're doing all the work, and you've +kept on telling us you're doing nix. Your +papers just talk small, as if your Army was +only a Yale-Princetown football crowd, and you +were the coon and not the Big Stick of the +bunch that's in it."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> + "Well, you see, we don't like talking about +ourselves except to just buck our own people up."</p> + +<p>Jackson's tone as he said this was, I regret +to say, just what yours or mine would have +been. It could only be described as "smug."</p> + +<p>"You sure don't. We like to say what we're +doing when we come from New York."</p> + +<p>Jackson prepared for an effort of tact. "I +hear," he said, "you've got quite a lot of +troops across already."</p> + +<p>They told him—and his eyes opened.</p> + +<p>"<i>What!</i>" he said. "And how many——?" +He digested the answers for a moment, and +decided that his store of tact could be pigeon-holed +again for a while. "But what about—your +papers haven't—I don't call that talking +much. We still think you're just beginning."</p> + +<p>"So we are,—we've hardly started. But our +papers were given the wise word, and they +don't talk war secrets."</p> + +<p>Jackson readjusted his ideas slightly, and his +attitude deflated itself. The transportation of +the First Expeditionary Force had been talked + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +of as a big thing, but this—and he had until +then heard no whisper of it.</p> + +<p>"And the country?" he asked. "What about +all your pro-Germans and aliens?"</p> + +<p>"They don't," came the answer. "What do +you think of Wilson now?" Jackson edged +away to cover again. "He's a very fine statesman, +and a much bigger man than we thought +him once."</p> + +<p>"Same here; and he knows his America. He +waited and he waited, and all the time the +country was just getting more raw about the +Germans, and then when he was good and ready +he came in; and I guess now he's got the country +<i>solid</i>."</p> + +<p>Jackson pondered this for a moment, studying +the clean-cut young faces—all of the universal +"Naval" stamp—around him.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he said slowly, "that it +wouldn't have been better for us if we'd been +able to stop out a few months ourselves at first. +It would have made <i>us</i> more solid too. But we +simply had to come in at once."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> + "You had; and if you hadn't, we'd have talked +at you some."</p> + +<p>Jackson laughed. "What! 'Too proud to +fight,' and all that sort of thing? Yes, we'd +have deserved it too. I say, what a shame +Admiral Mahan died right at the beginning! +There's nobody to take his place and write this +war up."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he'd have been over here first tap of the +gong. And he'd have seen it all for himself, and +given you Britishers and us lectures on the war +of 1812—and every other war too."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's a great pity. He taught us what +sea-power was, and till then we hardly knew +we had it at all."</p> + +<p>"Well, he taught you enough to get us busy +mailing you paper about the blockade last year."</p> + +<p>Jackson grinned. "You couldn't say much. +You made all the precedents yourselves when +you blockaded the South in '61. We only had +to refer you to your own letters to get out of +the argument."</p> + +<p>The First Lieutenant beckoned for the cigar + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +box again. "You knew too much diplomatic +work for us in those days. We were new to +that card game. But I'd sooner hear our talk +now than the sort of gentle breathing of your +folks when it comes to diplomacy."</p> + +<p>"Never mind," said Jackson. "We're getting +better. We'll have an autocracy, like you, +before the war's over, instead of the democracy +we've got now."</p> + +<p>The circle settled down and waited. This +was evidently not an unarmed foe, in the +ancient Anglo-Saxon game.</p> + +<p>"Amurrica's the only real democracy in the +universe," said an incautious voice. Two heads +turned towards the speaker, and several pairs +of eyes spoke volumes.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," said Jackson. +"America's a great country, but as you told +me just now, she's solid. That means she's +so keen on getting on with the work that she's +chosen a boss and told him to go ahead and +give his orders, and so long as he does his best +to get on with the work, the people aren't going + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +to quarrel with him. Now we are not really +solid, just because we're too much of a +democracy."</p> + +<p>"Say, you wouldn't think that if you'd been +over and seen our last elections; but there's +sense in it, all the same. But Lloyd George—isn't +he the same sort of Big Stick over +here?"</p> + +<p>"You read our political papers and see," said +Jackson. "Do you take much interest in +politics in your Navy?"</p> + +<p>"Do we hell—does yours?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit, except to curse at them. Navies +are outside politics."</p> + +<p>"Except the German's, and their army and +navy and politics are all the same thing; and +they'll all come down together, too."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it's going to take some tough +scrapping to do it. Let's hope no one starts +fighting over the corpse when she's beaten."</p> + +<p>"Well, I guess you won't, and we won't. +We've both got all the land we can do with, +and if there are any colonies to hand out after, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +we won't mind who gets 'em so long as the +Kaiser doesn't. What we ought to do is to +join England in a policing act for the world, +and just keep them all from fighting."</p> + +<p>"That'd be no good. The rest of them would +combine against us. It would only mean a +different Balance of Power."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Now you're talking European. We +stand out of the old-world Balance."</p> + +<p>"You can't now. You've got hitched up in +it, and you'll find you're tangled when you +want to get back."</p> + +<p>"We sure won't. We'll pull out when this +round-up's over—you watch us."</p> + +<p>The Commander glanced at his watch and +rose. "Dinner's at 'half-six,'" he said. "You'd +better let me show you the way to your room."</p> + +<p>Jackson rose and followed him aft to the +spare cabin. "Here you are," said the American. +"Hope you'll be comfortable. The boys will +do their best to make your stay here real +home-like, and I hope you'll stay just as long +as you can."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> + "I sure will, sir," came the answer, in a voice +that was fast losing its English drawl; and +Jackson, alone with his thoughts, stared at the +door-curtain, and wondered why on earth it +should have been considered necessary to tell +him that a supply of tact would be useful to +him in his new job.</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> +<h2>IN FORTY WEST.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We are coming from the ranch, from the city and the mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the word has gone before us to the towns upon the Rhine;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As the rising of the tide<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On the Old-World side,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We are coming to the battle, to the Line.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From the valleys of Virginia, from the Rockies in the North,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We are coming by battalions, for the word was carried forth:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"We have put the pen away<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the sword is out to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the Lord has loosed the Vintages of Wrath."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span><br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We are singing in the ships as they carry us to fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As our fathers sang before us by the camp-fires' light;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the wharf-light glare<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They can hear us Over There,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the ships come steaming through the night.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Right across the deep Atlantic where the <i>Lusitania</i> passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the battle-flag of Yankee-land a-floating at the mast,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We are coming all the while,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Over twenty hundred mile,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And we're staying to the finish, to the last.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We are many—we are one—and we're in it overhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We are coming as an Army that has seen its women dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the old Rebel Yell<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Will be loud above the shell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When we cross the top together, seeing red.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> +<h2>A RING AXIOM.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the pitiless gong rings out again, and they whip your chair away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you feel you'd like to take the floor, whatever the crowd should say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the hammering gloves come back again, and the world goes round your head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you know your arms are only wax, your hands of useless lead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you feel you'd give your heart and soul for a chance to clinch and rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through your brain the whisper comes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Give in, you've done your best,"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Why, stiffen your knees and brace your back—and take my word as true—<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>If the man in front has got you weak, he's just as tired as you</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">He can't attack through a gruelling fight and finish as he began;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's done more work than you to-day—you're just as fine a man.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So call your last reserve of pluck—he's careless with his chin—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You'll put it across him every time—Go in—Go in—<i>Go in!</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHANCES.</h2> + +<p>The boxing-stage was raised a clear three and +a half feet above the deck, and the mat showed +glaringly white in the northern sunshine. The +corner-posts were padded and wound with many +layers of red and blue bunting. A glance round +showed a great amphitheatre of faces, rising tier +on tier up to the crouching figures of men on +the main-derrick, funnel-casings, and masts. +The spectators numbered, perhaps, close on three +thousand, and there was hardly a man among +them who had not qualified as a critic by +personal experience at the game. The last two +competitors had just left the ring in a storm of +hand-clapping, and the white-sweatered seconds +ceased their professional chatter and their basin-splashing +employment to jump up and place the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +chairs back against the corner-posts as the next +two officers entered.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Cairnley of H.M. T.B.D. —— pulled +the loose sleeves of his monkey-jacket across +his chest and stretched out his legs as he sat +down in the Blue corner. He looked across at +his opponent, who was standing talking in a +low voice to a second. Yes, he was evidently +only just inside the middle-weight limit, and +he, Cairnley, must be giving away all of half +a stone. Still, that was half a stone less to carry +about the ring, and he felt really fit and well-trained. +An officer was standing in the ring, +with a paper in one hand, and the other raised +to call for silence.</p> + +<p>"First round of the Officers' Middle-weights. +In the Red corner, Lieutenant Santon of +the——, in the Blue corner, Lieutenant Cairnley +of the——." He slipped under the ropes and +jumped down from the stage as the voice of the +timekeeper followed his own—"Seconds out!" +Cairnley felt the coat plucked from his shoulders, +and he stood up as his chair was drawn away. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +"<i>Clang!</i>" went the heavy gong, and he walked +forward with his right hand out and his eyes +on his opponent's chest, in the midst of a great +silence. As their gloves touched, Cairnley jumped +quickly to one side and began his invariable +habit of working round to his opponent's left +hand. He was not allowed much time for +"routine work." He had an impression of a +looming figure getting larger, a whirl of feinting, +and he was being rushed back across the +ring in a storm of punches. His habit of keeping +his chin down, shoulders up, and elbows +in, saved him. He felt a thrill of respect for +Santon's punch as his head rocked from heavy +hook-blows on either side, and then he was +inside his opponent's elbows, working his head +forward, and lowering his right for a body punch +before they struck the ropes. As he felt their +springing contact at his back, he stiffened up +and pushed his man away. The recoil of the +hemp assisted him, and Santon gave ground +a yard. Cairnley jumped at him, and, taking +an even chance, sent a straight right over, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +which landed cleanly on the mouth. His left +followed at once, but only touched lightly. +Santon gave ground again, and the lighter man +slid after him, sending a long left home to the +nose. Cairnley thrilled as it landed. This man +was strong, he felt, but not quick enough in +defence. He half-feinted with his right, and sent +his left out again. As the punch extended he +slightly lifted his chin, and the ring whirled +round him as he took a tremendous cross-counter +that came in over his elbow. He came forward +quickly to get to close quarters, but his opponent +had no intention of letting him. There was +a whirl of gloves and a sound of heavy, grunting +hitting, and Cairnley found himself on his hands +and knees, with a very groggy feeling in his +head, looking across at Santon's white knees +by the ropes at the far side of the ring. He +stretched his neck, took a long breath, and rose +shakily. He did not feel as shaky as he looked, +for he had been in the ring before, and knew that +a knock-down blow sometimes entraps the optimistic +giver of it into sudden defeat, but in this + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +case he was engaged with a boxer who took no +chances. Santon approached quickly and began +rapid feinting just outside hitting distance. +Cairnley gave ground slightly and waited for +the rush. This chap had a wicked right, he +reflected, and he did not want to get caught +napping again. Then Santon was on him +slamming in lefts and rights, and working furiously +to get him into a corner. Cairnley stooped +and struggled to get in close. A muscular change +in the body a foot from his eyes gave him warning +of an approaching upper-cut, and he brought +his right glove in front of his face in time to +stop it. He felt Santon's left on the back of +his head, and instantly shifted feet and escaped +round his opponent's left side. As he shifted he +jerked a hard, short left punch into the mark, and +then repeated the blow. Santon broke away, +and received a perfectly-timed straight left on +the nose as the gong rang. There was a storm +of applause as the men went to their corners, +for Cairnley's recovery had been well guarded, +and his quick hitting at the end of the round + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +showed that he had not lost much speed. He +lay back in his chair while his seconds fussed +around him, and thought hard. That right cross-counter +of Santon's was certainly a beauty, so +much so that it must be his favourite punch. +Could he be absolutely certain of its being produced +if he gave it the same chance? Well, he +had to win this on a knock-out, or not at all. +He could not pick up all the points he had lost +in the first round with only two to go, so it was +a case of chancing it on his brains alone. Yes, +he would just check his idea once, and if that +proved that Santon would use the same punch +for the same lead, he would go all out on the +next. <i>Clang!</i> He rose and walked straight +forward to meet his man. At six-feet range he +jumped in and drove his left for the mark. It +did not land true, but it enabled him to close +and start a succession of furious body punches. +The two hammering, gasping white figures reeled +about the ring for half a minute, heads down and +arms working like pistons.</p> + +<p>Cairnley knew that his man was too strong for + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +him at that game, but for that round, brain and +not muscle was his guide, and he wanted Santon +to be warmed up and made to act by habit and +use. They locked in a clinch, and a moment later +broke clear at the word of the Referee—the first +he had spoken in that fight. For a second they +stood on guard swaying from side to side as they +waited for an opening. Then Cairnley leaped in +and sent out a full straight left. Even with his +chin tucked well down he felt the jar of the right +that slid again over his elbow, and striking full +on the cheek, made his head ring and his neck +ache. He stopped the left that followed, then +landed on the face with his own left and closed +again to hammer in short arm punches. He felt +as he did so that the work he was engaged on +must be done soon, as at this high-speed work he +would not have the strength for a hard punch for +long. Santon appeared to be a little inclined for +a rest, too, for it was he who clinched this time. +Cairnley rested limply against him and took a +long breath as the voice of the Referee called +them apart. He caught his breath again and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +called up all his reserve strength as they posed +at long range, then he jumped forward as before, +sent his left out three-quarters of the way, and +showed his chin clear of his chest. Without a +check in the movement his left dropped, his body +pivoted, and he sent a full "haymaker" right up +and across to the half-glimpsed head in front of +him. A bony right wrist glanced from the top +of his bent head, and at the same instant a jar, +from his right knuckles to his back, told him +that brains had beaten skill. He slipped aside, +his hands mechanically raised in defence, and +stumbled over Santon's falling body. As he +scrambled up to cross the ring he looked back, +and knew at once that not ten nor twenty +seconds would be enough for that limp figure +to recover in.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> +<h3>II.</h3> + +<p>"Yes, I've got leave now, and Cairnley's in +hospital; he had a couple of splinters in him, +and they packed him off, though he wanted to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +get leave and treat himself. The old packet's +got to be just about rebuilt from the deck up, +and he's certain to get a bigger one instead. +He's going to take me on with him,—good thing +for me,—as I'll be pretty young to be Number +One of one of the Alpha class ships. I tell you, +it was a devilish funny show, and all over in a +second. It came on absolute pea-soup at four +and we had only heard the guns in the action. +Never saw a thing. We had been out away +from the line four hours. Had nothing but +wireless touch to tell us they had got into a +mix-up. We went to stations at full speed +trying to close on them, and we'd hardly got +ready when the Hun showed up four hundred +yards off. My word! she was smart on it. She +was only a cruiser, but in the fog she showed up +like the <i>Von der Tann</i>, and she was going all +of twenty-four. She let fly at the moment we +saw her, and she spun round and charged right +off. We let go too as she fired, but her turning +to ram saved her. We turned too and bolted, +and she just cut every darned thing down from + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +the casing up. The mast went on the first salvo, +one funnel and most of the guns. The shooting +was just lovely, and if it hadn't been such close +range we'd have been shot down in one act. As +it was, they just shaved us clean as if we'd +gone full speed under a low-level bridge. At six +hundred yards we could only see her gun-flashes, +and we yanked round across her bow and opened +out. The skipper gave her five minutes and +then levelled up on the same course we had +been on before, and eased a bit to keep station +on her beam. We did a bit of clearing up and +he sent for me. He was on the bridge—which +had damn little left on it, bar him,—it was a +proper wreck—and told me to arrange hands +to shout orders to the engine-room if required, +as the telegraphs were gone. The wheel was +all right—or at least the gearing was,—the wheel +itself had only a bit of rim and two spokes on +it. He told me to get what fish we could fire +set for surface, and that he was going to go +for her again and fire at twenty-five yards. I +thought he was mad, but I went down and got + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +'em ready. (The gunner was killed.) I shouted +up to him when I had done, and had mustered +a tube's crew, and we whacked on full bat again +and began to close. You see we had crossed +her bow once, and Cairnley reckoned then that +she would have altered back to her original +course of East, so he had kept on her port beam +at about a mile, going the same speed. I did not +get what he was driving at till afterwards. At +the time I thought he was just going to do it +again, because he thought he ought to make +another effort. We saw her first this time as +we were closing on the opposite side, and the +skipper told them to poop off the bow gun, which +was all we had, to wake them up. They woke +up all right, and we got the same smack from +all along her side we'd had before. She was +just abaft our starboard beam going the same +course, and I was wondering what the deuce he'd +meant by telling me to train the tubes to port, +when we went hard a-port and came round all +heeled over and shaking. I just thought to +myself, Well, if the Hun keeps on and doesn't + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +try to ram, we're going to look damn silly, when +I saw her again and she <i>was</i> ramming. Her +guns did no good then,—the change was too +quick for any sights to be held on. He banged +away all right, and I believe he put more helm +on—but he couldn't get us. The skipper had +said twenty-five yards, but it looked to me like +<i>feet</i>. He was going all out, and so were we, +and I pulled off as his stem showed abreast +the tubes—all spray and grey paint—and those +fish hit him abaft the second funnel. Eh? +Well, perhaps it was a few yards, but it's the +closest I've seen to going alongside a gangway. +Well, that's all I knew about it for half an +hour. The bang put me out. Skipper said he +turned back and searched for her, but it was +so thick then he couldn't have found an island +except by mistake. We'd been hit below water +too and couldn't steam much. We got a tow +home. Good egg! Here's St Pancras, and there's +a flapper—thirty if she's a day—Good old +blinkin' London!"</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE QUARTERMASTER.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I mustn't look up from the compass-card, nor look at the seas at all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I must watch the helm and compass-card,—If I heard the trumpet-call<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Gabriel sounding Judgment Day to dry the Seas again,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I must hold her bow to windward now till I'm relieved again—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To the pipe and wail of a tearing gale,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Carrying Starboard Ten.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I must stare and frown at the compass-card, that chases round the bowl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">North and South and back again with every lurching roll.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> + <span class="i0">By the feel of the ship beneath I know the way she's going to swing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I mustn't look up to the booming wind however the halliards sing—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In a breaking sea with the land a-lee,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Carrying Starboard Ten.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I stoop to look at the compass-card as closes in the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For it's hard to see by the shaded glow of half a candle-light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the spokes are bright, and I note beside in the corner of my eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shimmer of light on oilskin wet that shows the Owner nigh—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Foggy and thick and a windy trick,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Carrying Starboard Ten.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Heave and sway or dive and roll can never disturb me now;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though seas may sweep in rivers of foam across the straining bow,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> + <span class="i0">I've got my eyes on the compass-card, and though she broke her keel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hit the bottom beneath us now, you'd find me at the wheel<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In Davy's realm, still at the helm,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Carrying Starboard Ten.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> +<h2>A LANDFALL.</h2> + +<p>The dawn came very slowly—a faint glow in +the sky spreading until first the streaming forecastle +and then the dirty-yellow seas could be +seen. The destroyer was steaming slowly along +the coast with the wind just before the beam. +She made bad weather of it, lurching at extraordinary +angles from side to side, yawing from +two to four points off her course, and throwing +her stern up as each wave passed under her, until +the water spouted in the wake of her slowly-moving +propellers. The wind and the mist had +come together, and the visibility extended to +perhaps three or four foaming wave-crests away. +They knew within a dozen miles where they +were, but a dozen miles is too vague a reckoning +to make a mine-guarded harbour from, and her + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +captain, with the greatest respect for the fact +that he was on a dead lee shore, and a most inhospitable +and rocky shore at that, was feeling +for the land with an order for "Hard-over" helm +running through his head. Occasionally he +ceased his staring out on the lee bow to look +back along the deck. The sight each time made +him frown and tighten his lips. The beam-sea +was sweeping across the ship regularly every +half-minute. The water shot across her 'midships +three feet deep, and foaming like a Highland +burn in spate. The squat funnels showed +through the turmoil of water and spray, streaked +diagonally upwards with crusted white salt, +through which showed patches of red funnel-scale; +from them came a steady roaring note—the +signal of suppressed power below them. +Battened-down as she was, he knew that the +hatches were not submarine ones; built as they +were on a foundation little thicker than cardboard, +they could not keep out such seas, and he +visualised the turmoil and discomfort there must +be beneath him on the flooded decks. He, personally, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +had not seen in what state she was +below, having been on the bridge for the last +nine hours, but he felt he would like to take a +look at his own cabin and see if his worst foreboding—a +foot of water washing to and fro +across a sodden carpet—was true.</p> + +<p>He glanced at his wrist-watch, and then to the +east. Half-past seven and full daylight. Well, +he thought, it might as well be just dawning still +for all the light there was. Air and sea were +the same colour, a creamy dull white, and they +merged into one at a range of perhaps five +hundred yards. If only he could—he raised his +head sharply and turned to face out on the beam. +Bracing his feet and gripping the rail with wet-gloved +fingers he held his breath in an intensity +of listening concentration. Yes, it was clearer +that time, a faint high whine broad on the beam. +He walked, timing the roll so that he had no +need to clutch for support, to where the helmsman +crouched over a wildly swinging compass-card, +and gave an order. The destroyer came +bowing and dipping round till she met the full + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +drive of the sea ahead. With a roar and a crash +the water tumbled in over the forecastle, shaking +the bridge, and falling in tons over the ladders +on to the upper deck. The destroyer still turned, +shaking from end to end, until she had the sea on +the other bow. The telegraph reply-gongs rang +back the acknowledgment of an order, and easing +to barely steerage-way, the ship settled in her +new position—hove-to in the direction from which +she had come overnight. The faint sound he had +heard had seemed too distant for the captain +to be assured of his position, and until he could +hear it clearly and from fairly close he was not +going to risk taking a departure from it. He +knew that hove-to as she was the destroyer was +going to be driven closer in, and with a steep-to +shore he could allow her to accept the leeway for +some time. He moved across and stood on the +other side of the bridge, looking out to leeward, +his attitude less strained and anxious now, as the +ship was making fairly easy weather of it. The +motion, it is true, was far more uncomfortable. +She sidled, dived, and wallowed in a way that + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +would have thrown a man unaccustomed to +T.B.D.'s completely off his feet; but far less +water was coming aboard, and the amount that +did so arrived on a bearing from which she was +better fitted to receive it. At the end of twenty +minutes the captain began to resume his rigid +attitude. There was something wrong somewhere. +Sounds came erratically through fog, +but this could not be counted on. He knew he +had made no mistake in the sound he had heard. +It was certainly the high note of the lighthouse, +and not a steamer's whistle. The low note +should have been heard in between the high ones, +but the fact of not having heard the low was +not surprising to him. One seldom heard both +notes in a fog. But this silent gap was a +nuisance, considering the rate at which they must +be closing the land. At half an hour from his +first hearing the sound he turned uphill to gain +the wheel again, but froze still as the voice of +the fog-horn came afresh, this time with no +possibility of doubt. A great thuttering roar +broke out, as it seemed, almost overhead, a deep + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +bass note that made the air quiver. The captain +jumped amidships and barked an order. The +wheel spun hard down and the telegraphs +whirred round, bringing the destroyer diving +and leaping back head to sea. Looking aft, the +captain had a glimpse of three pinnacle rocks +showing a moment in the trough between two +seas, and then the fog shut down over them +again, leaving only the regular deep roar of the +fog-signal, that grew gradually fainter astern. +Two points at a time he eased the ship round +till she was hove-to on the opposite tack, then +he called to another oilskinned figure that stood +swaying to the roll by the helmsman. "Will +you take her now?" he said; "I am going to +look for some breakfast. Hold her like this +half an hour, and then turn her down wind for +the run in. The tide's setting us well round the +point now. All right?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I'll lay it off again on the chart +before I turn. That was a queer hole in the fog, +sir."</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite a big blank. Glad it wasn't much + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +bigger. Still, we could see four cables under the +land, and the land's alright if you've got your +stern to it."</p> + +<p>With a huge yawn of relief he stretched his +arms back and up, then started down the thin +iron ladder on his perilous trip to the inevitable +chaos and confusion of his cabin.</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> +<h2>NIGHT ROUNDS.</h2> + +<p>It was a dark night with no moon, while +only occasionally could a star be seen from +the leader's bridge. The next astern could be +made out by the bands of blue-white phosphorescence +that fell away from her bow, but +the rest of the line was quite invisible. The +flotilla slid along at a pace that to them was +only a jog-trot, but which would have been +considered rather too exciting for night work +by the big ships. The night was calm, with +hardly a breath of wind, while the <i>hush</i>—<i>hush</i>—<i>hush</i> +from the bow-waves seemed to accentuate +the silence and to increase the impression +the destroyers gave of game moving down on +a tiptoe of expectancy to the drinking-pool, +ready at a sight or sound to spring to a frenzy + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +of either offensive or defensive speed. On the +leader's bridge men spoke in low tones, as if +afraid that they might be overheard by the +enemy—actually to enable them to listen better +to whatever sound the echoes from the sea might +carry. On bridges and at gun-stations look-outs +stared out around them at the night, and there +was no need for the officers to be anxious as +to whether their men kept good watch or slept. +The crews knew the rules of destroyer-war in +the Narrow Seas—that "The first one to see, +shoots; and the first one to hit, wins." It is +true that they did not always see first. There +were exceptions. Not so long before, they had +been seen at a range of perhaps half a mile by +an officer on the low unobtrusive conning-tower +of a submarine. This officer had instantly and +accurately smitten on the back of the head the +sailor who shared his watch, and had rapped +out one word "<i>Down!</i>" The sailor (evidently +quite accustomed to this procedure) had vanished +down the conning-tower like a falling stone, the +officer's boots chasing the man's hands down the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +ladder-rungs. The lid had clanked down and +locked just a few seconds before a little "plop" +of water closed over the swirling suction that +showed where a big patrol submarine had been. +The boat was English (that is to say, her Captain +was Scotch, and her First Lieutenant Canadian, +while the remainder of her officers and men +together could hardly have mustered half a +dozen men from the Home Counties), but she +had no intention of risking explanations at short +range with her own friends. She had been +warned of their coming, but she looked on it +as a piece of extraordinarily bad luck to have +been met with at visibility range on such a +dark night and to have been inconvenienced into +a matter of ninety feet in a hurry. But it is +known that submarines dive for almost everything +and swear at everybody.</p> + +<p>As the flotilla moved on its way a portent +showed on the bow to landward. A faint red +glow began to light up the low clouds over the +Belgian frontier, and the bridge look-outs whispered +together as they watched it brighten. As + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +it grew clearer it showed to be not one light, +but a rapid-running succession of instantaneous +lights far inland. The white pencil of a searchlight +beam showed and swung to the zenith and +back—perhaps half-way between the watchers +and the flicker in the sky. Ten minutes later, +as the light drew farther aft, a faint murmur +of sound (that began as a mere suspicion, and +grew to be unmistakably but barely audible) +announced the origin of the glow.</p> + +<p>On the leader's bridge the tall officer in the +overcoat spoke to the shorter one in the "lammy." +"That's a bit on the big side for a night raid—they +must be attacking round by——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; there's something like what they +call 'drum-fire' going on. Wonder why they +put searchlights on for it, though?"</p> + +<p>"Can't guess. They'll have 'em on on the +coast in a minute too, if I know them. Perhaps +when they hear guns inland they think it's airbombs +coming down. There they go! Two of +'em——"</p> + +<p>The searchlights came on together, and on such + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +a clear and dark night they seemed startlingly +close. They swept the heavens over and back, +steadied awhile pointing inland, and went out +again, leaving an even inkier blackness than +before, and setting the watchers blinking and +rubbing their dazzled eyes. Away to the south-east +the pulsating growl of the guns continued, +though the breadth and height of the glow in +the sky was gradually decreasing.</p> + +<p>"There isn't any fighting on near the coast +now, sir. That must be away down in France. +If they'd only fire slow we'd be able to get a +sort of range by the flash."</p> + +<p>"You'd have to hold your watch for some time, +then," said the taller officer. "I haven't the +inland geography well enough in my head to +say where it is, but that scrap's nearer seventy +than sixty miles from here. Good Lord! And +I suppose we'll read in the papers when we get +in that 'there was activity at some points.'"</p> + +<p>"And from here it looks like Hell. What it +must be like close to——! Wish we could run +up one of the canals and join in, sir."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> + "You'd be too late if we could. It's dying out +now. Just as well, too; it keeps all the look-outs' +heads turned that way. How's the time? +All right, we'll turn now and try back."</p> + +<p>The glow faded and passed, and left the +velvety dark as blank as before. The leader +swung round on a wide curve, and, as if held +by one long elastic hawser, the flotilla followed +in her gleaming wake. At the same cantering +speed as they had come, they started on the +long beat back of their bloodthirsty prowl, +at the moment when the Scotch submarine +officer turned over the watch to his Canadian +subordinate.</p> + +<p>"I've sheered right out now, and they ought +to be clear of us all right, but keep your eyes +skinned for them and nip under if you see them +again. They're devilish quick on the salvoes +in this longitude, and 'pon my soul I don't blame +'em either."</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> +<h2>IN THE BARRED ZONE.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They called us up from England at the breaking of the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the wireless whisper caught us from a hundred leagues away—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">"Sentries at the Outer Line,<br /></span> +<span class="i33">All that hold the countersign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listen in the North Sea—news for you to-day."<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All across the waters, at the paling of the morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wireless whispered softly ere the summer day was born—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">"Be you near or ranging far,<br /></span> +<span class="i33">By the Varne or Weser bar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Fleet is out and steaming to the Eastward and the dawn."<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> + <span class="i0">Far and away to the North and West, in the dancing glare of the sunlit ocean,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just a haze, a shimmer of smoke-cloud, grew and broadened many a mile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low and long and faint and spreading, banner and van of a world in motion,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creeping out to the North and West, it hung in the skies alone awhile.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then from over the brooding haze the roar of murmuring engines swelled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the men of the air looked down to us, a mile below their feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the wind they passed above, their course to the silver sun-track held,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we looked back to the West again, and saw the English Fleet.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over the curve of the rounded sea, in ordered lines as the ranks of Rome,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the far horizon steamed a power that held us dumb,—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> + <span class="i0">Miles of racing lines of steel that flattened the sea to a field of foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Rolling deep to the wash they made,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">We saw, to the threat of a German blade,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The Shield of England come.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> +<h2>A MATTER OF ROUTINE.</h2> + +<p>There was little or no wind, and only a gentle +swell from the south. The ships rose and fell +lazily as they steamed to the south-eastward, +while only occasionally a handful of light +spray fell across a sunlit forecastle, drying +almost as it fell. But if the air was still the +ships were certainly not so—as vast as a great +moving town, the Fleet was travelling at the +speed of a touring car. From the Flagship's +foretop the view was extraordinary. Destroyers +or light cruisers when pressed seem to be +slipping along with something always in hand +and with no apparent effort; a battleship, however, +seen under the same conditions, makes +one think of St Paul's Cathedral being towed +up the Thames; she carries a "bone in her + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +teeth," and her bows seem to settle low and +her stern to rise. In this case the Grand Fleet +was hurrying—moving south-east at full speed, +because—well, they <i>might</i> just cut the enemy +off; but the Hun was canny, and knew exactly +the danger-limit in this game of "Prisoner's +base."</p> + +<p>The visibility was good, and as far as the +eye could see the water was torn and streaked +with the wakes of ships—cruisers, destroyers, +battleships, and craft of every queer and imaginable +warlike use. The great mass of steel +hulls had one thing only in common—they +could steam, and could steam always with +something in hand above the "speed of the +Fleet." From the ships came a faint brown +haze of smoke that shimmered with heat and +made the horizon dance and flicker. From the +foretop, looking aft, it seemed incredible that +there could be any power existing which could +drive such a huge beamy hulk as the Flagship +was, and leave such a turmoil of torn and +flattened water astern. Battleships in a hurry + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +are certainly not stately; an elderly matron in +pursuit of a tram-car shows dignity compared to +any one of them. But if they looked flustered +and undignified, they carried a cargo which no +one could smile at. "<i>Battleships are mobile +gun-platforms.</i>" I forget who said that—probably +Admiral Mahan—but it is true; and +if these ships showed an ungraceful way +of moving, they certainly complied with the +definition of gun-platforms. The low-sloped +turrets all pointed the same way—out to the +starboard bow. The long tapering guns moved +up and down, following the horizon against +the roll, and sighing as they moved, as if the +hydraulic engines were weary of the long wait. +On the tops of the turrets the figures of officers +could be seen pacing to and fro across the +steel—checking now and then to stare at the +southern horizon. Somewhere out there beneath +the blazing sun were the scouts, and +beyond them—well, that question was one that +the scouts were there to answer. The smaller +ships in sight seemed like motor-cycle pacers + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +escorting a long-distance foot-race. With their +sterns low and their bow-waves running back +close to the beautifully-shaped hulls, they gave +the impression of sauntering along at their +leisure and of looking impatiently over their +shoulders at the big heavy-weights astern of +them. A destroyer division suddenly heeled +and altered course like redshank, each ship +turning as the leader swung, and with a +fountain of spray at their sharp high stems +they cut through the intervals of a Battleship +division, swinging up again together to the +south-east course as they cleared. The watcher +in the top had seen the trick before, but familiarity +could not prevent his eyes from widening +a little as he saw the stem of his next astern +throw up a little cloud of spray as it met the +foaming V-wake that followed a few yards +from the leader's counter. He smiled as he +thought of an old picture in 'Punch' of a +crowd of small children urging and dragging +a huge policeman along to a scene of disturbance. +The darting, restless destroyers seemed + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +like the small bloodthirsty boys—hurrying on +ahead to see the fun, and then back to wait +for the ponderous but willing upholder of the +law—anxious to miss nothing of the excitement.</p> + +<p>The Fleet was running down to intercept, +and might be in action at any moment if the +luck held, but there was no signalling or outpouring +of instructions. There was just nothing +to be said. Everybody knew more or less +what the tactical situation was; all knew that +the enemy might be met with any time in the +next few hours, but in the turrets the guns' +crews proceeded with the all-important task +of getting outside as much dinner as they could +comfortably stow. The procedure of endeavouring +to meet the High Sea Fleet and of dealing +with it on sight had been rehearsed so often, +that the real thing, if it came, would call for +one signal only, and no more. Many prophets +have said that the increase of Science and +Applied Mechanics in the Navy would make +men into mere slaves of machines, and into +unthinking units. This is another theory which + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +has been shown to be hopelessly wrong—certainly +so in the Navy, as in it both officers +and men are taught, and have to be taught, +far more of the reasons for and the object +aimed at in the Rules for Battle than ever +Nelson thought it necessary to communicate to +his subordinates in the last Great War. The +Prussian system may be good, but it produces +a bludgeon—ours produces the finest tempered +blade.</p> + +<p>The sight from the foretop was a thing that +one would remember all one's life, and be +thankful not to have missed. The almost incalculable +value of the great mass of ships—the +whirl of figures conjured up by a rough +estimate of the collective horse-power and the +numbers of men present; the attempt and +failure to even count the actual ships in sight; +the vision of a scared and wondering neutral +tramp lying between the lines with engines +stopped as the great masses of grey-painted +steel went past her along the broad highroads +of churned water,—this was the Fleet at sea; + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +and the known fact that it would wheel, close, +or spread at the word of one man, from the +ships that foamed along four hundred yards +away to those whose mastheads could only just +be seen above the horizon, made the wonder +all the greater. One thought of the thousands +of eyes looking south in the direction of the +big gun-muzzles, of the shells that the guns +held rammed close home to the rifling, and of +the thousands of brains that were turning +over and over the old question, "Is it to be +this time, or have they slipped in again?"...</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> +<h2>WHO CARES?</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">The sentries at the Castle Gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">We hold the outer wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That echoes to the roar of hate<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And savage bugle-call—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those that seek to enter in with steel and eager flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To leave you with but eyes to weep the day the Germans came.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Though we may catch from out the Keep<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A whining voice of fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of one who whispers "Rest and sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And lay aside the spear,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We pay no heed to such as he, as soft as we are hard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We take our word from men alone—the men that rule the guard.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> + <span class="i3">We hear behind us now and then<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The voices of the grooms,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And bickerings of serving-men<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Come faintly from the rooms;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But let them squabble as they please, we will not turn aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But—curse to think it was for them that fighting men have died.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Whatever they may say or try,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">We shall not pay them heed;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And though they wail and talk and lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">We hold our simple Creed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No matter what the cravens say, however loud the din,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our Watch is on the Castle Gate, and none shall enter in.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE UNCHANGING SEX.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the battle-worn Horatius, 'midst the cheering Roman throng—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All flushed with pride and triumph as they carried him along—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reached the polished porch of marble at the doorway of his home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He felt himself an Emperor—the bravest man of Rome.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The people slapped him on the back and knocked his helm askew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then drifted back along the road to look for something new.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Horatius sobered down a bit—as you would do to-day—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And straightened down his tunic in a calm, collected way. <br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> + <span class="i0">He hung his battered helmet up and wiped his sandals dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And set a parting in his hair—the same as you and I.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lady kissed him carefully and looked him up and down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gently disengaged his arm to spare her snowy gown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"You <i>are</i> a real disgrace, you know, the worst I've ever seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now go and put your sword away, I <i>know</i> it isn't clean.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you must change your clothes at once, you're simply wringing wet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You've been doing something mischievous, I hope you lost your bet....<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why! you're bleeding on the carpet. Who's the brute that hurt you so?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did you kill him? <i>There's a darling.</i> Serve him right for hitting low."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then she hustled lots of water, turning back her pretty sleeves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she set him on the sofa (having taken off his greaves).<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> + <span class="i0">And bold Horatius purred aloud, the stern Horatius smiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And didn't seem to mind that he was treated like a child.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though she didn't call him Emperor, or cling to him and cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet I rather think he liked it—just the same as you and I.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> +<h2>TWO CHILDREN.</h2> + +<p>His age was possibly nineteen, and his general +appearance had decided the members of his last +gunroom mess in their choice of a nickname +for him. "Little Boy Blue," or "Boy" for short, +would probably stick to him throughout his +naval career. The name had certainly followed +him to his present appointment as "third hand" +of a destroyer, where the other sub-lieutenants +of the flotilla were not likely to allow him to +forget it. He would have made a perfect +model for a Burne-Jones angel. His mother +would have worded that comparison differently, +being under the impression that no angel could +hope to equal him: on his part, he always took +most filial care not to disillusion her on such +a point. At the moment, in the first flush + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +of glory induced by the fact that he had left +gunroom life for ever, and that his midshipman's +patches were things of the recent past, +he was making the most of a week's leave, +and making the most also of the opportunity +of cultivating the society of a home Attraction +whom the discerning eyes of his mother may +or may not have yet noticed. The Attraction +was aged sixteen, extremely pretty, and, as +is usual in such cases, extremely self-possessed.</p> + +<p>The Boy, as he accompanied her along the +garden path, was not feeling self-possessed +at all. He had discovered from frequent experience +that the only position he could retain +with reference to the lady as she walked was, +as he would put it, "half a cable on the starboard +quarter." Knowing as he did that he +was being kept thus distant by intention, he +followed the broad lines of strategy which his +naval training had taught him, and acted in +a way which on such occasions is always right—that +is, he aroused doubt and curiosity in +the mind of his adversary.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> + The lady, who—carrying a ball of string in +one hand and a bowl of peas in the other—had +walked in cool silence for at least fifty +yards, turned suddenly and spoke.</p> + +<p>"I suppose this is the first time you've——What +<i>are</i> you staring at?"</p> + +<p>The Boy blushed at once. "I beg your +pardon," he murmured; "I——"</p> + +<p>"Is my hair coming down?"</p> + +<p>The Boy looked fixedly again at a large +black bow which, as he told me afterwards, +"held the bight of it up." "No-o," he said +slowly.</p> + +<p>"Then don't stare at it, and don't lag behind. +What was I saying?"</p> + +<p>"You asked me how long leave I'd got."</p> + +<p>"I didn't—you've told me that, and anyhow +I've forgotten. I was going to ask you if +this is the first time you've done any war-work."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I was out in the Straits till last +Thursday week, and——"</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly. I mean work like this, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +digging and doing without things, and helping, +and so on."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose it is. I haven't had time, +really——"</p> + +<p>The lady turned on him in righteous scorn. +"<i>Time</i>—oh, you're one of the worst I know. +Won't you <i>ever</i> take the war seriously? You +just look on it all as a joke, and you won't +make <i>any</i> sacrifices. Now come here—take +the other end of this string, and lay it out +till I tell you to stop."</p> + +<p>The Boy meekly obeyed instructions. He +pegged the end of the string firmly down and +returned to the Attraction, who was engaged +in hunting out a hoe from among a litter of +horticultural implements that lay in a corner +of the garden wall. He stood watching her +for a moment, and with her eyes away +from him, his attitude altered slightly and +became almost proprietary, while his face +seemed to harden a shade and give an +inkling of the naval stamp that it would +develop later on. She looked round suddenly + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +and saw him again as a shy and awkward +youth.</p> + +<p>"Have you done it?" she said. "All right, +you can really start doing some work now. I'm +going to make you dig a trench. <i>That's</i> the +best way to serve your country when you're +ashore and have the chance. And to think +you've never used a hoe before!"</p> + +<p>The Boy scraped the hoe reflectively with the +toe of his boot. It did not seem to him politic +to mention the fact that vegetable gardens do +not usually grow either on the decks of battleships +or on the shell-beaten slopes of Gallipoli. +He made no attempt to follow the tortuous +wanderings of a feminine mind, but held on his +own course. "Are you going to help?" he said.</p> + +<p>"No. You'd only loaf at the work if I did, +and I've got other things to do, too. Now, come +along and start, or you'll never get it finished +by to-night."</p> + +<p>"I'm leaving to-morrow," said the Boy.</p> + +<p>"So you've told me—heaps of times to-day. +But you must finish that trench before you go."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> + The Boy nodded and walked away towards +the pegged-out end of the string. The lady, +without turning her head, walked back up the +path until she came to the grassy slope at its +end. Selecting a spot from which a view could +be obtained through the hedge of her oppressed +admirer, she sat down and carefully laid the +basin of peas on the bank beside her.</p> + +<p>"He's rather a dear," she observed cautiously +to herself. "But he <i>is</i> such a child. 'Wonder +why boys are always so awfully young compared +to women?"</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The flotilla would have turned round for its +run back in another half-hour if the last destroyer +in the enemy's line had not shown a +faint funnel-glare for the fractional part of a +second. They were only a couple of miles from +the end of the "beat" when it showed, and considering +the poor visibility that accompanied +the frequent snow-showers, it was a piece of +happy luck that the glare was seen at all. Three +people on the leader's bridge saw it together; + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +two of them gave a kind of muffled yelp, as foxhound +puppies would at sight of their first cub, +while the third gave an order on the instant. +The destroyer settled a little by the stern, her +course altered slightly, and she began really to +travel. For some hours she had been jogging +along at seventeen knots, but her speed now +began to rise in jumps of five knots at a time, +till in a few minutes she had become a mad +and quivering fabric of impatient steel. As she +gained her speed the snow began to pour down +again, blotting out the faint shadow that had +meant the bow of her next astern. The Captain +glanced aft once, and then continued his intent +gazing forward. He had passed a rough bearing +and the signal to chase to his subordinates astern, +and could do no more till he could get touch +again. He had no intention of easing his speed +to wait for clearer visibility. He knew too much +of flotilla war to let a chance of fighting go by +in that way. If he once got to the enemy, the +rest of his flotilla would steer to the sound of +the guns; and anyhow, he decided, if he did + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +have to fight single-handed, the worse the +visibility was and the greater the confusion and +doubt among the enemy, the better would be the +chances for him. The snow ahead cleared for a +minute to leave a long narrow lane between the +showers, and he saw the loom of the last ship +of the enemy's line. The German destroyer +seemed to fall back to him, as if she was stopped, +though in reality she was holding station on her +next ahead at a fair sixteen knots. With a +startling crash and a blaze of blinding light the +guns opened from along the leader's side—the +German guns waiting, surprised, for a full +minute before they replied. When they did +open fire, the duel had become too one-sided to +be called a fight at all. Between the crashes of +the guns, the clatter and ring of ejected cartridge-cases +could be heard but faintly, yet as the big +leader passed her battered opponent at barely +half a cable distance, through the din and savage +intensity of a yard-arm fight the quartermaster +stooped over his tiny wheel, oblivious to all +things but the clear quiet voice that conned the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +ship past and on to her next victim. The rear +destroyer of the enemy swung away, stopped, +and remained—a horrible illustration of the +maxim of naval warfare, which says that he +who is unready should never leave harbour.</p> + +<p>At the head of the German line a man of +decision had acted swiftly. As the blaze of the +gun-fire broke out astern of him, and before the +first German gun had fired a round, he had swung +the leading division four points off its course. +As the British destroyer tore on up the line, he +swung inwards again and closed on her to engage +on her disengaged side. As a piece of tactics it +was pretty and well performed, but nothing can +be judged to perfection in war, and this evolution +was no exception to the rule. As he closed in on +the British leader, she started her broadside on +her second quarry,—an opponent better prepared +than her first,—and the snow-laden air quivered +to the shock of furiously worked guns. The +flashes lit the contending ships in rippling, +blinding light, and across the foaming waters +that the fighters left in their passage, the drifting + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +snow showed up like flying gold. At short +range the leading German division broke in +with a burst of rapid fire, and in his swift +glance towards this menace from his disengaged +side the British leader saw the flaw +in his enemy's harness. The last of the German +division was too far astern for safety in view +of the fact that the British ship was at the +moment fighting-mad. The German leader +had a glimpse of a high bow swinging round +towards him in the midst of salvoes of bursting +shell—then came an increased burst of +firing from down the line astern, followed by +a great crash and a dull booming explosion. +The gun-fire died down and stopped as the +guns' crews lost sight of their target, until +the scattered flotilla was running on in the +same darkness as had preceded the fight, +though in far different condition. The German +leader was not sure as to what had happened +to the first of his command to be attacked, but +he knew well what had come to the rear ship +of his own division. She had been blown + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +up in the shock of being rammed by the +English madman, and although she had probably +taken her slayer with her, she had left +an impression on the minds of the rest of the +flotilla on the subject of what odds an English +ship considered to be equal, that would take +some considerable drilling to eradicate. He +flashed out a signal to tell his unseen ships +to concentrate, and the signal, shaded as it +was, drew down a salvo of shell from half a +mile away on his quarter. At full speed he +tore on for home, realising a fact that he had +only suspected before—that the savage who +had attacked him had been but the forerunner +of a flotilla of unknown numbers and strength. +The crackling sound of battle—a battle at +a longer range now—passed on and died down +as the unheeding snow smothered both light +and sound. Both flotillas were occupied, and +in their occupation had no time to think of +what was left astern of them,—a shattered +German destroyer stopped, helpless, and an +easy prey for the returning British—a litter + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +of lifebelts, corpses, and wreckage, that marked +the grave of the rammed ship—and a barely-floating +hulk, her stern and half her deck +only above water, that lay rolling to the +swell; a broken monument to a man who had +fought a good fight and gone to his death +with the sound of the trumpets of the Hall +of all Brave Men calling in his ears.</p> + +<p>The Boy twisted the seaman's silk handkerchief +more tightly round his left wrist, and +drew another fold across his broken hand. He +snapped his orders out furiously, and men +hastened to obey them. He knew that his +after-gun was the only one above water, and +that the sloping island of the stern that formed +its support was not likely to retain buoyancy +long, but so long as there were survivors +clustered aft and dry ammunition with which +they might load, he was going to be ready +for fighting. To the luck that caused one +of his flotilla to lose touch in the chase and +blunder across him, he owed the fact that he +was ever able to fight again. She came tearing + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +by down wind—threw the narrow beam +of a searchlight full on to him—and recognising +by that extraordinary nautical "eye +for a ship," which can see all when a landsman +could see nothing, that the sloping battered +wreck was the remnant of a ship of her own +class, turned on a wide sweep to investigate. +The Boy knew nothing of her nationality, and +cared less what her intentions were. In the +midst of a litter of ammunition, wounded men, +and half-drowned or frozen survivors, he +slammed shell at her from his sightless and +tilted gun till his store of dry cartridges +dwindled and failed him. His shooting was +execrable; he could hardly make out the dark +blotch that was his target as, astonished and +silent, she circled round him. Savage and +berserk, he fired till his last round was gone, +then drew his motley collection of ratings +around him, and with pistol, knife, and spanner +they waited for their chance to board.</p> + +<p>A long black hull slid cautiously into view +and closed them, till up against the beating + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +snow and rising wind a voice roared out +through a megaphone a sentence which no +German could ever attempt to copy—"You +blank, blank, blank," it said, "are you all +something mad?"</p> + +<p>The Boy stood up, and his wounded hand +just then began to hurt him very much. "No +sir," he called in reply. "I'm sorry, sir; I +made a mistake. We've got a lot of wounded +here."</p> + +<p>The night seemed to turn suddenly very +cold, and he realised that at some moment +since the collision he must have been in the +water.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The Boy did not see her till he had left the +train and was half-way along the station +platform. Then she came forward from the +ticket-collector's barrier, and he discovered +with a start that not only was the sun shining, +but that the world was a very good place +to be alive in. He dropped his suit-case to +shake hands, and then hastily snatched it up + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +to forestall her attempt to carry it for him. +She turned and piloted him out of the station +to where an ancient "growler" waited, its +steed dozing in the sunshine. "I ordered this +old thing, as I thought you mightn't be strong +enough to walk, but you're not such an +invalid as I expected. The carrier is bringing +your luggage." The lady spoke, looking +him carefully over from under the shade of +her hat.</p> + +<p>"Walk! Yes, of course I can. I'm not an +invalid. I—No, I mean—let's drive." He +slung his suit-case hastily in through the open +cab door.</p> + +<p>The lady seemed to see nothing inconsistent +in his incoherencies. She may have possibly +followed his train of thought. She merely +nodded, and reached in for his suit-case, which +she swung easily upwards, to be received by +the driver and placed on the roof. She then +stepped in, and watched as the Boy cautiously +entered and took his station beside her. With +what seemed almost a yawn, the old horse + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +roused and began to work up to his travelling +pace, a possible five miles to the hour.</p> + +<p>"Well, Boy," said the lady, "and what sort +of a time did they give you in hospital?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—quite decent, you know; but mighty +little to eat. I believe they put every one on +low diet as soon as they get there just to keep +them humble and quiet."</p> + +<p>"Well, your mother's just dying to feed you up, +so you'll get awfully fat soon. How's the hand?"</p> + +<p>The Boy stretched out his left arm and showed +a suspiciously inert-looking brown glove. "Only +three fingers gone and some bits missing. It's +stopped my golf all right, though."</p> + +<p>"But you'll still be able to hunt and shoot +and you'll work up some sort of a golf handicap +again when you're used to it. What was the +battle like, Boy?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—just the usual sort of destroyer scrap. +We saw them first in our packet, and so we +got most of it. It was a good scrap, though."</p> + +<p>"Will you be able to go to sea again, or will +they——?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> + The Boy flushed and leaned back. "Of course +I will—I've got a hand and a half, and they +can't stick me in a shore job when I've got +that much." The lady put a hand swiftly out +and rested it on the padded brown glove. "Of +course they can't. Sorry, Boy. I never thought +they would, you know." The Boy instantly +brought his right hand across, and, catching +the sympathetic hand that lay on his glove, +kissed it with decision. He then leaned back +again to the musty padding of the cab, rather +shocked at his own temerity. The lady, however, +showed no signs of confusion at all.</p> + +<p>"How long sick leave did they give you? +Do you have to go back to the hospital, or +do you just report at the Admiralty?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know,—look here, when are we +going to be engaged?"</p> + +<p>"When we're old enough, Boy—if you're good. +Are you going to be?"</p> + +<p>"That's a bet," said the Boy firmly. "So +long as I know it's going to be all right, I'll +be awfully good. What are you going to do + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +with me on leave? I can't dig trenches for +peas now—at least, not properly."</p> + +<p>"No; but if you took a little more interest +in the subject, you'd know that at this time +of year you can pick them. Now, here's your +house, and you're going in to see your mother, +and I'm going home; and you're not to laugh +at her if she cries, and—pay attention, Boy—there's +no need for you to wear that glove on +your hand; she isn't a baby any more than +I am."</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> +<h2>AN URGENT COURTSHIP.</h2> + +<p class="center">[Written with a lot of assistance from a partner.]</p> + +<p>The solitary figure in the R.N. Barracks +smoking-room rose, stretched himself, and +lounged across to a table to change his evening +paper for a later edition.</p> + +<p>"Hullo! old sportsman. Where's everybody?"</p> + +<p>The "sportsman"—a precise-looking surgeon +who wore a wound-stripe on his cuff—looked +round from the litter of newspapers he had +been turning over.</p> + +<p>"Why, lumme! if it ain't James the Giant-Killer. +Here, waiter! Hi! Two sherry—quick! +What the deuce brings you here, James?"</p> + +<p>"Just down from the North,—joining the +<i>Great Harry</i> to-morrow. Where's every one? +Is there an air-raid on, and were the cellars +too full for you, my hack-saw expert?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> + "They were not. They're damn near empty, +worse luck. But the Depôt Boxing is on to-night, +and I'd be there too, only it's my turn +for guard. It's no good your going now, you +old pug; they'll finish in half an hour, and it's +a mile away."</p> + +<p>"Oh! Well, I'm tired, anyway. I want dinner +and then a bed. Of all filthy games, give me +a war-time train journey. I've found a cabin +here, and I found a bath, and I won't quarrel +with any one for an hour or two."</p> + +<p>"Then, you may as well keep the cabin +while you've got it, because the <i>Great Harry</i> +is having her mountings altered, and won't +commission for a week yet."</p> + +<p>James Rainer swivelled round in his chair +to take the sherry glass from the waiter. +"Here's luck, Doc. I thought she commissioned +to-morrow, though."</p> + +<p>"Gun trials to-day, and the experts didn't +like her. Not much wrong, I believe, but she's +delayed a week. Here's long life and a——" +The surgeon paused and put his glass down. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +James Rainer stared at him somewhat truculently.</p> + +<p>"James, my boy, I was forgetting. Your +little flapper's here. Ah! I see you know all +about that."</p> + +<p>"Doc.—you're an ass; I wasn't thinking of +that at all."</p> + +<p>The surgeon leaned back in his arm-chair +and prepared to enjoy himself.</p> + +<p>"Ah! James, me old friend—pot companion +of me youth! What a chicken-butcher you +are! If only you hadn't been so young; two +years ago, was it not? How the years do roll +on, to be sure. And what a little romance it +was—the blue-eyed flag-lieutenant and the +admiral's daughter—<i>always</i> the first two down +to breakfast. And we used to hear, too, in +the Yard, of the little expeditions when you +were detailed to take her back to school and—<i>No!</i> +hands off! Would you touch me with a +cheild in me arrms? Let me go and I'll tell +you all about her—and look out for my drink, +you great ruffian."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> + "Never mind your drink." James released +the surgeon's head from under his arm and sat +down again. "Is she down here?"</p> + +<p>"She is, James—and she's a devilish pretty +girl now, too. If it wasn't that we're most of +us crocks here we'd——"</p> + +<p>A signalman entered and glanced inquiringly +round the room.</p> + +<p>"Who is it for, signalman? Anybody +hurt?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir." The man looked at his signal-pad +again. "Send despatch officer to Admiralty +House instantly."</p> + +<p>"Help!" The surgeon turned to Rainer. +"There's only one available to-night, and he's +at the Boxing. It's probably only stuff to be +brought back here. What about——? But I +forgot, you're tired, aren't you? They'd better +telephone."</p> + +<p>Rainer picked up his cap. "I'm not supposed +to join till to-morrow night, and I'm going even +if it means another filthy railway journey. +'Night, Doc!"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> + The door banged decisively, and the surgeon +chuckled at some deep jest of his own.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Vice-Admiral Sir Charles Woodcote grunted +ferociously as a knock sounded at his study +door.</p> + +<p>"Come in!" he barked. "Who is it?"</p> + +<p>He looked up to see a tall clean-shaven lieutenant +enter—a broad-shouldered athletic figure +with a heavy jaw and twinkling grey eyes.</p> + +<p>"Eh—Rainer, how are you, my boy? I was +expecting the despatch officer."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; but as I was at a loose end at the +barracks I came myself. I'm joining the——"</p> + +<p>"The <i>Great Harry</i>—yes, so you are. Well, +it's a long time since I saw you. You must +come and dine with us before you sail. Now, +you'd better get off with these. I'm going to +send you in the car." He pressed a bell and a +seaman entered. "The big car at once, <i>and</i> the +headlights. Tell Thompson to hurry up."</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, Thompson's hurt his wrist, sir. +Starting the——"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> + "<i>Confound</i> Thompson—he's always doing it. +<i>Why</i> does he do it? Eh? Eh? You can't tell +me? Tell Miss Ruth to get the other car round +at once, d'you hear?"</p> + +<p>"Now, Rainer," said the Admiral, "here's +the despatch. Take it to Shortholme aerodrome, +and bring a receipt back, d'you hear? and keep +that girl of mine out of mischief. <i>Come</i> in!"</p> + +<p>The door opened, and a slim leather-coated +figure appeared. Rainer tried to keep his eyes +on the Admiral, but failed dismally, his efforts +resulting in a distressing squint. His flapper +of two years ago was now a calm, self-possessed, +and extremely pretty girl, who, in her rôle of +amateur chauffeur, did not seem even to be aware +of his presence in the room.</p> + +<p>"The car is ready, father," she said, and +vanished, leaving the startled Rainer gaping at +a vision of neat black gaiters beneath her short +skirt.</p> + +<p>"Well, you'd better get on then," said the +Admiral. "But, by the way, tell Forrest—Wing-Commander +Forrest—to keep an eye on + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +his machines. There are three German prisoners +loose near here—two pilots and a mechanic from +their Flying Corps. They may try and steal a +machine to get away on. Tell him to lock up +his hangars, or whatever he calls the things, and—all +right—get on—get on. What are you +waiting for?"</p> + +<p>Rainer, nothing loath, took his dismissal. He +hurried across the hall, cramming the despatch, +in its stiff parchment envelope, into the inside +pocket of his overcoat as he went. The car was +standing purring at the door, a leakage of light +from the side-lamps shining on a demure little +face behind the screen, and showing him also +that the back near-side door was standing invitingly +open.</p> + +<p>"You little darling," he thought, "as if you +didn't <i>know</i> what you are in for." He firmly +closed the back door, sat down in the vacant +front seat, and reached over to pull in a rug +from behind him. As he did so the clutch was +gently engaged and the car slid quietly down +the drive.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> + "It's jolly nice your driving me like this, +Miss Woodcote," he said. "Do you drive many +despatch officers?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, Mr Rainer; Thompson and I take +turns at it."</p> + +<p>"Are you an official chauffeur, then?"</p> + +<p>"I have been for some time now."</p> + +<p>"Always here?"</p> + +<p>"No, I was at Portsmouth a bit."</p> + +<p>"Indeed? How far is it to Shortcombe?"</p> + +<p>"About twenty miles, by this road."</p> + +<p>"You didn't seem surprised to see me in your +father's study."</p> + +<p>The car dodged round a tram and began a +louder purr as it felt the open road ahead.</p> + +<p>"Well, Hickson told me you had come."</p> + +<p>"Oh! he did, did he? Did Hickson tell you +anything else?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; and I don't think it's quite nice for an +officer to bribe a butler to write and tell him +things about his master's daughter."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm damned. Hickson is a scoundrel. +I told him he wasn't to."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> + "Well, he did tell. I made him. And I think +it was very wrong of you."</p> + +<p>"But I'd always looked after you before, and +it's only natural I should like to hear you weren't +getting into trouble after my eagle eye had left +you."</p> + +<p>"Never mind about eagle eyes. It was very +rude, and it mustn't go on."</p> + +<p>"It won't. I promise you."</p> + +<p>Miss Woodcote, a little piqued at such easy +acquiescence, drove in silence for a few minutes, +then, unable to restrain her curiosity, fell into +the trap.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm glad to hear you say so. It was +a silly thing to do."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was, perhaps. But the necessity for +it has gone now, so I don't mind."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm going to marry you now you're +grown up, so——"</p> + +<p>"Will you please stop talking nonsense?"</p> + +<p>"Will you marry me?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> + "Well, that's one proposal over. I think a +girl can't be very distant with a man who's +proposed to her, can she? It implies a certain +intimacy, so to speak...?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"It means, you see, a secret shared together, +and that should...."</p> + +<p>A stony silence.</p> + +<p>"Of course—it's not the only secret we've +had together. There was the matter of the +fire in the kitchen, when we were making +toffee and upset the paraffin...."</p> + +<p>Still silence.</p> + +<p>"You know two years ago I was going to +marry you if I could, and I knew that you——"</p> + +<p>"What did you know?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you knew I'd never let you marry +any one else."</p> + +<p>"Mr Rainer—will you please be quiet? I +don't want to speak to you."</p> + +<p>"Damn," said Rainer, leaning back sulkily.</p> + +<p>"And don't swear, please."</p> + +<p>Rainer sat up again. "Haven't I got cause + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +for swearing? We've come ten miles and I +wanted to kiss you before we'd done twenty. +You're wasting time, you know."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to kiss any one, and certainly +not you."</p> + +<p>Rainer's confidence began to evaporate slightly. +This was not quite the flapper he had known. +He sighed heavily, and, leaning back again, +turned slightly away from her, wishing that +he had eyes in the back of his head.</p> + +<p>Miss Woodcote, secure in the knowledge that +he was not so favoured by nature, had glanced +three times in his direction before the trouble +started. The car whirled round a corner, its +speed regulated more by the state of the +driver's temper than by good judgment, and +the headlights shone full on a heavy farm cart +which lay right across the road. There was +a grinding of brakes, a lurch and skid, and +Rainer had just time to throw a protecting +arm across Ruth as the collision occurred. The +screen went to pieces as the headlights went +out, and the frightened Rainer and the extremely + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +angry chauffeuse stared at each other +in the dim glow of the side-lamps.</p> + +<p>"Are you hurt? Are you all right? +<i>Ruth</i>...."</p> + +<p>"The <i>beasts</i>, the <i>beasts</i>. I've <i>never</i> hit anything +before. <i>Oh!</i> Just look at all the glass."</p> + +<p>The tone of her voice reassured the trembling +lover beside her, and rising to his feet, he +began to shed his overcoat.</p> + +<p>"Cheer up," he said. "There mayn't be as +much damage as you think. We'll have a +look at it. Hullo!"</p> + +<p>Two dark figures showed by the near side +of the bonnet, and a harsh voice rasped out: +"Out of the car and put your hands up. +Quickly, now, or you'll get hurt."</p> + +<p>Rainer obeyed part of the order with startling +alacrity. This was a straightforward and +simple problem to deal with compared with +the attempt to instil sense into an unreasonable, +albeit delightful, girl. His overcoat dropped +to the floor-boards and he landed on the road +at the same moment. Two to one in a bad + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +light was very fair odds, he felt, and he only +regretted that he had not got his gloves on, +as he foresaw broken knuckles for himself by +the morning.</p> + +<p>He shuffled forward a few feet and went in +for his left-hand adversary. The left feint +was only a concession to orthodoxy, but the +right hook which followed it was delivered +with a grunt and twist that meant business. +He sprang back at once behind the side-lamp, +perfectly satisfied that the recipient of the blow +was going to be a sleeping partner for some +minutes at least. The second man came forward +a little doubtfully, swearing in excellent +German. Rainer heard a cry from Ruth +and turned half round. A third opponent had +appeared from behind the car, and a club or +heavy stick was whirling over his head. For +an instant Rainer hesitated, then tried to +jump in under the weapon. He felt as he +did so that it was too late, but he arrived +safely on his man's chest, clutching for the +upraised arm. The left hand seized something + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +it had not expected to find—a girl's hand in a +leather glove. The club-man roared with rage, +swung round and struck savagely behind him. +Rainer had a glimpse of a white face going +down, and a little moan of pain from the +ground sent him berserk. An arm came +around his throat from behind, and he knew +that what he had to do must be done quickly. +He tripped the club-man and hurled himself +sideways and back. The three figures, swaying +and straining together, struck the car and +came down. Rainer felt the arm round his +neck slip and change to a hand. The owner +of the hand instantly began to regret this, as +Rainer's teeth were not only in good condition +but had a grip like a bull-dog's. The club-man +began to scream, and not without reason. +To be held against a car-wheel by a twelve-stone +rough-and-tumble expert who doesn't +mind being killed if only he leaves his mark +on you, is a bad position for any man to be +in. Rainer's hands were on his throat, the +knuckles working and straining upwards for + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +the carotids, and Rainer's legs were quietly +but surely engaged in breaking his left ankle.</p> + +<p>Then the man with the prisoned hand began +to talk rapidly, and Rainer threw his reserve +strength into his hands. He knew what was +coming. His first opponent had awakened. He +felt the man behind him wriggle his body clear, +and then came a smashing concussion. With a +feeling of regret that he had not been allowed +another ten seconds' grip he sank into oblivion.</p> + +<p>Two men rose from beside him and leaned +panting and gasping against the car. One of +them subsided and sat on the running board, +his breath rasping and tearing in his throat. +The man who had felt Rainer's punch dropped +the club, took off a side-lamp and made a hasty +examination of the front of the car. Returning, +he spoke in short abrupt sentences to the others, +and assisted the seated man to his feet with +a kick. The three stood and listened for a +moment, then broke through the hedge and +vanished into the night.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> + It seemed to Rainer in his dreams that his +ship was coaling. He could hear the crash +and rattle and roar of the winches, and there +was a gritty taste in his mouth as if he was +working in the collier's hold. He spat out a +mouthful of dust and lifted his head. No—they +weren't coaling. He was lying against a +very hard and nobbly car, and he had a devil +of a headache. He considered the situation a +moment, and then woke up suddenly with a +cold feeling of fear. He rose and steadied himself +by a wing, then looked round. Yes, there +she was, a few feet away, and at the sight of +her his strength came back. He knelt down +and lifted her shoulders. She moved a little +and moaned. With trembling fingers he felt +the top of her head and found that the cap +was gone, and that there was a suspiciously +sticky lump on her forehead. He felt for his +handkerchief, but remembered that it was in +his overcoat. Lifting the girl in his arms he +tottered to the car and sat down in the front +seat, while he searched the coat pockets. He + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> +found the handkerchief, and noted, as a side-issue, +that the despatches were still there. Unscrewing +the filling cap of the petrol tank he +plunged the handkerchief in, but turned his +head at a voice at his elbow.</p> + +<p>"Jim! What are you doing?"</p> + +<p>"Thank God! Ruth, lie still. I'm going to +put some petrol on your head."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ooo!</i>" The lady had straightened up in +her seat. "My poor head—it does hurt. Jim! +if you put petrol on my head I'll <i>never</i> marry +you."</p> + +<p>"But, darling—I——"</p> + +<p>"Don't do it. Have you got the despatches?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I don't think they were after them. +Ruth, d'you know that chap would have brained +me if you hadn't tackled him?"</p> + +<p>"Why did you kiss me just before I woke up?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't. I swear I didn't."</p> + +<p>"You did. I know you did."</p> + +<p>"I—I—Ruth, were you angry?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you think you might see if you can +move the car, or do something useful?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> + "Ruth, were you? Ruth, I say——"</p> + +<p>"Jim, there's a car coming. All right, be +quick. That will do. <i>There</i>, you old brute—now +go and meet that car. Give me your +hanky."</p> + +<p>Rainer reluctantly dodged round the farm +cart, holding a side-lamp in his hand. The +headache was forgotten, and the world seemed +a remarkably pleasant place in spite of bruises +and stiff joints. The car pulled up and a group +of figures came towards him. "Hullo," said +one, "what's all this?"</p> + +<p>Rainer recognised the speaker. "That you +Deane?" he replied. "Three escaped Huns +have attacked us. They've gone now. I was +bringing despatches for the Wing-Commander, +but they didn't get them. Miss Woodcote's in +the car. She's smashed—the car, I mean—and +she's had a blow on the head from a club."</p> + +<p>"Lord! Those are our men. They walked +out to one of our machines at dusk just after +it landed, but they ran when they were challenged. +We're after them now."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> + "Well, they can't get far. One's groggy and +one's lame. What about Miss Woodcote? She'll +have to be sent home. She's got a nasty crack +on the head."</p> + +<p>"We'll send her to Admiralty House in this +lorry. Give me the despatches and you go back +with her. I'm going to spread my men out and +hunt the fields. They must have been after your +car."</p> + +<p>Rainer walked back as the air-mechanics +began to move the farm cart out of the road. +"Ruth," he said, "we're going back on this +lorry. I've handed the despatches over, and +I'm going to take you home."</p> + +<p>"Only ten miles, Jim, and you expected forty, +didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"I did, but I hoped to have kissed you all the +last twenty of them, you little angel."</p> + +<p>"Well, Jim, it looks a very dark lorry, doesn't +it? But as for kissing me in the other car——Well, +you may have decided on the last twenty +miles, but I had arranged for the last hundred +yards up the drive. Why? You silly old thing. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +I can't do two things properly at once, and I +made up my mind when we started I was not +going to be kissed when I was driving. Carry +me across carefully, Jim, dear. I'm feeling rather +fragile now...."</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> +<h2>LOOKING AFT.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I'm the donkey-man of a dingy tramp<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They launched in 'Eighty-one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rickety, old, and leaky too—but some o' the rivets are shining new<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Beneath our after-gun.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">An' she an' meself are off to sea<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From out o' the breaker's hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' we laugh to find such an altered game, for devil a thing we found the same<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When we came off the land.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">We used to carry a freight of trash<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That younger ships would scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now we're running a decent trade—howitzer-shell and hand-grenade,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or best Alberta corn.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> + <span class="i2">We used to sneak an' smouch along<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wi' rusty side an' rails,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hoot an' bellow of liners proud—"Give us the room that we're allowed;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Get out o' the track—the Mails!"<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">We sometimes met—an' took their wash—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The 'aughty ships o' war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' we dips to them—an' they to us—an' on they went in a tearin' fuss,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But now they count us more.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">For now we're "England's Hope and Pride"—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The Mercantile Marine,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Bring us the goods and food we lack, because we're hungry, Merchant Jack"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">(As often I have been).<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"You're the man to save us now,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We look to you to win;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wot'd yer like? A rise o' pay? We'll give whatever you like to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But bring the cargoes in."<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> + <span class="i2">An' here we are in the danger zone,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Wi' escorts all around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Destroyers a-racing to and fro—"We will show you the way to go,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">An' guide you safe an' sound."<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"An' did you cross in a comfy way,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or did you have to run?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' is the patch on your hull we see the mark of a bump in 'Ninety-three,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or the work of a German gun?"<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"We'll lead you now, and keep beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">An' call to all the Fleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clear the road and sweep us in—he carries a freight we need to win,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A golden load of wheat."<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Yes, we're the hope of England now,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And rank wi' the Navy too;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An' all the papers speak us fair—"Nothing he will not lightly dare,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nothing he fears to do."<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> + <span class="i2">"Be polite to Merchant Jack,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who brings you in the meat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For if he went on a striking lay, you'd have to go on your knees and pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With never a bone to eat."<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">But you can lay your papers down<br /></span> +<span class="i4">An' set your fears aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For we will keep the ocean free—we o' the clean an' open sea—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To break the German pride.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">We won't go canny or strike for pay,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or say we need a rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you get on wi' the blinkin' War—an' not so much o' your strikes ashore,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or givin' the German best.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> +<h2>GRIT.</h2> + +<p>The Captain of H.M. T.B.D. <i>Upavon</i> was in +a bad humour. He had decided when he +left harbour that this patrol was going to be +an uninteresting one, as the area allotted to +him covered no traffic lane, and was therefore +unlikely to hold an enemy within its boundaries. +The dulness of a blank horizon had +continued to confirm him in his opinion since +the patrol began. He spoke from his arm-chair +as the First Lieutenant struggled into +his oilskins preparatory to going on deck for +the First Watch.</p> + +<p>"I don't care what courses you steer so long +as you work along to the west'ard and keep +the alterations logged. Beat across in twelve-mile +tacks, and tell your relief to do the same. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +I'll be keeping the morning, and I'll turn +round and work east at six. Got it?"</p> + +<p>The First Lieutenant intimated that he had +"got it," and, pulling his sou'wester well down +over his ears, passed out: he was none too +cheerful at the moment himself. The rain +had been beating down in heavy streams since +dusk, and the long oily swell that had been +with them since leaving harbour had, although +it had not wetted their rails, made the steady +rolling rather monotonous.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The big tramp steamer might have had a +fighting chance if it had not been for the +torpedo. It hit fairly abreast her bridge, +and two boats at the port-davits broke to +splinters above the explosion, while the wireless +instruments developed defects that would +have taken a week to cure. The Chief Mate +never saw the periscope. The explosion, and +the sight of a hard white line stretching away +to port at right angles to their course, were +impressed on his brain simultaneously. It + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +was a few seconds later when he rose shakily +to his feet and mechanically set the engine-room +telegraphs to "stop." As he did so, the +Captain arrived with a rush on the bridge +and released him from his post. He hurried +below to examine the damage, and to fight, +by every means possible to seamanship, the +great Atlantic waters that he knew must by +then be flooding nearly half the hold-space +of the ship. Ships have reached harbour with +worse damage than she had received, and she +might have added another name to the list +of tributes to good seamanship had not the +enemy risen astern of them to complete his +work. A shell hummed over them, skimming +the tilted deck from two thousand yards +away. The second shell arrived as the tramp's +stern-gun fired, and the steamer quivered to +a dull rumbling shock that told of a well-delayed +fuse and a raking shot.</p> + +<p>The tramp's big propeller threshed along, +half out of water, as her Captain rang down +for speed with which to dodge and manœuvre; + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +but the vicious shells came steadily home into +her, and it was a question only of whether +the straining bulkheads forward would go +before her stern was blown in. The stern-gun +could hardly be depressed enough to get a +clear view of its target, and Fritz knew it. +The Chief Mate reckoned that it was about +the twelfth shell that finished them. Following +its explosion, he heard a noise that told +him much,—a hissing, rushing sound of air +from beneath his feet—the sigh of flooding +holds.</p> + +<p>There was little time, but they did what +they could. The gun's crew, wrestling with +a refractory cartridge-box lid, hardly seemed +to look up as the tramp sank, carrying them +down as so many British seamen have gone +down, intent only on the job in hand. In +five minutes' time the ocean was clear again +save for a half-dozen bobbing heads clustered +round a small white upturned boat.</p> + +<p>The sea, that from the deck of the tramp +had seemed to be only a long gentle swell, + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +now appeared tremendous and threatening. +With a cable's length between their smooth +crests the big hills came majestically on, giving +the numbed survivors glimpses of the empty +spaces of the sea at intervals before lowering +them back to the broad dark valleys between. +For a few minutes the men simply paddled +their feet in silence as they clung with unnecessary +strength to the life-lines, stem, and +stern-posts of the capsized boat; then the +Chief Mate called to two of them by name. +He gave the white-bearded, semi-conscious +figure he supported into their charge and +commenced diving, or rather ducking down, +under the gunwale. He was blue with cold +and weariness before he gained his object—a +heavy eighteen-foot ash oar. The other two +men came to his assistance, and between them +they succeeded in passing the oar-loom across +and under the boat, and in working it about +until it caught and held at the far side. It +took the Chief Mate a ghastly quarter of an +hour before he could climb to the swaying + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +keel, but once there he easily hauled the +lighter of his assistants up beside him. With +the other man steadying the loom in position, +they swung their weight back on the painter +clove-hitched to the bending blade. Time after +time the oar slipped and had to be replaced, +and on each failure the cramped workers +panted and shivered a while before patiently +setting to the task again. As they toiled, the +send of the swell worked the boat broadside +on, and suddenly as they threw back on the +line she came sharply over, throwing them +into the sea before they could clutch the +rising gunwale with their hands. Followed +an hour of heart-breaking baling with caps +and hands, and then one by one the six came +aboard—the old Captain, who in the face +of active work was recovering consciousness, +insisting on being at any rate one of the last +three to leave the water.</p> + +<p>The Chief Mate collapsed at once across the +after-thwart. He had been working with the +strength of desperation, and the effort had + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +been great. The others knelt or sat on the +thwarts, staring around them as they swung +periodically on the crests of the waves in +hungry desire for the sight of help. One man +faced aft and began swearing, cursing the +cold, the Germans, the war, and, in a curious +twist of recollection, the ship's cook, who had +died twenty minutes before, but who had done +so suffering under the accusation of having +stolen the swearer's sugar ration. The Captain +rose, steadying himself by a hand on the +gunwale: "Stop that swearing, you," he +said; "lay aft here and rummage these lockers. +You other hands, muster the gear in the boat +and clear away the raffle. Mr Johnson, you +and I will bail for an hour; the boat is +leaking, and we'll take the first spell. We +want warming, I think."</p> + +<p>The Chief Mate raised his head from against +the thwart—"I can't bale, sir; let the men +do it. I'm done."</p> + +<p>"Mr Johnson, I'm sixty-five years old and +I'm going to bale, and I'm captain of this ship."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> + The Chief Mate clawed himself up to a +kneeling position, and taking a sodden cap +from the stern-sheets set feebly to work. As +he went on he warmed a little, and the deadly +feeling of despair began to leave him. The +movements of men about him as they hunted +for missing masts and oars roused him at +length to an oath at a seaman who lurched +against him.</p> + +<p>An hour later the dusk closed down, and +with two men baling wearily the boat rose +and fell to what was undoubtedly a threatening +sea, tugging and jerking at her sea anchor. +The other four crouched in the stern-sheets, +huddled together to find warmth beneath the +beating rain.</p> + +<p>"If the sail wasn't gone, sir, would you 'ave +tried to make land?" A seaman spoke, his +cheek against the Chief Mate's serge sleeve.</p> + +<p>"I would, Hanson; and if we had two sound +oars, I'd use those too," said the old Captain. +"But even like this, I'm not going to give in +or stop trying."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> + One of the balers dropped his cap and leaned +sideways across the stern-sheets. "Tell 'em +the truth, sir," he said. "I know, and both +you officers know. If we had sails and oars +too and a fair wind, we couldn't make land +under a week. We'll not live three days in +this cold and on this ration, and there's no +traffic here. For Gawd's sake stop shammin', +an' let's take our medicine quiet."</p> + +<p>The Chief Mate swore and started to rise, +but the Captain checked him. "One moment, +Mr Johnson," he said, and turned to the +ex-baler: "Listen now, my lad; it's not that +you're afraid, it's just that you haven't got +guts, that's your trouble. I'm an old man +and I've got to die soon anyhow, so it oughtn't +to matter to me. But I tell <i>you</i> that I'm +going to work till I freeze stiff on this job, +and I'll never stop trying if every one of you +does. It's true, there isn't much chance for +us, but there <i>is</i> a chance, and I won't let go +of it. If we were told to come this route, +it means some one else may be told to use it. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +There may be a ship just over the horizon +now. I tell you, I don't want some one to +pick me up drifting about and say, 'They +haven't been dead an hour yet; if they'd used +a bit more pluck they'd have pulled through. +No, by God, the man that sank my ship thinks +he's finished me, but as long as I can lift a +hand I'll try to beat him. I'll sail ships yet +in his dirty German teeth, and I'll take you +with me in my fo'c'sle. Now get on and bale +till your watch is up."</p> + +<p>The man reached forward to the floating +cap and without a word continued to use it, +ladling the icy water overside in pitifully +small quantities. The white-bearded captain +subsided again beside the Chief Mate.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The <i>Upavon</i> was still rolling heavily as her +Captain came on the bridge for the morning +watch. She rolled a little uneasily now, and +there was a suspicion of a "top" to the seas +as they lifted her. The Captain glowered at +the crescent moon—having lost none of his + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +ill-humour in the night,—while the Sub-Lieutenant +nervously turned over the watch to him.</p> + +<p>"And we're to turn east at six, and the +First Lieutenant said to be careful to log all +alterations——"</p> + +<p>The Captain dismissed him abruptly and +turned away. As if he didn't know his own +orders! Nice thing to be told them by a +young cub like that! He would alter round +just when he liked, of course. Damn the +rain! He'd alter course now and run down +before the wind. If those young beggars +thought he was going to spend the next two +hours facing the rain, they were very much +mistaken. Why, when he'd been their age +he'd faced more rain than they were ever +likely to meet, so—he spoke an order, and +the ship came slowly round through ten points +of the compass.</p> + +<p>"Steady, now. How's her head? South? +All right; put that in the log—time, four-twenty...."</p> + +<p>It was six-thirty, and the dawn and two + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +cups of cocoa had removed a good deal of the +Captain's temper. He lit a cigarette and faced +to windward to look at the coming weather.</p> + +<p>"M'm," he soliloquised; "and it's going to +breeze up a bit too. There'll be some breaking +seas by noon."</p> + +<p>As he was turning to continue his pacing +of the bridge, he started and fumbled for his +binoculars. He stared a while to windward, +and then, without lowering the glasses, spoke—</p> + +<p>"Starboard fifteen, quartermaster.... Steady, +now.... Steer for that white boat on the +port bow,—see it?... <i>Messenger!</i> go down +and tell the First Lieutenant I want him; and +call the surgeon, too."</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> +<h2>A MAXIM.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the foe is pressing and the shells come down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a stream like maxim fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the long grey ranks seem to thicken all the while,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they stamp on the last of the wire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all along the line comes a whisper on the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That you hear through the drumming of the guns:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"They are through over there and the right is in the air,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"And there isn't any end to the Huns."<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> + <span class="i0">Then keep along a-shooting till you can't shoot more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hit 'em with a shovel on the head.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't forget a lot of folk have beaten them before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a Hun'll never hurt you if he's dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you're in a hole and your hopes begin to fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If you're in a losing fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Think a bit of Jonah in the belly of the whale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>'Cause-he-got-out-all-right</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> +<h2>FROM A FAR COUNTRY.</h2> + +<p>Announced by the jangling of the curtain that +he had almost brought down with his heavy +suit-case, a cheerful curly-haired officer entered +noisily and dropped into one of the Wardroom +arm-chairs. He stretched his legs out and, +lighting a cigarette, leaned back luxuriously.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said a chorus of voices, "<i>well</i>—how's +London?"</p> + +<p>The curly-haired one smiled reminiscently. +"Still standing, still standing," he replied. "No +place for you though, I'm afraid. You're none +of you good-looking enough to pass as Yanks or +Colonials."</p> + +<p>"Oh, cut it out. Tell us what it's like. You +know, you're the first one to go there from us +for a year, and we want to know."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> + "What? all about it? All right; chuck a +cup of tea across and I'll give you the special +correspondent's sob-stuff. <i>Aah!</i> that's better; +this train-travelling has given me a mouth like—I +won't say what. Well, I'll try and tell you +what I thought of it and the people that live +there. I may say at once that they are civilised +to the extent that they'll take English money +without complaining about it, and—<i>all</i> right, +I'll get on.</p> + +<p>"Well, you know how I went off laden with +meat and other cards till I was bulging, and how +I reckoned to find people looking hungry at me +as if they were reckoning what I'd boil down to +in a stock-pot? Well, I've got all these cards +still—didn't need 'em. I'd usually left them in +my other coat when I got started on meals, and +as they've got the trick of camouflaging fish and +eggs till you don't know what you're eating, it +wasn't worth hunting 'em out. All London seems +to live on eggs, and where the deuce they all +come from I don't know; they must be using +up dumps of them. Oh, and another thing, I'd + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +forgotten that in London they don't grow electric +lighters on every bulkhead, and it was lucky +I had a few matches with me. The first day +I was stopped by fellers wanting a light off my +cigarette just three times in a dog-watch, but +the other days I didn't get asked at all—I'd +lost the country-cousin look, I s'pose. Men? +Yes, there's a fair sprinkling there still, but +nothing under forty, I should say. Yes, there +seem to be crowds of women. Perhaps there are +actually more, or it may be that the shortage +of men makes 'em look more; but there do seem +to be heaps of them. It just made me marvel, +too, at the extraordinary lack of imagination +the women have. They still wear devilish short +skirts, and yet there isn't one in forty of 'em +that has a foot and ankle that one could call +it decent to show. You'd think they'd see one +another's defects and get wise, but they don't. +I suppose that now the secret's out about their +legs, they reckon it's too late to hide the truth +and they face it out; but I'm surprised the +young ones don't camouflage themselves a bit + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +and get a fair start. Theatres? Yes; I went +through the list, revues and all. I read Arnold +Bennett's account of a music-hall—you know the +book? Yes, I read it in the train going down. +Well, I gathered from his description that things +had flashed up a bit since the dear dead days +of nineteen-sixteen, and that I would find myself +in a hall of dazzling Eastern et-ceteras; but, my +word! it was like tea at the Vicarage. I don't +know what revue Arnold Bennett found, but I +guess I missed it. It's true, I saw one perfectly +<i>reckless</i> lieutenant drop a programme out of a +box into the orchestra; but as the orchestra +didn't notice it, and I doubt if the lieutenant +did either, it could hardly be put down to riotous +conduct induced by drink and sensual music. +Oh, I noticed one thing—all the theatre programmes +had directions printed as to what to +do in case of air-raids during the performance. +They had it printed small and sandwiched in +between the <i>hats by Suzanne</i> and <i>dresses by Cox</i> +announcements. I liked that. It was British +and dignified. I'd like to have sent some copies + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +to Hindenburg. News? Yes, I heard a whole +lot, but it was mostly denied in the papers +next morning. It's a queer town for rumours. +I think they all live too close together, and +they get hysterical or something—like in that +Frenchman's book, you know, the 'Psychology +of Crowds,' or something like that. They weren't +worrying much about the war, though. I stopped +to look at the tape-messages in the club, and +there was an eight-line chit on the board mentioning +that the Hun was coming on like a gale +o' wind towards Paris, while the rest of the board +had eight full-length columns on the latest Old +Bailey case, and there was another column +coming through on the machine with a crowd +waiting for more. No, I'm <i>not</i> trying to be +cynical. I read 'em all, but I hadn't quite got +the London sense of proportion in two days, +and it worried me that there was no more war +news coming.</p> + +<p>"Cost? Yes, <i>rather</i>. I've spent whole heaps +of bullion, and I'll have to ask the Pay for an +advance now. It's quite easy; you just exist + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +and the cash trickles off you. There's not so +much of the old 'men in uniform free' or 'half-price +to officers' going now. There aren't many +civilians left, and I guess <i>they're</i> just taking in +one another's washing. Everything that isn't +a necessity is double price at least, and I believe +the shopkeepers would like to make breathing +a luxury too. On the whole, I'm glad I only +had a few days there. The air's so foul, you +know. Mixture of scent and petrol, I think. +Oh but, by the way, I saw a hansom—a real +hansom—in Regent Street. Quite a neat well-kept +one, too. No, nothing new in the way of +dresses. Just the same as nineteen-sixteen, as +far as I could see. There may have been some +good-looking faces among the thousands in the +West-end streets, but they were cancelled by +the awful legs underneath. I wonder they ever +manage to get married. Well, I saw thousands +of that kind of female—more than one ever +saw before; but I met some others who squared +things up in my mind. Ten hours a day and +clean the car herself for one, and oxyacetyline + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +welding eight hours and overtime for another at +two-five a week. Doing it to win the War, and +not because they wanted to or liked it. Made +me feel small to be on leave when I talked to +'em. And then, as I was leaving the hotel, a +whole crowd of Swiss porters and servants, that +had been fairly coming the Field-Marshal over +me for three days, came oiling round me for +tips, and pocketed the cash without a word +when they got it; and—and—while they were +doing it, a Scotch corporal walked past the taxi +with three wound-stripes on his arm and four +notches on his bayonet hilt. It's all a bit too +puzzling for me. As soon as I got settled in +one impression, I'd get jolted out of it by +another. Heigho! I'm not sorry to have gone +there to look, and I'm not sorry to be back." +He rose, and moving across the Wardroom, +flung open the door of his tiny cabin and passed +in. His voice sounded hollow through the thin +partition. "Hi! outside there—some shaving +water <i>eck dum</i>," and then a contented murmur—"Lord! +but it's good to be home again."</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CRISIS.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the Spartan heroes tried<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To hold the broken gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When—roaring like the rising tide—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Persian horsemen charged and died<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In foaming waves of hate.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When with armour hacked and torn<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They gripped their shields of brass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hailed the gods that light the morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With battle-cry of hope forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"We shall not let them pass."<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While they combed their hair for death<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Before the Persian line,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They spoke awhile with easy breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"What think ye the Athenian saith<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In Athens as they dine?"<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> + <span class="i0">"Doth he repent that we alone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are here to hold the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he must reap what he hath sown—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That only valour may atone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The fault of yesterday?"<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Is he content that thou and I—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Three hundred men in line—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should show him thus how man may try<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To stay the foemen passing by<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To Athens, where they dine?"<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Ah! now the clashing cymbal rings,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The mighty host is nigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let Athens talk of passing things—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But here, three hundred Spartan kings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall greet the fame the Persian brings<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To men about to die."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> +<h2>A SEA CHANTY.</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's a whistle of the wind in the rigging overhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the tune is as plain as can be.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">"Hey! down below there. D'you know it's going to blow there,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">All across the cold North Sea?"<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And along comes the gale from the locker in the North<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By the Storm-King's hand set free,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the wind and the snow and the sleet come forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Let loose to the cold North Sea.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tumble out the oilskins, the seas are running white,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">There's a wet watch due for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For we're heading to the east, and a long wet night<br /></span> +<span class="i5">As we drive at the cold North Sea.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> + <span class="i0">See the water foaming as the waves go by<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Like the tide on the sands of Dee;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hear the gale a-piping in the halliards high<br /></span> +<span class="i5">To the tune of the cold North Sea.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">See how she's meeting them, plunging all the while,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Till I'm wet to the sea-boot knee;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">See how she's beating them—twenty to the mile—<br /></span> +<span class="i5">The waves of the cold North Sea.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Right across from Helgoland to meet the English coast,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lie better than the likes of we,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Men that lived in many ways, but went to join the host<br /></span> +<span class="i5">That are buried by the cold North Sea.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rig along the life-lines, double-stay the rails,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lest the Storm-King call for a fee;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For if any man should slip, through the rolling of the ship,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">He'd be lost in the cold North Sea.<br /></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> + <span class="i0">We are heading to the gale, and the driving of the sleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And we're far to the east of Three.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hey! you German sailormen, here's the British Fleet<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Waiting in the cold North Sea.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE WAR OF ATTRITION.</h2> + +<p>A wonderfully deep-blue sea stretched away +to meet a light-blue sky, which was dotted with +soft wool-like patches of cloud. There was a +slight smooth swell from the south-west, and +the air was cool and salt-laden. Looking from +the conning-tower the hull of the boat could be +clearly seen as she rose and fell to the waves, +the sunlight flashing back steel-blue from her +grey side six feet below the surface. It was a +day that showed the sea at its best—a high +Northern latitude in June, and a high barometer +producing conditions under which it seemed to +be a shame to be at war.</p> + +<p>There were two men on the submarine's conning-tower. +The smaller of the two was her +captain, a fair-haired man with a Prussian + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +name which seemed hardly to fit in with his +Norse features. The other man hailed from +Bavaria—a tall, thin, large-headed individual, +with wide-set eyes and a nose and lower lip +that hinted of Semitic ancestry. The big +U-boat jogged along at half speed, beating up +and down in erratic courses—keeping always +to a water area of perhaps ten miles square.</p> + +<p>The two officers leaned against a rail, their +heads and shoulders twisting and turning continuously +as they watched the distant horizon. +Each carried heavy Zeiss glasses slung round the +neck, and from time to time one of them would +search carefully the western sea and sky, his +doing so invariably infecting his companion +into doing the same. The U-boat was running +with a little less than half her normal cruising +buoyancy—for speed of diving and not surface +speed was the important qualification for her +for that day. From the open conning-tower lid +came the dull hum of the engines; while as the +boat rolled, a shaft of sunlight, shining down +the tower itself, sent a circle of yellow light + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +swinging slowly from side to side across the +deck beneath the eye-piece of the periscope.</p> + +<p>"Is it a big convoy this time, sir?" The +First Lieutenant spoke without checking his +continual twisting and turning as he glanced at +every point of the skyline in turn.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is a big convoy. But there is no +doubt of their course or their speed. We shall +be among them before the sunset."</p> + +<p>"You would not then dive now? That is, if +you are sure——"</p> + +<p>"I do not dive till I am sure. And also we +will want all the battery power we have before +the dark. Did I not say it was a big convoy?"</p> + +<p>"You think there will be a big escort?"</p> + +<p>"We will see. I know it will be an escort I +do not like to take a chance with."</p> + +<p>The Lieutenant fidgeted awhile, his glasses at +his eyes. His Captain looked at his profile and +at the glint of perspiration on the slightly shaking +hands, and yawned. His face, as he swung +round again to scan the horizon astern, looked +bored and perhaps a little lonely. A submarine + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +is a small ship in which to coop up incompatible +natures, and the terrible losses of personnel in +the Imperial submarine service had sadly reduced +the standard of officers. He felt sometimes +as if he were an anachronism, an officer of +nineteen-fourteen who had miraculously lasted +four years. He felt that it had been only the +fact that a misdemeanour had caused him to be +driven forth to the big ships for two years that +had saved him from sharing the unknown fate +of his contemporaries. Well, he reflected, it was +only a matter of time before he would join them. +The law of averages was stronger than his luck, +wonderful though the latter had been. He extracted +a cigar from his case and reached out +a hand to take his subordinate's proffered matchbox. +As he did so he glanced again at his companion's +face, and a sudden feeling of understanding, +and perhaps a touch of compassion, +made him ask—</p> + +<p>"Well, Müller? You have something that +worries you. What is it, then?"</p> + +<p>The First Lieutenant turned and took a careful + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> +glance round the circle of empty ocean. Then +his speech came with a rush—</p> + +<p>"I want to know what you think, sir. You +don't seem to worry about it. I know you can +do nothing more—that one can only do one's +work as best one can and all that—but I still +feel restless. How is it going to end? We are +winning? Yes—oh yes, we are winning, but +we have done that four years, and how far have +we got? Before I came into submarines I believed +all they told us, but now I know that we +are not strangling England at sea, and that we +never can now. What are we going to do next? +Is it to go on and on until we have no boats left? +Gott! I want to do something that will frighten +them—something that will make them understand +what we are—something that will make +them scream for pity." He paused, gulped, and +stared again out to the westward. The Captain +straightened himself up against the rail and +stretched his arms out in another prodigious +yawn.</p> + +<p>"My good Müller," he said, "you cannot carry + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +the cares of Germany on your back. Leave that +to the Chancellor. One can be sufficiently +patriotic by doing one's work and not asking +questions that others cannot answer. As to the +submarine war—well, blame the men who would +not let the Emperor have his way, that hindered +him when he would have built an equal fleet to +the English. I do not mean the Socialists—I +mean others as well. I mean men who grudged +money for the Navy because they wanted it for +the Army. Curse the Army! If we had had +a big fleet we would have won the war in a +year, but now—ach! Look now, Müller—you +have read Lichnowsky's Memoirs? Yes, I know +you are not allowed to, but I know you have. +Now I say that what he says at the end is +true,—that the Anglo-Saxon race is going to rule +the West and the sea, that we shall only rule +Middle Europe, and we were <i>fools</i> to play for +Middle Europe when we might have had the +sea. We would now give all the Russias and +Rumania and all our gains just for Gibraltar +and Bermuda, for if we had those stations all + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +the rest would come to us. We fight now for +our honour, but if it were not for that—and that +is everything—we would give our enemies good +terms."</p> + +<p>"But if that is true—if we can gain no more—we +have lost the war!"</p> + +<p>The Captain shrugged. "We will have won +what we do not want, and lost all that we do; +but we shall have won, I suppose. It depends +on our diplomatists. If we can get but a few +coaling-stations we shall have won, for it would +all come to us when we were ready again. But +you will not gain a victory by a great stroke +as you say you wish, Müller. The war is too +big now for single strokes, and the English +will not scream for mercy now because of +frightfulness. They are angry, and they hate +us now."</p> + +<p>"But you yourself have sunk a liner, and you +showed them as she sank that the orders of +Germany must be obeyed."</p> + +<p>The Captain's face did not alter at all. "I did +do so, and I would do so again. My honour is + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +clear, because I obeyed my orders. Would you +have dared to question?"</p> + +<p>"No—by God! and I would do it gladly." +The Lieutenant's face worked, and he scowled +as he glanced astern. "I would wish that every +ship of every convoy carried women."</p> + +<p>The Captain laughed almost genially. "It is +easy to see you are not a Prussian," he said. "It +does not matter whether you like or dislike a +thing. All that counts is whether or not it is +to the advantage of the State. So the Roman +World-Empire was made. Myself, I doubt if +killing women pays us; there is this talk now +of the boycott of Germany after the war. They +add time to the boycott for every time we fire +on ships that are helpless, and the boycott is to +be by sailors. I would laugh at such a threat +if it was from any others, but sailors are not +to be laughed at. They are likely to mean what +they say. It is as I said: if we had fought to +the West and to the sea, no man would have +dared to threaten us with a sea-boycott now."</p> + +<p>"But even with our small Navy we have held + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +the English checked. It is not our Navy that +is lacking. What is it, then?"</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> the Navy. It should have been as +big as the English Fleet. And the men—Gott! +Müller. I tell you, if we had done the Zeebrugge +attack ourselves, and I had been there, I would +feel that my honour and the Navy's honour was +safe, that we could stop and make peace. I +would be proud to die on such a service, and I +envy the Englishmen we buried when it was +over."</p> + +<p>"But this is—Herr Capitan, you talk as if you +were an Englander——"</p> + +<p>The Captain whirled on him, his eyes sparkling +dangerously. "<i>Dummkopf!</i>" he said. "Report +me if you like. I hate the English and I love +my Fatherland, but report me if you like. Ach! +You may report me in Hell, too; for I know—I +know——"</p> + +<p>He stopped suddenly and tilted back his +head to listen. The First Lieutenant shrank +back from him, his mouth open and his hands +feeling for the periscope support. A faint + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +murmur of sound came down wind from the +fleecy cloud-banks to the west. The Captain +jumped to the opening of the conning-tower +and stood, impatient and anxious by the lip, +until his lieutenant had slipped and scrambled +half-way down the ladder.</p> + +<p>Then he jumped down himself, pulling the +lid to after him. Simultaneously there came +a rush and roar of air from venting tanks, +the stem of the boat rose very slightly as her +bow-gun went under, and in twenty seconds +the submarine was gone, and the bubbles and +foam of her passage were fading into the +level blue of the empty sea. A minute later +she showed a foot of periscope a cable's length +away, and a small airship topped the western +horizon and came slowly along towards her. +The periscope vanished again, and forty feet +below the surface the captain watched a gauge +needle beside the periscope creep round its +dial inch by inch till it quivered and steadied +at the forty-metre mark.</p> + +<p>"Diving hands only. Fall out the rest. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +Remain near your stations. Lower the periscope." +The First Lieutenant barked out a +repetition of each order as the Captain spoke. +There was a shuffling of feet, some guttural +conversation that spoke of a flicker of curiosity +among the men of the crew, and then all was +quiet but for the hum of motors and the +occasional rattle of gearing as the hydroplane +wheels were moved. The Captain moved +forward to the wardroom, removing his scarf +and heavy pilot-cloth coat as he walked. +"Order some food, Müller," he said. "I'm +hungry—that airship was farther ahead of +them than usual." He threw himself down +in a long folding-chair and stretched out his +sea-booted legs. "I won't come up to look +now until I hear them. Relieve the listeners +every half-hour, Müller. I want to have good +warning. We should hear a big convoy like +this at twenty miles to-day." The curtain rings +clashed and a seaman spoke excitedly +as he entered. The Captain nodded and +reached out to the table for his coffee-cup. + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +"Just the bearing we expected," he said, "but +if they sound as faint as he says there's time +to get something to eat first."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>It was a big new standard ship which drew +the unlucky card in the game of "browning +shots." The torpedo hit her well forward, +its tell-tale track being unperceived in the +slight running swell until too late. A big +bubble of water rose abreast the break of the +forecastle till it reached deck-level, then it +broke and flung a column of spray, black +smoke, and fragments skyward. As the ship +cleared the smoke-haze, she was obviously +down by the head and steering wildly. Two +auxiliary patrol vessels closed on her at full +speed, and the nearest freighter increased speed +and cut in ahead of her in readiness either +to tow or screen. The torpedoed ship, after +yawing vaguely for a few minutes, steadied +back to the convoy's course, slowing her +engines till she only just retained steerage +way. There was a rapid exchange of signals + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +between her and the escort vessels, and then +an R.N. Commander on an adjacent bridge +gave a sigh of relief. "Good man that," he +said. "We'll have him in dry dock to-morrow. +It hasn't flurried him a bit, and I like his +nerve."</p> + +<p>The explosion had caused more than the +salvage vessels to leap into activity. The +white track of the torpedo showed clearly +after it had gone home, and the first to take +action was a tramp, across whose bows the +track passed. The tramp was a ship of the +early 'nineties, and her full speed was at the +most nine knots, but her skipper at once +jammed her helm hard over to steer along +the torpedo-wake with a somewhat optimistic +hope of ramming. Two destroyers and an +armed auxiliary did the same thing, with the +result that the tramp skipper found himself +suddenly in the cross-wash of the warships +as they passed him at a few yards' distance +at twenty knots. Somebody on the bridge +of one of them screamed a profane warning + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +at him through a megaphone, and the skipper, +after a hurried glance at the quivering destroyers' +sterns, jumped to the telegraph and +stopped his engines. A couple of seconds +later his ship shook to a great detonation, and +a mighty column of water rose and broke +close ahead of him. He starboarded his helm +and swung round after the rest of the convoy, +his ship shaking to successive explosions as +more escorting vessels arrived at the spot +where he had turned.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>As his torpedoes left the tubes the U-boat +captain barked out an order. The attack had +been fairly simple, but his hardest problem +was only beginning. The boat's bow dipped +sharply in answer to the tilted hydroplanes, +and she began her long slide down to the two-hundred-foot +mark. She had got to fifty +before a sound like a great hammer striking +the hull told them of a successful torpedo-run. +The Captain looked up from his watch and +smiled. A moment later he was watching + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> +the gauges with a grave and impassive face. +He knew that the fact of his torpedo hitting +would mean greater difficulty for him in the +next few hours than he would have known +had he missed altogether. At a hundred feet +the first depth-charge exploded, smashing +gauge-glasses, electric lamps, and throwing a +couple of men off their feet. The boat rocked +and rolled under the shock, while orders were +roared through voice-pipes for more emergency +lights to be switched on. More charges exploded +as the boat slid downwards, but each +charge was farther away than the last. The +half-light of the hand-lamps round the periscope +showed the source of a sound of pouring +waters—two rivets had been blown right out +of the inner hull close before the conning-tower. +The Captain shouted orders, and the submarine +levelled off her angle and checked at the fifty-metre +line, while two men began frantically +to break away the woodwork which stretched +overhead and prevented the rivet-holes being +plugged. At that depth the water poured in + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> +through the holes in solid bars, hitting the +deck, bouncing back and spreading everywhere +in a heavy spray which drenched circuits and +wires.</p> + +<p>"Müller! where the devil are you? Start the +pumps—I can't help it if they hear us. Start +the pumps, fool!"</p> + +<p>"But you will come up? You will——"</p> + +<p>"<i>Schweinhund! Gehorsamkeit!</i> Go!"</p> + +<p>The pumps began to stamp and clatter as +they drove the entering water out again, but +above the noise of the pumps the Captain could +hear the roaring note of propellers rushing far +overhead. If it had not been for those infernal +rivets, he thought, he would have been at three +hundred feet by now, but he could not risk the +extra wetting which a pressure of a hundred +and thirty pounds to the inch on the entering +water would give to his circuits. The weight +of extra water in the bilges was nothing—he +could deal with that—though the thought of +the six hundred odd fathoms of water between +him and the bottom was a thing to remember + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> +anxiously in case of his getting negative buoyancy; +but if this continual spray of salt water +reached his motor circuits it would be fatal. +He cursed the men who were vainly trying to +block the rivet-holes with wood wedges, and +jumping on the periscope table he tried to guide +the end of a short plank—intended as a baffle-plate—across +the stream. As he stood working, +a terrific concussion shook the U-boat from stem +to stern. The bows rose till men began to slip +aft down the wet deck, and from aft came a +succession of cries and shouted orders, "Close all +doors! the after-hatch is falling in—Come up +and surrender—Lass uns heraus!" The Captain +rose from the deck beneath the eye-piece, shaky +from his fall from the table. He hardly dared +look at the gauge, but he kept his head and +his wits as he gave his orders. With the +motors roaring round at their utmost power +and an angle up by the bow of some fifteen +degrees, the U-boat held her own, and as tank +after tank was blown empty, she slowly gained +on the depth gauge and began to climb. As + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> +she rose, she was shaken again and again by +the powerful depth-charges that were being +dropped on the broken water left by the air-bubble +from her after compartment—a surface-mark +now a quarter of a mile astern.</p> + +<p>Beneath the conning-tower more and more +men were gathering, some calm, some white, +trembling, and voluble. The boat broke surface +with her stem and half her conning-tower showing, +then levelled a little and tore along with +the waves foaming round her conning-tower +and bridge. From inside they could clearly +hear the shells that greeted her, and in a +moment there was a rush of men up the ladder. +Among the first few the Captain saw his First +Lieutenant's legs vanish upwards, and at the +sight a sneering smile showed on his sunburnt +face. The first man to open the lid died as he +did so, for a four-inch shell removed the top of +the conning-tower before he was clear of it. +The escort was taking no chances as to whether +the boat's appearance on the surface was intentional +or accidental, and they were making + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> +the water for a hundred yards around her +fairly boil with bursting shell. As the boat +tore ahead, holding herself up on her angle and +her speed, a few men struggled out of her one +by one past the torn body of the first man to +get out. Two of them leaped instantly overboard, +but the next clawed his way up to a +rail, and while others scrambled and fought +their way overside, and shells crashed and +burst below and around him on water and +conning-tower casing, he stood upright a moment +with arms raised high above his head. At the +signal the firing ceased as if a switch had been +turned by a single hand, and he subsided in a +huddled heap on the bridge as the riddled submarine +ran under. Down below the Captain +still smiled, leaning with his elbows on the +periscope training-handles and watching the +hurrying men at the ladder's foot, until the +great rush of water and men, that showed that +the end had come, swept him aft and away +across the border-line of sleep.</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p> +<h2>THROUGH AN ADMIRALTY<br /> +WINDOW.</h2> + +<p>The room was exactly the same as any room +in any Government building, except that the +Naval observer would have at once noticed one +fact—that the furniture was of the unchanging +Admiralty pattern. The roll-top desk, the +chairs, and even the lamp-shades, would have +been to him familiar friends. They were +certainly familiar to the Post-Captain who sat +at the desk. Captain Henry Ranson had been +a noted Commander before his retirement—a +man of whom many tales, both true and +apocryphal, still circulated when Senior Officers +of the Fleet forgathered at the lunch intervals +of Courts-Martial and Inquiries. He had little +opportunity in his present War appointment to + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +display any of the characteristics on which his +Sagas had been based, for neither seamanship, +daring, or, well—Independent Initiative, were +quite in keeping with the routine of an +Admiralty Office.</p> + +<p>To-day he was feeling the claustrophobia of +London more acutely than usual. The sun was +shining through the big window across the +room, and he wanted to rise and look out at +the blue sky and white cloud-tufts that he +knew to be showing over the buildings across +the Horse Guards Parade. His desk gave him +no view through the window—he knew the +weakness of his powers of concentration on his +eternal paper work too well to have allowed +himself such a distraction; but as the door +opened to admit his clerk—a firm and earnest +civilian with the zeal of monastic officialdom +shining through his spectacles—he rose +abruptly and moved out into the sunlight +glare.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Collins? What is it?"</p> + +<p>"A small matter, sir, which is not quite in + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> +order. If you will glance through this you +will no doubt agree with me."</p> + +<p>The Captain took the sheets from the clerk's +outstretched hand and moved a little away from +the glaring light to read.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—I have the honour to bring to your +notice the conduct of Skipper A. P. Marsh, of +the Admiralty tug <i>Annie Laurie</i>, on the 22nd-23rd +November 1917, and I beg to recommend +him for decoration in view of the following +facts:—</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>On November 21st, 1917, the steamer +<i>Makalaka</i>, homeward bound with corn, was +shelled by a U-boat when near the Irish coast. +The enemy was dealt with by a patrol in the +vicinity, but the <i>Makalaka</i>, proceeding east at +full speed in accordance with instructions, was +thrown out of her reckoning by a damaged +compass, and found herself at dusk on a lee +shore off the Galway coast, with her shaft +broken (a result of shell damage which had not + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> +been realised to be serious at the time it was +incurred). Skipper Marsh, seeing her flares +from his patrol to seaward, most gallantly closed +her and took her in tow in a rising N.W. gale. +In view of the probability of the attempt to +tow failing, the crew of the <i>Makalaka</i> were +taken aboard the tug, but the towing was continued +through a full gale lasting twenty-four +hours until the ship was out of danger.—I +have the honour to be, sir, &c.</p> +</div> + +<p>The Post-Captain folded the letter carefully +and placed it on his desk. The clerk retrieved +it, and moved towards the door. The Captain +turned, "What are you going to do with that, +Collins?"</p> + +<p>"I take it that it needs only the usual reply, +sir—that this is not approved—with a reference +to the regulation bearing on the case."</p> + +<p>"Why not approved, Collins?"</p> + +<p>The clerk was shocked, and his tone showed +it. "Because that decoration is for gallant +action in face of the enemy, and this case does + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +not come within its scope. In any case the +man will get salvage." [The Captain made an +impatient gesture.] "If the Royal Humane +Society care to——" he stopped, because the +Captain had walked to the window, and, in +obvious inattention to the speaker, was staring +out across the wide Horse Guards and far +beyond the fleecy clouds that drifted across the +sky over the great sea of buildings that hemmed +him in.</p> + +<p>Captain Ranson had gone on a journey—back +through forty years of time, and across eighty-one +degrees of longitude.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>He ran up the gangway, straightened his +helmet and dirk-belt, and approached the Commander, +who, a tall dark-featured figure, was +standing looking down on the boat as she rose +and fell alongside to the gentle heave of the +Indian Ocean—"Second cutter manned, sir."</p> + +<p>The Commander turned and looked the boy +over beneath his heavy eyebrows. "When are +you going to set up a new port shroud?" he asked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> + The Midshipman fingered the seam of his +trousers, and looked carefully at the buttons on +the Commander's tunic—"I thought, sir, that is, +we've got a new shroud all fitted, but I thought—the +coxswain said, sir—that the old one would +do for to-day as the wind's nothing...."</p> + +<p>The barometric indications of the Commander's +eyes showed threatening weather. He took the +boy's arm in the grasp of a heavy hand and +led him to the rail abreast the swinging mastheads +of the boat.</p> + +<p>"Now listen, young gentleman," he said. +"What the coxswain said isn't evidence. It's +<i>you</i> that command that boat, and <i>you</i> that +will handle and command her. Don't talk to +me again as if you were a schoolboy." The +Midshipman shivered and squinted cautiously +up to see if the storm-signals were still in +evidence. The dark stern eyes were looking +down at him in a way that made him feel as +if he was some luckless worm that had unhappily +bored its way up into the publicity of +an aviary. The Commander moved his hand + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +and turned the boy to face him. "Now, you +remember this, young gentleman, only seamen +come through gales safely—it's the fools that +go to sea with rusty shrouds and weak rigging. +And if you're to be a seaman you must never +go to sea, even in a flat calm, unless your ship +is ready for a gale of wind. Do you understand +me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then don't forget it, or I'll have you beaten +till you grow corns. Now shove off, and pull +away three cables on the port bow, drop your +anchor on the shoal, and fit that new shroud. +Remain there till the ship has got under way, +done her night-firing, and signalled you to carry +on. You will then close and weigh the target +moorings, having the target ready for hoisting +when the ship comes back to you. Do you +understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"What have you got on your anchor?"</p> + +<p>"A hundred and twenty fathom, sir—of four-inch." + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +"That is enough—there is thirty fathom on +the shoal—Carry on!"</p> + +<p>The Midshipman ran down the gangway, and, +jumping into the cutter, "Carried on." The +Commander was an officer of whom the boat-midshipmen +stood in awe, and they were +always thankful when the ordeal of reporting +a possibly unready boat to him as "ready" +was over.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The last shot kicked up a yellow fountain of +spray in the glare of the searchlight, and +ricochetted, humming, over the target and on +towards Malaya. A rocket sailed up from the +distant ship—the searchlight flickered out a +couple of Morse signs and went out, and in the +velvety darkness of a tropic night the hands +went forward in the cutter to weigh the anchor, +the process of "shortening-in" having been accomplished +a full hour ago. As the Midshipman +stood up to superintend the operation, he saw a +queer white line spreading and brightening along +the horizon to the westward. A dash of rain + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> +struck his face, and a little gust of wind +moaned past him. The crew looked up from +their work to wonder, and in a matter of +seconds the squall was on them. The wet +hawser slipped and raced out, the hands jumping +aft to get clear of the leaping turns as the +cutter swung and drew hard on her anchor to +the pressure of a tremendous wind. The white +line rushed down on them, and showed as a +turmoil of frothing sea, beaten flat by the wind +into a sheet of phosphorescence veiled by low-flying +spray. For a few minutes they crouched +and endured the sudden cold and wet, then a +yaw of the boat sent the bowmen forward with +suspicion in their minds. "Up and down, sir—anchor's +aweigh," came the report, in a voice +that started as a roar, but reached the Midshipman +aft as a faint high wail. The Midshipman +faced round to leeward, and thought +hard. He had been anchored on the only +possible shoal, and once driven off that there +was no holding-ground till he should reach the +edge of the surf off Trincomalee, twenty miles + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +away—all between being chartered as "Five +hundred and no bottom." He called to the +coxswain and clawed his way forward, picking +up men by name as he passed them. They hove +up their anchor, secured mainsail, awning, and +mainmast in a dreadful tangle of rope and canvas +to the anchor-ring—hitched an outlying corner +of the tangle to a bight far up the hawser, and +threw all over the bows. The cutter steadied +head to wind, and the hands moved aft to raise +the bow and protect themselves against the +steady driving of the spray.</p> + +<p>The Midshipman lay across the backboard, +staring out to the port-quarter. Through the +white haze he could see, at regular intervals, a +quick-flashing gleam of yellow light. He knew +what it was, and it did not comfort him. It was +all he could see of the twenty-thousand candlepower +of Foul Point Light, and although it was +not getting much clearer it was certainly "drawing" +from aft forward. He had the rough lie +of the coast in his head, and he was just realising +two things—first, that in spite of the sea + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> +anchor he was being blown to leeward and +ashore at an incredible rate; and second, that +if he could not round Foul Point across the +wind, he was going to be food for the big surf-sharks +before the morning.</p> + +<p>He roused the crew again, and set them to the +oars. Before half the oars were out he had +realised the futility of the effort, and was trying +to get them back without further damage. He +corrected his error with the loss of four oars +and several feet of the cutter's gunwale—broken +off when the wind tore the long ash oars away. +As he remembered later, it was at this point +that Foul Point Light began to show clearly +through the spray, and that his coxswain began +to sing an interminable hymn in the stern-sheets, +and that the dark-faced Celtic stroke-oar, a man +who had the reputation of being the worst +character in all the ship, took over the helpless +coxswain's duty. The Midshipman was +staring fascinated at the swinging beam of light +that was beating on them from the sand-spit +broad on the quarter, when the stroke-oar's + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> +voice in his ear changed him from a boy to an +officer—"What'll you do now, sir?"</p> + +<p>The question was answered on the instant—"All +hands, up masts and sails. Close-reef both, +and pass the hawser aft. Lash out now, lads, +and get down to it."</p> + +<p>That twenty-minute evolution, by the light of +a hurricane-lamp, was a nightmare. The mainsail +and mainmast were all snarled up in miscellaneous +turns of roping. The hawser was wet +and cold, and seemed fifty times its original +length, but the work was done. He had felt +that no shroud, however new, would stand the +strain he was going to put on the masts, and +though the men cursed and swore at the delay +and toil involved, he got what he wanted from +them. One at a time the masts were hove up +and clamped in position against the half-solid +wind—the hawser, cut to length, clove-hitched +round each masthead, and frapped clear round +the cutter, with the whole hove taut with +"Spanish Windlasses," till his clumsy hemp +shrouds were braced to the strain. Then he + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> +braced himself by a glance at the light, swinging +well over their heads now that they were +close enough in to feel the first lift and heave +of the outer surf, and yelled an order. The foresail +rose, clattered furiously a moment against +the mast, and then filled with a bang. "<i>Set +mainsail!</i>" The cutter heeled over till her lee +gunwale dipped—the masts bent and creaked, +and the old boat went tearing into the wind +on the best and last sail of her varied life. The +Midshipman and the stroke-oar clung to the long +tiller that was curved like a fishing-rod under +the strain. There were no gusts or variations +in the wind: it beat solidly against the canvas, +heeling the cutter to the verge of capsizing, and +driving her through the water at steamer speed. +The leeway was extraordinarily great—the boat +going sideways almost as fast as she went ahead; +but that leeway saved her from going over. +They cut through the outer surf off the point, +the boat leaking from the sprung keel to the +opened seams where the frapping hawser-turns +bit into her thin sides—the crew baling furiously + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> +to keep their minds from the expectation of a +great crash that would tell of a mast tearing its +heel up and out through the weather side. It +lasted for barely half an hour, but the arm-weary +Midshipman felt as if it had been a four-hour +watch. As the light drew aft, he eased his sheets +and swung up the channel, still at racing speed, +but safely bound for harbour. His memories in +after years of the next few hours were vague +and clouded by sleep. He remembered the sun +rising as they drew in towards the silent white-walled +dockyard; the <i>swish</i> of sand under the +keel as he ran her hard up the boat-camber +beach, and nothing more, till he woke to see the +dreaded Commander—a tall white-clad figure—standing +over him, looking with keen appraising +eyes at the mass of hawser-turns that swathed +boat and masts, and at the bodies of the snoring +crew that lay on the hot sand around her.</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The Clerk fidgeted. He had been kept waiting +for a matter of seconds, and he did not like it. +The Captain turned to face him, and, to the + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> +surprised eyes of the Clerk, seemed to have +changed suddenly into a young man—alert, +quick, and decisive. "<i>No</i>, Collins," said a +strange voice; "the man <i>did</i> act in the face +of the enemy, and I will endorse the recommendation." +He turned his eyes again to the +window, but saw only the yellow gravel, the +houses, and the smoke; the fetters of Routine +seemed to clank warningly in his ears. "Yes," +he said, "I have no reason to suppose the U-boat +had not followed the steamer, or that she was +not present all the time."</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p> +<h2>A MOST UNTRUE STORY.</h2> + +<p>The War was only in its first childhood and +patrol work was still amusing, having not yet +become a monotonous and unexciting business. +The submarine was due to start back from +patrol that night, and was just loafing along +at twenty odd feet depth waiting for dark. +The Captain was on watch at the periscope, +swinging the instrument round from time to +time to take a general survey of the horizon, +but for the most part confining his scrutiny to +the island to leeward. The island showed up +clearly—the light of the setting sun flashing +back from the windows of the buildings that +looked out over the Bight. As the Captain +took one of his all-round glances, he checked + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> +suddenly and concentrated his gaze to one point +of the compass. A man who leaned against a +pump six feet away—a man who had seemed +to all appearance to be on the verge of sleep—opened +his eyes, straightened up, and stood +alertly watching the brown hands that held the +periscope training handles. The signal seemed +to be telepathically passed on, as in a few +seconds there were six or eight pairs of eyes +watching the observer, who still peered at the +unknown sight which no one else in the boat +could see. Then the Captain moved his head +back from the eye-piece, smiled (and at the +smile six of the watchers reverted to their oil-stained +reading matter), and called to the First-Lieutenant, +who was at the moment engaged +with an Engine-room Artificer in a mumbled +inquest over a broken air-valve spindle. As the +First-Lieutenant approached, the Captain stepped +to one side and indicated the eye-piece by a +nod. His subordinate took his place, and for +a full half-minute remained slowly swivelling +the great instrument through four points and + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> +back again. When he raised his head he was +scowling and sullen.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said the Captain. "A good few +there, eh?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Lord!</i>" The First-Lieutenant's voice indicated +the deepest disgust. "Thousands and +thousands—and we can't get a shot at 'em!"</p> + +<p>"Well, there's over a thousand, anyway. I've +seen at least that lot of teal in the last couple +of minutes."</p> + +<p>"<i>Teal!</i> Why, sir, I can see mallard now for +the next half mile, and I could swear there'll be +geese among them too."</p> + +<p>"Here, let me look. Yes, by gum, and not +one's getting up either." They let the periscope +get to a few feet off before they paddle away.... +He swivelled slowly round the circle, +then looked up at the First-Lieutenant. +"There's fog coming on. I can see the banks +coming," he said. He looked again through the +periscope and intently studied the windows on +the island some three miles away. The First-Lieutenant +watched his face, and saw it slowly + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> +break into the smile of a schoolboy meditating +mischief. The First-Lieutenant began to smile +slightly also. The Captain looked up.</p> + +<p>"I can't help the island," he said. "War's +hell, anyway. Give me a rifle and stand by for +surface." There was a clatter and the sound of +quick-passing orders; the boat's bow tilted up, +and to the sound of roaring air she broke surface +fairly in the middle of the great colony of +swimming wildfowl. The hatch fell back with +a clang, and a rush of cold air beat on the +excited faces of the men below the conning-tower. +Immediately there came the <i>Crack-crack-'rack</i> +of magazine-fire from the bridge +above, and the descendants of bowmen who had +risked mutilation and death to steal the Conqueror's +deer forgot their discipline and began +to mount the ladder that led to the sunlight +and a clear view.</p> + +<p>The Captain turned to shout a helm order +below and swore at the packed heads that +filled the hatch-rim. "... and you come up, +Number One, and lend a hand to pick up. I've + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> +got one—missed him on the water at a hundred +and got him in the air as he rose! There he +is—jump forr'd and grab him—dammit, he's +off (<i>crack-crack</i>).... No, that's stopped him" +(<i>bang</i>—the report came from the vicinity of +the Captain's knee). "What the—confound +you, man—what the deuce are you doing? Unload +that pistol and take it away...."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>Seven thousand yards away on the island a +watcher lowered his glasses and reached for +the button of the alarm bell. In two seconds +the island was awake, and down in the lower +battery men rushed to their stations. With +clatter and turmoil the big guns were cleared +away and the observing officer roared the order +to "Stand by" into the telephone mouthpiece.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Schultz? Can you see? Ach! +she is going to bombard—the little swine of a +boat. Give me the telescope. Ach, Gott! are +they not reported ready, fool?" The Major +was excited and bristling.</p> + +<p>"Ready now—all but number six."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> + "At six thousand five hundred metres—all +guns—Gott strafe der schmutzige ... he has +dived!..."</p> + +<hr class="hr2" /> + +<p>The First-Lieutenant sprang up the outer +ladder of the conning-tower, the bleeding spoil +clutched in his hand. The Captain turned to +look astern and became aware of the fact that +the gallery, as represented by the bridge and +rails, was tenanted by an enthusiastic and interested +selection of his crew. "What the devil—is +this a cinema or my ship? Don't you +know your orders yet? Every man-jack of +you...." He herded them below to the tune +of a voluble hymn of hate, and followed the +last of the grinning culprits down. As the +boat levelled off at her previous diving depth, +he swung the periscope round to search the +horizon again to seaward. A moment later +"Diving stations," and to the hydroplane men, +"Take her on down."</p> + +<p>The First-Lieutenant left the luckless mallard +on the table and elbowed his way aft again + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> +through the cluster of men closing up to their +stations. Reaching the control position, he +looked inquiringly at the Captain, who, having +lowered the periscope, was leaning with folded +arms against a group of valves abreast it.</p> + +<p>"Thick fog coming down. Going to bottom +till dark now. Have a look at the soundings, +will you—or tell Henley to let me know."</p> + +<p>The First-Lieutenant moved back to speak +to another officer, who was already bending +over the chart-table. The Captain turned his +head to watch the gauge beside him, the needle +of which was slowly creeping upwards and +around the circle. As it moved the gentle +rolling of the boat that had been noticeable before +ceased, and she steadied until she gave the +idea of being high and dry in some silent dock. +The officer, generally known as "Pilot," or—to +his intimates and contemporaries—as "Rasputin" +(a name, it should be explained, which had no +possible application to him, except for the fact +that he wore a beard), appeared at the Captain's +side with a folded chart in his hand.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> + "We should touch at ninety by the gauge, +sir," he said. "We must be about four miles +from the land now."</p> + +<p>The Captain nodded. "Yes, it may be a +little more, though. Have the crew got a sweep +on this?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. This is an extra dive, and they +haven't had time to get one up. D'you want +to bet on under or over ninety, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I do not. I won last night's sweep, and +lost it to you in side-bets, and I'm not taking +any more. Stop the motors!"</p> + +<p>The gauge had reached the eighty-foot mark, +and the boat under the influence of her headway +was still driving the needle slowly round. +At ninety feet the Captain looked at the Pilot, +smiled, and started the motors again. Hardly +had he given the order when the needle checked, +rose a little, and then crept back to ninety-five. +"<i>Stop the motors!</i> I've lost a chance there, +Pilot—'Wish I'd had a bet on that."</p> + +<p>He stood watching the gauge a moment longer, +and then turned to walk to the Wardroom.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> + "Pipe down—usual sentries only," he ordered. +"Tell my servant to get me some washing +water."</p> + +<p>He threw the curtain aside, and joined the +two officers who stood looking solemnly at the +mallard, which lay on a gory newspaper in +the centre of the table. For a moment there +was silence.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the Captain cheerfully, "it's not +as smashed as it might be. It'll do for a pie +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"'Mm," said the First-Lieutenant, "'Keeper at +home used to call rabbits that looked like that +'ferrets' food.'"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it," rejoined the Captain; "if we +mash him in a pie he'll be all right."</p> + +<p>There was another pause while the First-Lieutenant +tucked an extra fold of newspaper +beneath the corpse—then, after a quick glance +and nudge for the Pilot's benefit, he spoke in a +detached and dispassionate voice.</p> + +<p>"Of course, it was poaching."</p> + +<p>The Captain's brown face began to slowly take + <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> +on the colour of the gore on the table—then he +exploded—</p> + +<p>"What d'you mean? ... <i>poaching</i>—it's below +high-water mark, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir—we don't know the rules in this +country, and we were pretty well in their +waters."</p> + +<p>"But it's offshore. Why shouldn't I shoot their +duck? It's not preserved, either. <i>Poaching!</i> +I never poached anything—not since I was at +school anyway." He scowled at the duck and +the officers impartially. The officers clutched +each other by the arms, then the Pilot walked +hastily to a low-set bunk and buried his head +in the pillow. The Captain changed his frown +for a smile as the situation dawned on him, then, +snatching the parallel rulers from the chart-table +he began to belabour the most accessible portion +of his gurgling subordinate's anatomy.</p> + + +<hr /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p> +<h4>PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.</h4> + + +<hr /> +<div class="tn"> +<h4>Transcriber's Note</h4> +<ul class="corrections"> +<li>Obvious punctuation and spelling errors repaired.</li> +<li>"Compass card" and "compass-card" retained as printed.</li> +</ul> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of H.M.S. ----, by Klaxon + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK H.M.S. ---- *** + +***** This file should be named 34190-h.htm or 34190-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/1/9/34190/ + +Produced by Larry B. 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