Transcriber's note:

 "Taffrail" is the pseudonym of Henry Taprell Dorling. 

 The book from which this etext was prepared was missing the leaf containing pages 41 and 42. 

STAND BY!

Naval Sketches and Stories

by

"TAFFRAIL"

Author of "Carry On!" "Pincher Martin O. D. , Etc. "

LondonC. Arthur Pearson, LimitedHenrietta Street, W. C. 1916

 TO THE SHIP'S COMPANY WHO ARE SECOND TO NONE

PREFACE

It seems almost unnecessary to remark that the characters and shipsfiguring in the sketches throughout this book are entirely fictitious. 

"Bunting, " "The Acting Sub, " "Our Happy Home, " "The Lost Sheep, " "The'Muckle Flugga' Hussars, " and "The Mother Ship" appeared in the _DailyMail_, and "The 'Pirates'" in the _Weekly Despatch_. They are herereprinted, with minor alterations, by kind permission of the Editors. 

TAFFRAIL. 

1916. 

CONTENTS

 THE "ACTING SUB" THE MOTHER SHIP OUT HAPPY HOME BLOODLESS SURGERY "BUNTING" THE LOST SHEEP A NAVAL MENAGERIE THE "MUCKLE FLUGGA" HUSSARS THE "PIRATES" A MINOR AFFAIR THE FOG THE TRADERS POTVIN OF THE "PUFFIN"

STAND BY!

THE "ACTING SUB"

He was a very junior young officer indeed when the powers that be firstgladdened his heart and ruined his clothes by sending him to adestroyer. A mere sub-lieutenant with "(acting)" after his name, which, as any proper "sub" will tell you, is a sign of extremejuniority. Moreover, the single gold stripe on his monkey jacket wasstill suspiciously new and terribly untarnished. 

Not so very long before he had been a "snotty" (midshipman) in abattleship, a mere "dog's body, " who had to obey the orders of almostevery officer in the ship except those few who happened to be junior tohim. It is true that he exercised his authority and a severediscipline on those midshipmen who had the misfortune to be a year orso younger than himself, and that he expressed a lordly contempt forthe assistant clerk. But he lived in the gun-room, slept in a hammock, kept all his worldly possessions in a sea-chest, and bathed and dressedin the company of fifteen other boisterous young gentlemen. 

Then he had his watches to keep at sea and his picket boat to run inharbour, while his spare time was fully employed in mastering thesubtleties of gunnery, torpedo work, and electricity, and in rubbing uphis rapidly dwindling knowledge of engineering and _x_ and _y_. It waswell that he did so, for at some distant period when the war ceased hewould have to pass certain stringent examinations before he could beconfirmed in the rank of lieutenant. 

So on the whole he had been kept fairly busy, more particularly aswatch-keeping at the guns with the ship at sea in all weathers in wartime was not all jam. 

But when he was sent to a destroyer he found the life was morestrenuous, for the little ship spent far more time at sea. The weatherwas sometimes very bad indeed, and at first he was sea-sick, but it wasalways a consolation to have a cabin of his own, to live in thewardroom, and to be treated as a responsible officer instead of a mere"makee learn. "

He had to work at least six times harder than he had in a battleship. For one thing he had all the charts to correct and to keep up to date, no small labour with pencil, dividers, parallel rulers, and much redink in these days of war, prolific minefields, dangerous areas, extinguished lights, and removed buoys. He also assisted with theship's gunnery, and at sea kept a regular three watches, eight hoursout of every twenty-four, with the first lieutenant and gunner. But itwas the sense of responsibility and the feeling that he was doingreally useful work which gladdened his heart and kept him keen andenergetic. 

"Have you ever been in a destroyer before?" his commanding officer hadasked him as soon as he joined. 

"No, sir. "

"Ever kept officer of the watch at sea?"

Again the answer was in the negative. 

"Well, you'll have to do it here, my son. If you want to know anythingcome to me. There's nothing much in it so long as you keep your eyesskinned. You'll soon learn. "

 * * * * *

The skipper had said there was nothing in it, but the first night atsea he found himself alone on the bridge in charge of the ship hethought differently. 

A light cruiser squadron and two flotillas of destroyers were steamingat 20 knots in close formation without lights. The night was as blackas the wolf's mouth, and the rapidly rising wind cut the tops off theshort seas and sent them flying over the bridge in constant showers ofspray. Moreover, the perpetual pitching and rolling soon gave ourfriend a squeamish and altogether nasty sensation in the region of hiswaistcoat, and in ten minutes, by which time the water had found itsway through his oilskins and was trickling merrily down the back of hisneck, he felt miserable. 

The ship was in the middle of a line of eight destroyers. Two hundredyards ahead of him he could just discern the dim black blur of the nextahead and the occasional splutter of whity-grey foam in her wake as herstern lifted to the seas. At times, when a driving rain squall camedown from windward, he seemed to lose sight of her altogether, and, through inexperience and in his anxiety to catch up, increased therevolutions of the engines not wisely but rather too much. The nextthing that happened was that the squall cleared, and he found himselfalmost on top of her, and had to put the helm over and sheer out ofline to avoid a collision. At the same time he reduced speed to dropback into station. Sometimes he reduced more than he should, with theconsequence that the next astern nearly bumped him, while the leadershot ahead and vanished into the darkness like a ghost. 

It was then that he had horrible thoughts of being scrubbed for thedeadly sin of losing touch with the flotilla and meandering about theocean like a lost sheep looking for his next ahead. If he did notsucceed in finding her somebody's blood would be required. 

It was rather trying for a novice, and many times he remembered thecommanding officer's standing orders. "Do not hesitate to call me ifyou are in doubt or difficulty, " they said, with the "Do not"underlined twice. Should he rouse the skipper or should he not? Hewas asleep in his clothes on the cushioned settee in the charthouseunderneath the bridge and would be up in ten seconds if required. Butthe acting "sub" did hesitate to call him unnecessarily. After all, itwas quite possible that the "C. O. " might be rather peevish if he washauled out for no reason. He was not really "in difficulty, " hepersuaded himself, and he certainly did not wish to patent the factthat he could not keep the ship in station, whatever the circumstances. 

No; he would not call him. He solved the problem by increasing thespeed of the engines ever so slightly above the normal, and fiveminutes later heaved a sigh of profound relief as the black shape ofthe next ahead hove up out of the darkness. 

In an hour his helpless feeling had gone and he was jogging merrilyalong without any difficulty. 

 * * * * *

But the skipper, who was accustomed to the ways and tricks ofnewly-joined officers generally, and sub-lieutenants in particular, hadbeen awake the whole time. He always slept with one eye open at sea, and as the charthouse was immediately beneath the bridge and theshafting of the wheel and engine-room telegraphs passed within a fewfeet of his head, he knew at once from their agitated movement whenanything really desperate was happening. So when the helm wentoverhand the revolution telegraph revolved frantically five or sixtimes in quick succession he yawned wearily, flung off his rug, and satup. 

"I won't go up and interfere unless he sends for me, " he thought tohimself. "He must learn. " He had been a "sub" in a destroyer himself. The summons never came. 

At three o'clock, by which time the dawn was breaking, the "C. O. " didappear on the bridge. 

"Well, Sub?" he asked. "What d'you think of station keeping at night?"

"Quite easy, sir, " said that young officer blandly, quite unaware ofthe acoustic properties of the charthouse. "As easy as falling off alog. "

"Did you have any difficulty in seeing the next ahead?"

"Not much, sir. It was a bit dark at times, though. "

The "C. O. " smiled to himself. He knew. 

 * * * * *

The "sub, " he has passed out of the "acting" stage, is now an expert atthe game, and, to use the phraseology of his latest confidentialreport, is "energetic and trustworthy" and a "most promising andcapable officer. "

THE MOTHER SHIP

Sixteen years ago, when the ships of the Royal Navy still disportedthemselves in black hulls, with red water-lines, white upper works, andyellow masts and funnels, she was a smart cruiser attached to one ofthe large fleets. She was as spick and span as elbow grease andingenuity could make her, and the show ship of her squadron and thepampered darling of the admiral, went by the name of "the yacht. "

She was easily one of the cleanest ships afloat. Her blue-black side, anointed daily with some mysterious compound rubbed on with serge, acompound the exact ingredients of which were known only to hercommander and the painter who mixed it, was as smooth and as shiny as amahogany table. Her decks were as clean as scrubbers, holystones, sand, and perspiring blue-jackets could make them, and woe betide thecareless sailor who defiled their sacred whiteness with a spot ofpaint, or the stoker who left the imprint of a large and greasy foot onemerging into the fresh air from his labours in the engine-room orstokehold. 

Her guns, steel, and brass-work winked and shimmered in the sun. Herfunnels were brushed over at frequent intervals with a wash the colourand consistency of cream, and before she went to sea her yellow mastsand yards used to be swathed in canvas lest they should be defiled byfunnel smoke. Her boats, with their white enamel inside and out, theirblack gunwales with the narrow golden ribbon running round inside, thewell-scrubbed masts, oars, thwarts, bottom-boards, and gratings, thebrass lettered backboards, and cushioned sternsheets, were the pride ofher midshipmen and the envy of nearly all the other young gentlemen inthe squadron. 

But then, of course, this all happened in the "good old days, " thepalmy days when men-of-war spent no great portion of their time at seaand when, in some ships, Messrs. Spit and Polish were still thepresiding deities. No doubt, as we were sometimes asked to believebefore the war, the Service has gone to the dogs since 1900, for noisyand blatant Mr. Gunnery has usurped the place of the above-mentionedpair and life generally has become more strenuous. The ability to hita hostile ship at a distance of twenty miles or so cannot be inculcatedin the fastnesses of a harbour. The job simply must be taken seriously. 

 * * * * *

If you turn up her name in the "Navy List" of to-day--wild horses willnot make me disclose it and the Censor would not pass it if I did--youwill see that she still figures as a cruiser, though the fact remainsthat she never goes to sea for any war-like purpose. They have evenadded insult to injury by removing some of her guns. 

This may be a matter for deep regret on the part of her officers andmen, who, since they belong to the Royal Navy or the Royal NavalReserve, naturally long to assist in an active manner at thediscomfiture of some floating Hun. Their thoughts may not exactly bepleasant when they read and hear of the warlike doings of theirseagoing sisters, but they may console themselves by recollecting thatthe ship of 1916 is probably infinitely more valuable to the countrythan that of 1900, and that at the present time the Navy could not dowithout her. 

She is still clean but is no longer a "yacht, " for her purpose isstrictly utilitarian. She performs the multifarious duties of a depôtship, and as such attends to the ailments, aches and pains of, catersfor the needs of, and generally acts as a well-conducted mother to alarge number of destroyers. You have only to ask these latter whatthey think of their parent, and there is not one of them who would nottell you that they could not get on without her. Of course theycannot! For destroyers, like delicate children prone to catch mumps, whooping-cough, and measles, cannot thrive without careful nursing, particularly in war time. 

And so, if the depôt ship receives a plaintive wail by signal to saythat one of her children has been punctured through the bows by aprojectile from a belligerent Hun, or that another, in a slightaltercation at sea with one of her sisters, has developed a "slightdent" in herself to the accompaniment of leaky rivets and seams, shemerely says, "Come alongside!"

The destroyer does so, and, lo! an army of workmen step on board withtheir tools, and with much hammering and drilling, the outwardapplication of a steel plate, some oakum, and some white lead, herhurts are plastered and she is rendered seaworthy once more. 

Sometimes the defects may be even more serious, as, for instance, whenone of her charges, having been badly cut into in a thick fog or havingunwisely sat down upon a mine, limps back into harbour with severalcompartments full of water and serious internal injuries as well. Butthe depôt ship is quite equal to the emergency. She sends hershipwrights, carpenters, and other experts on board the afflicted oneand, with a large wooden patch, more oakum, and buckets of red andwhite lead, the destroyer is made sufficiently seaworthy to proceed tothe nearest dockyard. 

Again, there may be engine-room defects, such things as over-heatedthrust-blocks, stripped turbines, and leaky valves. There are boilertroubles and the periodical cleaning of the boiler tubes. There can bedefects in the guns, torpedo-tubes, searchlights, or electricalfittings; defects anywhere and everywhere, even in the galley-stovefunnel or the wardroom pantry. Mother has a large family and theirailments are very varied and diverse. But she competes with them alland, save in cases of very severe damage, rarely confesses the job tobe beyond her powers and has to send her troublesome child to adockyard. 

 * * * * *

But this is not all she does. If Spud Murphy, able seaman of adestroyer, carves the top off his finger or complains of "'orriblepains in th' stummick, " he is sent to mother to be nursed back tohealth by her doctors. If Peter Jones imagines he has not received thepay to which he is entitled, if he wishes to remit a monthly sum to hiswife, or if he desires to become the possessor of a pair of boots, atooth-brush, and a pair of new trousers, mother will oblige him. Moreover, the fond parent distributes the mails and supplies the beef, vegetables, bread, rum, haricot beans, tinned salmon, raisins, sugar, tea, flour, coffee, and a hundred and one other comestibles necessaryfor the nourishment of those on board her protégées. She will alsosupply many other unconsidered trifles in the way of ammunition, torpedoes, rope, canvas, paint, emery paper, bath-brick, oil, bolts, nuts, pens, red ink, black ink, hectograph ink, foolscap, pencils, paper fasteners, postage stamps . . . I will leave it at that. 

Heaven alone knows what else she can disgorge. She seems to resemble aglorified Army and Navy Stores, with engineering, ship fitting, shipchandlery, outfitting, haberdashery, carpentry, chemists, dryprovisions, butchers, bakers, stationery, postal, and fancy goodsdepartments. We have forgotten the certificate office or researchdepartment, where they will tell you the colour of the eyes of any manin the flotilla, the number of moles on the back of his neck, and theinteresting fact that Stoker "Ginger" Smith has a gory heart transfixedby an arrow, together with the words "True Love, " indelibly tattooed onhis left forearm. 

The Criminal Investigation Department, which seems to be aware of thepast history of everybody, will deal with offenders, while, to go tothe opposite extreme, the depôt ship's padre will be only too happy topublish the banns of marriage for any member of his flock. 

In addition to all this the officers of the flotilla are honorarymembers of mother's wardroom, where, despite the fact that shesometimes has great difficulty in collecting the sums due at the end ofthe month, she allows them to obtain meals, drinks, and tobacco. Lastly, she gets up periodical kinematograph or variety shows to whichall are invited, free, gratis, and for nothing. . . . What more could herchildren want? She is a very good mother to them. Her greatness hasnot departed. 

OUR HAPPY HOME

Compared with that of a "27-knotter" of twenty years ago the wardroomof a modern destroyer is a palatial apartment. 

Imagine a room about 15 ft. Long, 25 ft. Wide--the whole beam of theship--with about 7 ft. Headroom. 

It has white enamelled sides and ceiling. A table, long enough to seatten people at a pinch, runs athwartships, and ranged round it arevarious straight-backed chairs. 

On the after bulkhead is a square mahogany cupboard with a railed top, on which reposes a gramophone, while to the right, in the corner, isanother cupboard reaching to the deck above and divided into numeroussquare lockers. It is really intended for stationery, but provides anequally useful receptacle for bottled beer and stout. 

To right and left along the ship's side, with its row of smallscuttles, are cushioned settees, and on the foremost bulkhead, to theleft of the door, is a bookcase with cupboard underneath. Except onSundays, when the latter is specially tidied up for the "rounds, " itwill not bear close investigation. It may be found to contain half aStilton cheese (rather fruity), pats of butter, two bottles ofWorcester sauce, fruit, one tin of Bluebell polish, and a large lump ofoily waste. No wonder our butter sometimes tastes peculiar!

To the right of the door is a sideboard, a solid mahogany affair, withracks for glasses and tumblers, and cupboards for wine. In the centreof it is a mirror which, on sliding down into a recess, reveals a smallsquare hatch communicating with the pantry outside. 

Overhead, secured to the beams, are various pipes, electric lightfittings, brass curtain rods, and a couple of swinging oil lamps. Several more oil lamps are in the bulkheads or walls. They are usedwhen steam is down and the dynamo is not running. The furniture andfittings are completed by a comfortable-looking, well-padded armchair, a couple of steam radiators of polished, perforated brass for warmingpurposes when the ship is at sea, a red and blue carpet, curtains, aletter rack and notice board, and the stove. 

The latter is fitted to burn anthracite. It looks well, with itshighly polished brass casing and funnel reaching up through the deckabove, but it has a very decided will of its own. Sometimes, in a fitof contrariness, it persists in blazing like a blast furnace on muggydays until its sides are nearly red-hot and the heat of the wardroom iswell-nigh intolerable. But on chilly mornings it occasionally rings achange by refusing to burn at all, and merely vomits forth clouds ofacrid, grey smoke. This generally occurs during breakfast, when folkare sometimes apt to be snappish and irritable. We have never reallyquite fathomed the idiosyncrasies of the stove. Maybe it is sadlymisunderstood, but at any rate we can always empty the vials of ourwrath for its misdeeds upon the head of its unfortunate custodian, anewly caught officer's steward of the second class, with long hair anda mournful aspect. 

We are at war, and there is little or no attempt at decoration in ourhabitation. The bright red and black tablecloth of the usual servicepattern gives the place a touch of colour, but beyond this and a coupleof vases of tightly packed flowers on the table, and on the ship's sidea print of the gallant old admiral after whom the ship is named, everything serves a strictly utilitarian purpose. 

But in spite of its bareness the wardroom is very snug and comfortable. It is particularly inviting on returning from a spell at sea, when onegoes below from the wet and chilly upper deck, to find everybodytalking at the top of their voices, and pipes, cigarettes, and thestove all going full blast together. If it is after sunset and theship is "darkened" the scuttles will all have their deadlights down, and the place will be very, what we may call "frowsty. " Theatmosphere, indeed, what with tobacco smoke and various unnameable butpungent odours from the pantry outside, might well be cut with a knife;but nobody seems to mind. It is warm, at any rate, and is ten thousandtimes better than the piercing wind and bitter cold on deck. 

At sea it is not always pleasant. In heavy weather the stern of theship has an unwholesome knack of jumping into the air and shakingitself like the tail of a dog. It is disconcerting, to say the leastof it, particularly when the water sweeps its way aft along the upperdeck in solid masses which no so-called watertight ventilator can keepout. 

When the helm goes over suddenly, too, and the ship slaps her sterninto the heart of an advancing wave, a miniature Niagara comes pouringdown the after-hatch, unless it happens to be shut. It rarely is. Asa consequence the mess is sometimes inches deep in water, while theviolent motion unships every moveable fitting in the place and flingsit to the deck. 

At times the dog Cuthbert, in his basket, the gramophone, many brokenrecords, chairs, tumblers, apples and bananas, books, magazines, papers, knives and forks, a tinned tongue, and the cheese play ariotous game of leapfrog on the deck, with the dirty water sluicingafter them. 

From outside in the pantry come the crashing sounds of our rapidlydisintegrating stock of crockery, and, if we dared to poke our nosesinside this chamber of horrors, we should see a pale-faced officer'ssteward seated on a bench with his head held in his hands. A joint ofcold beef, a loaf of bread, an empty pickle jar, and cups, saucers, andplates are probably playing touch-last in the sink. The floor is anoisome kedgeree of broken china and glass, sea water, pickles, chutney, condensed milk, and other articles of food. But the steward, poor wight, is past caring. He does not mind whether it is Christmasor Easter. 

A good many of the others are sea-sick as well, for a destroyer inreally bad weather is worse than a nightmare, while it is practicallyimpossible to keep dry or to get proper food even if one wanted it. But yet there is a rumour going round that, through reasons of economy, we are shortly to be docked of our "hard-lying" money! But a word asto the inhabitants. 

First comes the commander or lieutenant-commander in command. Hiscabin--which in heavy weather sometimes suffers the same fate as thewardroom, except that the litter on the deck is limited to water, clothes, books, and papers--is a good-sized apartment in the flat justforward of the wardroom. At sea he spends all his hours on the bridgeor in the charthouse, and is only seen below for odd ten minutes at atime. In harbour, however, he has his meals in the wardroom with theother officers, but spends no small portion of his day at hiswriting-table in his cabin answering official conundrums as to why, forinstance, two tablespoons and a napkin have been "lost overboard byaccident in heavy weather" in the middle of a notoriously fine summer. He also grinds out official letters and reports by the sweat of hisbrow, and is gradually becoming a pastmaster in the art of "having thehonour to be" somebody else's "obedient servant. "

Living in the wardroom and knowing all the members of the ship'scompany by name brings him into very intimate touch with the men andtheir affairs. He knows of everything that goes on on board, and asmost of the official correspondence of the ship is done by him he is avery busy man even in harbour. At one time he also had to write andthank those good-hearted people who sent mufflers, mittens, cigarettes, balaclava helmets, and peppermints to the "dear sailors. "

Next comes the engineer-lieutenant-commander, or the "chief, " as wecall him. He, too, has his hands full, for besides being in charge ofthe turbines, boilers, and all the machinery on board, he is alsoresponsible for practically all the stores except provisions. Theyrange in variety from what his store books call prenolphthaline, solution of; cans, iron, tinned, 4 galls. ; bits, brace, carpenter's, centre, 1 1/4 inches; to flags, hand, nainsook, white, with dark bluestripe, 2 ft. By 2 ft. ; watches, stop; bolts, steel, screwed, bright, hexagonal-headed, 1 in. By 2 in. ; sealing wax, foolscap, paperfasteners, and pencils; and paint, green, Brunswick, middling, whateverthat may be. This is just a small selection of the articles he keepsand has to account for at stocktaking, and if you turned out hisvarious storerooms you would find he had sufficient articles to set upa combined ironmongery, ship chandlery, and stationery emporium. 

Occasionally he also is bothered with conundrums. For instance, thenaval store officer at one of the dockyard ports has a cheerful habitof forwarding a communication to the effect that "brushes, paint, threein number, and broomsticks, bundle of, one, demanded" on such and sucha date "are in No. 8 store awaiting removal. Kindly send for them assoon as possible, or if ship has sailed kindly say where these articlesshould be sent. " The ship always has sailed, and by the time theletter is received is usually hundreds of miles away in Scotland, Ireland, or Timbuctoo. Moreover, as the censorship regulationsstrictly forbid the ship's location to be mentioned, the chief curses. 

His dilemma rather reminds us of the young and giddy naval officer who, after a riotous night in London forgot whether he had been appointed toH. M. S. Chatham at Dublin or H. M. S. Dublin at Chatham!

Then we have the first lieutenant, the executive officer of the shipand the skipper's right-hand man. He is the go-between betwixtofficers and men, is responsible for the ship's interior economy, cleanliness, and organisation, and has to be pretty shrewd andlevelheaded. Energetic as well, for though a destroyer is a smallvessel and carries under a hundred men all told, there is alwayssomething going on. In addition to his other duties, too, he takesturns in keeping watch at sea with the sub-lieutenant and gunner. 

Next the sub-lieutenant. He is the veteran of our little party so faras this war is concerned, for before he came to us he was in abattleship in the Dardanelles. He is now the custodian of the charts, and has to keep them up to date, no easy matter in these strenuoustimes of Hun minefields. He also runs the ship's football team, whichgoes ashore and disports itself in green jerseys whenever it gets theopportunity. This, in itself, entails some work and an infinite amountof tact, particularly as fully half the ship's company wish to play. 

Next the gunner (T), responsible for the torpedo armament, electricalfittings, and the actual mechanism and mountings of the guns. He is avery busy man, for his torpedoes, like children, always seem to havesomething the matter with their insides. 

Then comes the surgeon probationer. He is not a fully qualifiedmedical man, but a student from one of the large London hospitalstemporarily enrolled in the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve. He giveshygiene lectures to the ship's company, attends to their cuts, contusions, and minor ailments, and packs them off to hospital or tothe mother ship if necessary. After an action he would be more usefulstill. 

Lastly the "Snotty" of the Royal Naval Reserve, who does odd jobs ofall kinds and generally assists the first lieutenant and the sub. 

"Cuthbert, " our dog, is a Sealyham terrier. He lives either in thewardroom or the skipper's cabin. He has bad dreams sometimes, andmakes strange noises in his sleep, but is the only member of ourcommunity who is really cheerful in bad weather, and is always readyfor his food. 

"Bo, " or "Hobo, " to give him his full name--somebody was reading JackLondon's "The Road" when he came aboard as a tiny kitten--is ablack-and-white tom-cat of plebeian origin. He is an honorary memberof our mess and occasionally pays us visits at meal-times, and afternourishment sometimes condescends to occupy the armchair in front ofthe stove. He is very friendly with Cuthbert. 

The first steward we had was an ex-valet. He suffered from a swollenhead and what he was pleased to call a "college education. " He mayhave been an excellent valet, but was no earthly good as the steward ofa destroyer, and soon departed. His sins would fill a book. He usedour expensive damask table napkins as dish cloths, involving us inendless complications with the Victualling Yard authorities, whoobjected to their being used for such a purpose. He produced cold ham, biscuits, and pickles for breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner. Excellentin their way, no doubt, but rather monotonous in the depths of winter. On one occasion he skinned a pheasant to save himself the trouble ofplucking it--we will draw a veil over what happened. 

The next caterer we had was an able seaman who re-entered the Navy as avolunteer for the war. He, during his time out of the Service, hadbeen a sort of general factotum to some dark-skinned South Americanpotentate. He is a real treasure--the A. B. I mean, not necessarilythe potentate. He feeds us liberally and well, though it is true thathe speedily discovered the virtues of tinned salmon. In fact we don'tknow what he would do without it, and the ubiquitous pig. Sometimes wehave tinned salmon fish cakes and bacon for breakfast, tinned salmonkedgeree, cold ham, and pig brawn for lunch, and roast pork as a jointfor dinner. By rights we should have grown cloven hooves and salmonscales, but we always have a pleasant feeling of repletion after mealsand have no cause for real complaint. 

Our amusements are simple. We talk a great deal of "shop" and argue alot, read a great deal--some of us get through two "seven-pennies" aday--listen to the gramophone, write letters, play with the doctor'sMeccano set, and try to persuade Cuthbert to strafe the cat. 

Our arguments are of the usual naval variety. Positive assertion, followed by flat contradiction and personal abuse, terminating in ababel in which everybody shouts and no one listens. 

Sometimes, before breakfast, we have our early morning "hates, " and arefractious and peevish. We long to strafe someone or something, and if, like the soldiers in the trenches, we had the Huns always with us, wemight vent our spleen on them. But we can't, worse luck!

But please do not imagine that we are unhappy, because we aren't. Ourmouldiness in the mornings is merely temporary. If we could but catcha Hun before breakfast!

BLOODLESS SURGERY

The climb had been a stiff one. The day was very hot, and, ratherpurple about the face and breathing heavily, the sailor relapsed on thespringy, scented turf close to the cliff's edge and gazed pensively atthe vista of shimmering sea spread out before him. 

He was a massive, rotund, bull-necked individual, with a face thecolour of a ripe tomato, and wore on the sleeves of his jumper two redgood conduct badges and the single gun and star of an able seaman, seaman gunner, of His Majesty's Navy. His name was Smith, Idiscovered, and he was home on seven days' leave. I had met himhalfway up the hill ten minutes before, toiling laboriously to thesummit like an asthmatic cart-horse, and with his crimson face shiningand beady with perspiration. A mutual glance and a casual remark aboutthe excessive heat had led to conversation. 

He now sat on the turf mopping his heated countenance with a mottledblue and white handkerchief; but a few minutes later, having recoveredhimself sufficiently to smoke, produced a pipe, tobacco box, andmatches from the interior of his cap. 

"You 'aint got a fill o' 'bacca abart you, I suppose, sir?" he queried, exploring the inner recesses of his brass tobacco box with a hornyforefinger. 

"I'm afraid it's rather weaker stuff than you're used to, " I remarkeddeprecatingly, handing my pouch across. 

"Yus, " he agreed, examining its contents and proceeding to fill hispipe. "It do look a bit like 'ay, don't it? 'Owever, seein' as 'ow Icarn't git no more I'm werry much obliged, sir, I'm sure. "

"It's expensive hay, " I said weakly, as he handed my property back andlit his pipe. "It costs well over ten shillings a pound. "

The ungrateful old sinner puffed out a cloud of smoke. "'Arf aBradbury[1]!" he grunted unsympathetically. "You're jokin', sir. "

I shook my head. 

"But we pays a bob a pound fur 'bacca on board o' the ship, " heexpostulated. "It's something like 'bacca; grips you by the neck, like. "

Evidently the delicate flavour of my best John Cotton did notsufficiently tickle his brazen palate. 

For a moment or two there was silence between us as we watched thegulls screaming and wheeling over some object in the water far beneathus. 

"Well, " I asked, merely to start a conversation, "how d'you like theNavy?"

"Suits me all right, sir, " he said, "seein' as 'ow I've bin in it amatter o' fifteen year. But between you an' me, sir, " he hastened toadd, "it ain't like wot it wus when I fust jined. It's full o'noo-fangled notions an' sichlike. "

"What d'you mean?" I asked in some amazement. 

"Carn't say no more, sir. Afore we wus sent on leaf we wus allcautioned special not to git talkin' abart the Service wi' civvies. "

I suppose I did look rather unlike a member of His Majesty's landforces, for I was wearing plain clothes and had only come out ofhospital four days before, after being wounded for the second time onthe western front. (I am speaking of the fighting line in France, notanatomically. ) I hastened to explain who I was. 

"Sorry I spoke, sir, " he apologised. "I thought you wus one o' these'ere la-de-dah blokes out fur an arrin'. Wot did you say your corpsewus?"

"Corpse! What corpse?"

"Corpse, sir. Rig'mint. "

"Oh, I see. I'm only a doctor, a Lieutenant in the R. A. M. C. I'm onsick leave, and crawled up here to-day to get some fresh air and to . . . Er, meet someone I know. " I looked at my wrist watch and glanced overmy shoulder. 

"Young lady, sir?" he queried in a husky, confidential whisper. 

I nodded. 

"I'm on the same lay meself, " he told me, with a throaty sigh and alovelorn look in his blue eyes. "Expectin' 'er any minit now, seein'as 'ow it's 'er arternoon art. 'Er name's Hamelia, an' I don't come up'ere to look at the perishin' sea, not 'arf I don't. I gits fair sicko' lookin' at it on board o' the ship. "

I was not in the mood for exchanging confidences as to my prospectivematrimonial affairs, and my silence must have said as much. 

"Beggin' your pardon, sir; but seein' as 'ow you're a doctor, I wonderif you 'appens to know our bloke in the _Jackass_?"

"Who, your doctor?"

"Yessir. Tall orficer 'e is, close on six foot 'igh, wi' black 'air, wot jined the Navy special fur the war. Name o' Brown. "

"I'm afraid I don't know him, " I said, puzzling my brains to fit anymedical man of my acquaintance to his very loose description. 

"'E's a fair corker, sir, " my companion grinned. 

"In what way?"

"The way 'e gits 'is leg pulled, sir. "

I scented a story, and as there was still no flutter of a white skirtdown the slope to our right, I desired him to continue. 

"Well, sir, " he started, "it wus like this 'ere. The _Jackass_ is oneo' these 'ere light cruisers, and one mornin' at 'arf parst nine, arterthe fust lootenant, --Number One, as we calls 'im, --arter 'e 'adfinished tellin' off the 'ands for their work arter divisions, thedoctor 'appened to be standin' close alongside 'im, Number One beckonsto the chief buffer. . . "

"I beg your pardon, " I put in, rather mystified. "I'm afraid I don'tknow very much about the Navy. What's a chief buffer?"

"Chief Bos'un's Mate, wot looks arter the upper deck, sir. Name o'Scroggins. Well, sir, Number One sez to 'im, 'Scroggins, ' 'e sez. 'You knows them buoys we was usin' yesterday?'--'Yessir, ' I 'ears thechief buffer say. 'You means them wot we 'ad fur that there boatracin' yesterday?'--'Yes, ' sez Jimmy the One. [2] 'I wants 'em all bledbefore seven bells this mornin'. '--'Aye, aye, sir, ' sez Scroggins, andgoes off to see abart it. "

"Bleed the boys!" I murmured in surprise. "Do you mean to tell me theystill have these archaic methods in the Navy?"

"Course they does, sir, " answered the A. B. "They won't float else. "

"What, in case the ship is torpedoed or sunk by a mine?" I askedinnocently, very perplexed. "I'm a medical man myself; but I neverknew that bleeding people made them more buoyant!"

"If you arsks me these 'ere questions, sir, I carn't spin no yarn, " thesailor interrupted with a twinkle in his eye. "Well, sir, the fustlootenant tells the chief buffer to 'ave the buoys bled, but it so'appens that the doctor 'eard wot 'e said, so up 'e comes. --'Did I 'earyou tellin' the Chief Bos'un's Mate to 'ave the boys bled?' hearsks. --'You did indeed, Sawbones, ' Number One tells 'im. --'But surelythat's my bizness?' sez the doctor. --'Your bizness!' sez Number One, frownin' like. ''Ow in 'ell d'you make that art?'--''Cos I'm themedical orficer o' this 'ere ship. '--'Ah, ' sez Number One, slow likeand grinnin' all over 'is face and tappin' 'is nose. 'You means, doc. , that I've no right to order the boys to be bled, wot?'--'That's just'xactly wot I does mean, ' sez the doctor, gittin' a bit rattled like. "

"I quite agree with him, " I put in. "The First Lieutenant had nobusiness at all to order the boys to be bled. Besides, bleeding ishopelessly. . . "

"Is it me wot's spinnin' this 'ere yarn or is it you, sir?" interruptedthe narrator. "'Cos if it's me, I loses the thread o' wot I'm sayin'if you gits arskin' questions. "

"I'm sorry, " I sighed. "Please go on. "

"Well, sir, Number One and the doctor 'as a reg'lar hargument andbargin' match on the quarterdeck, though I see'd Number One wus larfin'to 'isself the 'ole time. The doctor sez to 'im as 'ow they'd bestrefer the matter to the skipper; but the fust lootenant sez they carn'tdo that 'cos the skipper's attendin' a court-martial and won't be backtill the arternoon. Then the doc. Wants to know if Number One'll give'im an order in writin' to bleed the boys; but Number One larfs and sez'e won't be such a fool, and sez that in 'is opinion the buoys shouldbe bled. The doctor then sez the boys don't want bleedin', and arsksNumber One if 'e's prepared to haccept 'is advice as a medical orficer. The fust lootenant sez of course 'e will, and sez as 'ow 'e'll arrangeto 'ave all the buoys mustered in the sick bay at six bells, and thatthey needn't be bled if the doctor sez they don't want it. "

"It wus all I could do to stop meself larfin', 'specially when NumberOne sings art fur the chief buffer. 'Scroggins, ' 'e sez, ''ave all o'them there buoys wot I wus talkin' abart in the sick bay by eleveno'clock punctual. '--Scroggins seems a bit startled. 'In the sick bay, sir?' 'e arsks. --'Yus, ' sez Number One, grinnin' to 'isself and winkin'at the chief buffer. 'In the sick bay by six bells sharp. '--'Werrygood, sir, ' sez Scroggins, tumblin' to wot wus up, 'cos 'e saw thedoctor standin' there. I 'eard all o' wot 'appened, and I tells all mypals. The chief buffer does the same, and so does Number One, so atsix bells, when the sick bay stooard 'ad bin sent by Jimmy the One totell the doctor as 'ow the buoys wus ready for bleedin', almost all theorficers and abart 'arf the ship's company 'ad mustered artside thesick bay under the fo'c'sle to see wot 'appened. 

"Presently the doctor comes along, sees the crowd, but goes insidewithout sayin' nothin'. But soon we 'ears 'im lettin' go at the sickbay stooard inside. 'Wot the devil's the meanin' o' this?' 'e wants toknow. --'Fust lootenant's orders, sir, ' sez the stooard. --'Fustlootenant be damned, ' the doctor sings art. 'I'll report 'im to thecaptain. S'welp me, I will!'--And wi' that 'e comes artside werryrattled and walks aft without sayin' a word to no one. I feels a bitsorry for 'im, sir, " the story teller went on, "'cos Number One 'ad binpullin' 'is leg agen. "

"Pulling his leg?" I echoed. 

"Yes, sir, " said the seaman, bursting with merriment. "'Cos the sickbay, and it weren't none too large, was all but filled up wi' six 'eftygreat casks, wi' flagstaffs and sinkers complete. They wus the buoysNumber One 'ad bin talkin' abart all along. "

I could not help laughing. 

"I see, " I said. "The First Lieutenant meant BUOYS and the doctor theship's BOYS, what?"

He nodded. 

"But tell me, " I asked. "What about the bleeding?"

"Bleedin', sir! Why, d'you mean to tell me you don't know wot bleedin'a buoy is?"

"I'm afraid my nautical knowledge is very limited, " I apologised. 

"It's surprisin' wot some shoregoin' blokes don't know abart th' Navy, sir, " said the burly one with some contempt, chuckling away to himself. "But if you reely wants to know, bleedin' a buoy means borin' a small'ole in 'im to let the water art, 'cos they all leaks a bit arterthey've bin in the sea. But I must say good arternoon, sir, " he addedhurriedly, glancing over his shoulder and rising to his feet. "'Ere'smy gal comin', and there's another abart 'arf a cable astern of 'er wotI expec's is yourn. Good arternoon, sir, and don't git stoppin' nomore o' them there bullets. " He touched his forelock. 

"But tell me?" I said. "Did the first lieutenant and doctor make it upall right?"

"Bet your life they did, sir, " he said with a laugh, moving off. "Themhaffairs wus almost o' daily hoccurrence. "

"Good luck to you, " I called out after him, "and thank you for a mostinstructive twenty minutes!"

He looked back over his shoulder; his bright red face broadened into ahuge smile, and he deliberately winked twice. 

I had to hurry away, for already the sailor nearly had his arm roundhis housemaid's waist, while my Anne, at least half an hour late, waspanting wearily towards where I stood. 

"Who is your sailor friend?" was her first question. 

"Ananias the Second, " I answered, for at the back of my mind I had avague suspicion that the first lieutenant of the _Jackass_ was not theonly member of her ship's company who delighted in pulling people'slegs. 

[1] A "Bradbury" is one of the new £1 notes. So called from thesignature at the bottom. 

[2] "Jimmy the One, " a lower-deck nickname for the First Lieutenant. 

"BUNTING"

He was a short, thick-set, ruddy-faced, shrewd-eyed little person, whowore on the left sleeve of his blue jumper two good-conduct badges andthe single anchor denoting his "Leading" rate, and on his right thecrossed flags denoting his calling, together with a star above andbelow which signified that he was something of an expert at his job. In short, he was a Leading Signalman of His Majesty's Navy. His name Ineed not mention. To his friends he sometimes answered to "Nutty, " butmore often to "Buntin'. "

It was always a mystery to me why he had not come to wear the crossedanchors and crown of a Yeoman of Signals, for his qualificationscertainly seemed to fit him for promotion to petty-officer's rank, while his habits and character in the last ship in which I knew himwere all that could be desired. 

It was on board a destroyer that I came to know him really well, andhere his work was onerous and responsible. He had his mate, a callowyouth who was usually sea-sick in bad weather, and at sea they took 4hours' turn and turn about on the bridge, each keeping 12 hours' watchout of the twenty-four. But the elder man always seemed to be withinsight and hearing, even in his watch below; and the moment anythingunusual happened, the moment flags started flapping in the breeze, semaphores started to talk, the younger man became rattled andhelpless, and things generally started to go wrong, all at the samemoment, "Nutty" came clambering up the ladder to the assistance of hisbewildered colleague. 

"Call yerself a signalman!" he would growl ferociously. "Give us theglass, an' look sharp an' 'oist the answerin' pendant. You ain't fitto be trusted up 'ere!"

It is to be feared that the youthful one sometimes found his life amisery and a burden, for his mentor was a strict disciplinarian and didnot hesitate to bully and goad him into a state of proper activity. But the youngster needed it badly. 

"Nutty" seemed to be blessed with the eyes of a lynx, the dexterity ofa conjurer, and the tentacles of a decapod. He invariably saw afloating mine, a buoy, or a lightship long before the man whose properwork it was to see it, and at sea, with a telescope to his eye, I oftensaw him apparently taking in two signals from opposite points of thecompass at one and the same moment, with the ship rolling heavily andsheets of spray flying over the bridge. 

Somewhere at Portsmouth he had a wife and two children, whom he saw, ifhe was lucky, for perhaps seven days every six months. Of his domesticaffairs I knew little; but, judging from his letters, which werefrequent and voluminous and had to pass through the hands of the ship'scensor, he was devoted to his wife and family. I hope they loved him. 

Why he was not a Yeoman of Signals I never discovered. Perhaps he hada lurid past. But conjecture is useless. Promotion now would come toolate to be of any use to him. 

 * * * * *

"Butter, Monkey, Nuts, " he rattled off as a light cruiser two milesaway suddenly wreathed herself in flags. "Zebra, Charlie, Fanny--Ethel, Donkey, Tommy--Ginger, Percy, Lizzie---- Got that, Bill?"

An Able Seaman, busy with a pencil and a signal pad, signified that hehad. 

"'Arf a mo', though, " resumed the expert, re-levelling his telescope. "I ain't quite certain about that first 'oist. Why on earth they can't'oist the things clear I dunno!" he grumbled bitterly, for some of thedistant flags, as is often the case when the wind is light anduncertain, had coyly wrapped themselves round the halliards and refusedto be seen. 

Someone on the bridge of the distant cruiser might almost have heardhis remark, for as he spoke the halliards began agitatedly to jerk upand down to allow the bunting to flutter clear. 

"Ah!" he murmured. "Now we'll get 'em. . . . Lord!" in a piercingundertone as some misguided humorist in the cruiser's stokeholdinconsiderately allowed a puff of black smoke to issue forth from theforemost funnel, completely to obliterate the strings of flags. 

The Leading Signalman, not being a thought reader as well as aconjurer, put down his telescope with a grunt until the pall clearedaway. "In the first 'oist, " he said when the atmosphere had cleared, "in the first 'oist, 'stead o' Fanny put 'Arry. ' 'H' for 'Arry. "

The A. B. Sucked his pencil and acquiesced, while his friend, darting tothe after side of the small bridge, hoisted the white and red"Answering Pendant" to show that the signal had been seen and read. Hethen handed the pad across, on which, in large sprawling capitalletters, he had laboriously traced "BMN--ZCF--EDT--GPL. "

The "Butter, Monkey, Nuts" business, incomprehensible and startling asit might have been to any outsider, merely emphasised the difference insound between various letters. B, C, D, E, P, and T; J and K; M and N, among others, are very much alike when pronounced by themselves; but"butter" could not well be mistaken for "Charlie, " neither could"monkey" be confounded with "nuts. "

The Leading Signalman looked out the meaning of the different groups ofletters in the book provided for the purpose and showed the result tohis commanding officer. Its purport was comparatively unimportant, something about oil-fuel on arrival in harbour. 

 * * * * *

But finding out the meaning of those flag signals which he did not knowby heart--and he knew most of them--was only a tithe of his duty. Hewas equally expert at taking in a message spelt out by the whirlingarms of a semaphore, arms which waved so rapidly, and whose giddygyrations were so often well-nigh invisible against a bad background, that his performance savoured of the miraculous. At night, too, he wasjust as good, for then the frenzied winking of a dim light would conveyits meaning just the same. It was a point of honour with him always toget a signal correctly the first time it was made. I never saw him askfor a repetition. 

Only twice did I know him to laugh on the bridge, and the first timethat occurred was when, through a series of circumstances which neednot be entered into here, we nearly came into contact with the nextahead. Such things do happen. 

Then it was that the next ahead--he was several years senior to us anda humorist--turned in his wrath and quoted the Bible. "Yourattention, " his semaphore said, "is drawn to the Gospel according toSt. Matthew, chapter 16, verse 23. "

We sent for the Bible, looked up the reference, and read: "But heturned, and said unto Peter, Get thee behind me, Satan: thou art anoffence unto me: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, butthose that be of men. "

The quotation was apt and the Leading Signalman's eyes twinkled. ThenI noticed his mouth expanding into a grin, and presently he laughed, ashort, explosive sort of laugh rather like the bark of a dog. 

But we had our revenge a week later, when our next ahead--he was ourfriend as well as our senior--nearly collided with a buoy at theentrance to a certain harbour. 

"What about the Book of Proverbs?" our semaphore asked. "Chapter 22, verse 28. "

"Remove not the ancient landmark, which thy fathers have set, " he musthave read. I cannot remember the reply, but the Leading Signalman hadlaughed once more. 

 * * * * *

But "Bunting" will never smile again. He went down with his ship onMay 31, 1916. The North Sea is his grave and the curling whitecap histombstone. His epitaph may be written across the sky in a trail ofsmoke from some passing steamer. 

THE LOST SHEEP

The glass had gone down with a thump during the afternoon, and allthrough the night the destroyer had been steaming home against arapidly rising gale. 

Of how she came to be alone and parted from her flotilla the less saidthe better. It was due to a variety of circumstances, among them beinga blinding rain squall after dark the evening before, in which theofficer of the watch was unable to see more than twenty yards, and sometemporary trouble with an air pump which necessitated stopping to putit right. 

The sea, as is usual with the wind from the south-west, had risen fast, and by midnight it was heavy and steep, while the little ship, punchingagainst it, had pitched, rolled, thumped and thudded as only adestroyer can. The motion was dizzy and maddening--a combined pitchand heavy roll which was the very acme of discomfort. Sometimes thebows fell into the heart of an advancing, white-topped hillock of greywater with a sickening downward plunge, and the breaking sea camesurging and crashing over the forecastle to dash itself against thechart-house and bridge with a shock which made the whole ship quiverand tremble. Then, with

[Transcriber's note: pages 41 and 42 missing from source book. ]

edged volumes with unerring accuracy on to his long-suffering head. 

The only person who really did not mind the motion at all was thewireless operator in his little cubby-bole abaft the chart-house. He, with a pair of telephone receivers clipped on over his ears ready tocatch stray snatches of conversation from invisible ships and distantshore stations, sat enthroned in a chair bolted to the deck. His denwas hermetically sealed to keep out the water. The smell and the heatwere indescribable; but he was reading a week-old periodical with everysymptom of enjoyment and calmly smoked a foul and very wheezy pipefilled with the strongest and most evil-smelling ship's tobacco. But"Buzzer, " as he was known to his friends, had the constitution of an oxand an interior like the exterior of an armadillo. He could standanything. 

 * * * * *

An oil-skinned apparition, dripping with wet, appeared at thechart-house door. "The orficer of the watch says it's daylight, sir, "it reported. "There's nothin' in sight, but 'e thinks as 'ow the sea'sgoin' down a bit. "

The skipper, who had actually been asleep for forty consecutiveminutes, sat up with a grunt, rubbed his eyes, and yawned. Then, inthe dull grey light of the dawn, he surveyed the unsavoury mixture onthe floor with his nose wrinkled and an expression of intense disguston his face. But the sight of the broken cup reminded him ofsomething, and reaching his hand underneath the cushion he extracted avacuum flask, applied it to his lips, and swallowed what remained ofthe cocoa inside it. He was hungry, poor wight, for his dinner thenight before had consisted of two corned-beef sandwiches and a biscuit. Next, with a little sigh of satisfaction, he produced a pipe, tobacco, and matches from an inner pocket and lit up, examined the chart withthe ship's track marked upon it, and glanced at the aneroid on thebulkhead and noticed it was rising slowly. 

Two minutes later, with his pipe bowl carefully inverted, he clamberedup the iron ladder to the bridge. 

"Hail, smiling morn!" he remarked sarcastically, ducking his head as asheet of spray came driving over the forecastle and across the bridge. "Well, 'Sub, ' how goes it?"

"Pretty rotten, sir, " answered the sub-lieutenant, whose watch it was. "The wind shows no signs of going down, but I think the sea's a littleless than it was. We're not bumping quite so badly as we were. "

 * * * * *

The motion certainly was less violent, and after looking for a momentat the angry sea and the grey, cloud-wrapped sky streaked with itswisps of flying white scud, the skipper nodded slowly. "You're right, "he said. "It has gone down a bit. We're beginning to feel the lee ofthe land. Work her up gradually to twelve knots and see how she takesit. "

The "Sub" did so, and though the increase in speed brought heavierspray and more of it, the movement of the ship no longer synchronisedwith the period of the waves, and she became steadier. 

Before long the sea had gone down even more and the speed was increasedto twenty knots. Then, on the grey horizon ahead, appeared the smokeof many steamers, and a quarter of an hour later the destroyer wasthreading her way through a sea-lane so densely populated with shippingthat it reminded one of dodging the traffic in Piccadilly. 

The next thing which hove in sight was a red-painted lightship, andhalf an hour later the destroyer, her funnels white with dried salt, was steaming into the harbour where the remainder of the flotilla werelying. They, having escaped the really bad weather, had arrived theevening before, and one of them made a facetious signal to this effectas the destroyer secured to the tank steamer to replenish her supply ofoil-fuel. 

The lost sheep had returned to its fold. 

A NAVAL MENAGERIE

Denis was a pig, a very special sort of pig, a pig of German origin, and perhaps the only animal of his species in whose favour a specialdispensation was made by the Board of Agriculture. He originallybelonged to the German light cruiser _Dresden_, and, after thedestruction of that vessel at Juan Fernandez by the _Kent_, _Glasgow_, and _Orama_, was seen swimming about in the water close to the_Glasgow_. A blue-jacket promptly jumped overboard and rescued himfrom a watery grave, and Denis, instead of being converted into pork orsausages, became a prisoner of war and a pet. He did not seem theleast dismayed by his change of nationality, and, being an adaptablecreature of robust constitution, throve on a miscellaneous andindiscriminate diet of ships' provisions, eked out by tobacco, cigarette ends, and coal. Moreover, within a month, so historyrelates, he was quite accustomed to sleeping in a hammock, where hesnored exactly like a human being. 

But the regulations as to the importation of animals into Great Britainare necessarily stringent, and on the _Glasgow's_ arrival in homewaters there were complications as to the disposal of Denis. He couldnot be landed in the ordinary way, but eventually, after somecorrespondence, the Board of Agriculture solved the momentous questionby giving special permission for him to be put ashore at Whale Island, the naval gunnery school in Portsmouth harbour. There, so far as Iknow, he still remains as a naturalised Briton. 

But a pig is by no means the strangest animal which has made its homeon board a man-of-war. In a small gunboat in China some years ago theship's company acquired a so-called tame alligator. Algernon, as theychristened him, came on board as a youngster a few weeks old and aboutfour feet long, and soon developed a habit of appearing when the deckswere being scrubbed in the mornings, when he revelled in having thehose played upon him and in having his scaly back well scrubbed with ahard broom. He devoured a tame rabbit and two cats, but the crux camewhen he taught himself a trick of waiting until some unsuspectingperson had his back turned, of making a sudden rush at his victim andcapsizing him with a well-placed whisk of his horny tail, and thenrunning in with a good-humoured smile and a ferocious snapping andgnashing of his yellow teeth. It was all very funny, but so manyinnocent persons were wrought almost to the verge of nervousprostration by Algernon's ideas of sport, that at last the fiat wentforth that he must die. He was shot at dawn, and, less lucky thanDenis, reached England in a stuffed and rather moth-eaten condition. 

Goats are comparatively common as pets in the Navy, but the goat of allthe goats was a white creature rejoicing in the unromantic name ofWilliam who lived on board a cruiser. His staple articles of foodseemed to consist of tobacco, cigarettes, stray rope-yarns, bristles ofbrooms, and odds and ends of old canvas, while he was not averse tolicking the galvanised compound off the newly painted quarter-deckstanchions whenever an opportunity of doing so presented itself. Hewas a healthy goat of voracious appetite. His gastric juices wouldhave dissolved a marline-spike, and he even made short work of thegreater portion of a pair of ammunition boots belonging to theSergeant-Major of Royal Marines, and devoured with every symptom ofrelish a sheaf of official and highly important documents lying on thewriting-table in the navigator's cabin. 

William, in spite of his varied diet, always looked well-nourished andin the rudest of health, and on Sundays was wont to appear at divisionswith his hair and beard parted in the middle, wearing an elaboratebrass collar, and with gilded horns and hooves. He had charmingmanners, and even condescended to drink an occasional glass of sherryin the wardroom on guest nights. Of his ultimate fate I have noknowledge, but, with the very miscellaneous contents of his interior, he would have provided a most interesting subject for a _post-mortem_examination. 

Several ships have had bears as pets, but one in particular, which wasthe mascot of a cruiser on the Mediterranean station, was a bear with apronounced sense of humour. On one occasion it so happened that thevessel to which he belonged was lying alongside the mole at Gibraltar, while another cruiser, fresh from England, was made fast just astern ofher. It was Sunday afternoon, and all hands and the cook, except thoseon duty, followed the usual custom of the Service by selecting sunnyspots on deck and then composing themselves to peaceful slumber. Atabout 2. 30 p. M. Master Bruin, freeing himself from his chain, landed, ambled along the jetty, and approached the newly arrived vessel on atour of investigation. The sentry, not liking the look of the animal, found something important to do at the other end of his beat, while thebear proceeding on board unmolested, frightened nearly out of his witsa burly petty officer doing duty as quartermaster, and then followed uphis moral victory by chasing him round and round the upper deck. Thepetty officer, a well covered man, nearly dropped from heat andexhaustion, but just managed to barricade himself in the galley beforebeing overtaken and fondly hugged. The sleepers, meanwhile, hearingunusual sounds of revelry, woke up to see a wild-looking animal seekinganother victim, and thinking that Bostock's menagerie had broken loose, rose from their couches and stampeded for the mess-deck. 

The bear then waddled aft in search of further recreation, and seeingthe curtained doorway of one of the upper deck cabins, promptly elbowedhis way in. Inside was an officer fast asleep on the bunk, who, hearing the sound of heavy breathing, opened his eyes to see the shaggybulk of his huge visitor interposed between him and the doorway. For amoment he was non-plussed, and, keeping quite still, endeavoured tomesmerise the animal by looking him full in the eyes. But theferocious look on the bear's face, a pair of fierce twinkling eyes, anopen mouth with its rows of sharp teeth, and a long red tongue drippingwith saliva, warned him that mere mesmerism would be useless if he wereto avoid a tussle. There was only one other exit besides the door, sowithout further ado he sprang for . . . The open scuttle. He wormed hisway successfully through the small orifice with some loss of dignityand greatly to the detriment of his Sunday trousers, flopped gracefullyinto the water with a splash, and, swimming to the gangway, clamberedback on board again. Then, rushing to his cabin, he slammed the doorand imprisoned his unwelcome visitor inside. 

Next, seeking out the sentry, he desired him to eject the intruder. But the marine, a wise man, firmly but politely intimated that he hadjoined his corps to fight the King's enemies, not bears of unknownorigin and ferocious aspect, and added that the only conditions onwhich he would undertake the job was with the assistance of his rifle, a fixed bayonet, and some ball ammunition. The bear, meanwhile, lockedin the cabin, was thoroughly enjoying himself in clawing and tearing toribbons everything within reach, and by the time his breathless keeperfrom the other ship arrived upon the scene to conduct his charge homein disgrace, the cabin was in a state of utter desolation. A bull in achina shop is nothing to an unwieldy brute of a bear in a smallapartment measuring ten feet by eight. All's well that ends well, butthe officer's best trousers were completely ruined, and he himselfnever heard the end of his Sabbath afternoon adventure. The bearreceived six strokes with a cane for his share in the proceedings. 

The last escapade of his that I heard of was when he hugged and removedmost of the clothes from a low class Spanish workman from the dockyardat Gibraltar. The man had baited him, eventually releasing theterrified, half-naked wretch, and chasing him at full speed for nearlyhalf a mile. A crowd of excited, laughing blue-jackets went in pursuitof the bear, but the faster they ran, the faster went the animal andhis quarry. Bruin enjoyed it hugely. Not so the Spanish workman. 

Dogs and cats are as common in the Navy as they are elsewhere, and itis surprising how soon they become accustomed to naval routine. Thecats never go ashore unless their ship happens to be lying alongside adockyard wall, when they usually desert _en bloc_ and attach themselvesto some other ship, a fresh detachment coming on board in their stead. The dogs are more faithful, and their wisdom becomes positivelyuncanny, for always at the routine times for boats going ashore theywill be found waiting ready at the top of the gangway. 

"Ginger" was an Irish terrier of plebeian origin belonging to abattleship. He invariably landed in the postman's boat at 6. 45 a. M. , and once ashore went off on his own business. Nobody ever took thetrouble to discover what he did, but punctually at eight o'clock heused to reappear at the landing place and return to the ship in theboat which took off the married officers. On one occasion, however, hewas badly sold, for though the postman landed at the usual time, theship sailed at 7. 30 to carry out target practice. Half an hour later, therefore, there was no boat for Ginger, and his ship was a mere speckon the horizon; but nothing daunted, the wise hound proceeded to theSailors' Home and spent the day there. He was discovered the sameafternoon when the ship returned into harbour, and his admirers alwaysaverred that his temporary absence was the result of a carefullythought out plan to avoid the sounds of gunfire, which he detested. 

There must be many officers and men in the Navy who remember "NorthCorner Bob, " another red-haired Irish terrier, who used to frequent thelanding place at North Corner in Portsmouth dockyard. He was not alarge dog, as terriers go, but was a ferocious creature of wild andbedraggled appearance, who seemed to regard North Corner as his ownespecial domain. He fought every other animal who dared to venturenear the place, and many a naval dog bore the marks of Bob's teeth tohis dying day. 

He even boarded strange ships lying alongside and carried on hiscampaign of frightfulness there. In fact he terrorised all the dogs inPortsmouth dockyard, including two spaniels belonging to the AdmiralSuperintendent. But an officer in a certain ship whose wire-hairedterrier Cuthbert had been badly beaten by Bob some days before, conceived a brilliant idea for having his revenge. Early one morning, at Bob's usual time for passing by the ship on his way to North Corner, Cuthbert, wearing a brand new muzzle, was taking his morningconstitutional on deck. Bob, punctual to the minute, came trotting byin his usual don't-care-a-damn-for-anyone manner, but the sight ofCuthbert putting on an equal amount of side on board his own ship wastoo much for him, and rushing up the brow connecting the ship with theshore he came on board licking his lips in joyful anticipation and thelust of battle shining in his eye. 

Cuthbert, a naturally good-natured dog, hurried forward to meet him, but Bob, spurning his friendly advances, circled round on tip-toe, withhis teeth bared and hair bristling. Cuthbert, seeing that a fight wasinevitable, adopted similar tactics, and for some moments the twoanimals padded softly round and round nosing each other and preparingto spring in to the attack. Then, quite suddenly and for no apparentreason, there came a shrill yelp of pain from Bob, and before anyonerealised what had happened his tail went down, he rushed madly over thegangway, and shot along the jetty like a flash of greased lightning. 

"What the devil's the matter with him?" queried the officer of thewatch, staring in amazement after the rapidly disappearing figure ofthe well-known fighter. 

"Matter!" spluttered Cuthbert's owner, weak with laughter. "Lord!I've never seen anything like it! Did you see the way he skipped?"

"Did I not!" answered the O. O. W. , laughing himself. "But what on earthmade him streak off like that?"

"Come here, Cuthbert, " said his master. 

The dog came forward, wagging his tail, and had his muzzle removed. 

"D'you see that?" asked his owner, pointing to the end of it. 'That'was a long and very sharp-pointed pin firmly soldered to the businessend of Cuthbert's headgear. 

North Corner Bob never visited that particular ship again. 

THE "MUCKLE FLUGGA" HUSSARS

She was a member of that gallant and distinguished corps after whichthis article is named. You will not find her regiment mentioned in anyBritish Army List, nor, so far as I am aware, and for all the foreignsound of it, in the Army List of His Imperial Majesty the Czar of Allthe Russias. The name does not appear in any Army List at all, for theHussars to which she belonged are a sea regiment, pure and simple. 

Her uniform of dull grey, with no facings or trimmings of any sort ordescription, was strictly in keeping with her surroundings, for herfavourite habitat was anywhere in the wild waste of waters lyingbetween Greenland, the North Cape, the Naze, and the Orkneys. 

Some people with a libellous sense of humour referred to her as amember of "Harry Tate's Own, " while others, most unkindly, said shebelonged to the "Ragtime Navy. " But she did not seem to mind. Sheknew in her heart of hearts that her work was of paramount importance, and, complacent in the knowledge, smiled sweetly as a well-conductedlady should when jibes and insults are hurled at her long-sufferinghead. 

She had a great deal to put up with in one way and another. Thanks toher enormous fuel capacity she spent a long time at sea and had verybrief spells in harbour. Her work, though important, was always dulland monotonous, while in bad weather it was even worse. She had noprospect of sharing in the excitement of a big sea battle like her morewarlike sisters, though, with them, she ran the chance of encounteringhostile submarines and of having an altercation with an armed raider. But, taking it all round, she had comparatively little to hope for inthe way of honour and glory; she merely had to be at sea for many weeksat a time to prevent money-grabbing neutrals from reaping a richharvest by supplying munitions of war and articles of contraband to animpoverished Hun who could not be trusted to put those commodities toany gentlemanly purpose. 

Muckle Flugga, I believe, is a remote headland in the Shetlands, andshe, a member of the corps called after it, flew the White Ensign ofthe British Navy and was an armed merchant cruiser. 

 * * * * *

Before the war she was a crack passenger liner. On her upper deck, andexpressly designed for the use of potentates and plutocrats, she hadregular suites of apartments. Gorgeous suites they were, furnishedlike the rooms in a mansion ashore. The sleeping cabins had whiteenamelled panels and comfortable brass bedsteads. The day cabins orsitting-rooms, panelled in bird's-eye maple, oak, walnut, or mahogany, had large square windows, regular fireplaces, and were fresh withflowered chintzes, while the tiled bathrooms were fitted with all thedifferent appliances for hot baths, tepid baths, cold baths, needlebaths, shower baths, and douches. One simply turned a handle and thewater came. A telephone in each sitting-room communicated with acentral exchange somewhere deep down in the bowels of the ship, and onecould summon a barber to trim one's hair, a manicure expert to attendto one's hands, a tobacconist with samples of cigars, cigarettes, andtobacco, or the presiding genius of a haberdashery establishment withquite the latest things in shirts, collars, socks, and neckties. Infact, living in one of the expensive suites was exactly like being in alarge and luxurious hotel, except that it was vastly more comfortable. 

Lower down in the ship were the single, double, and treble-berthedcabins for the first and second-class passengers. They, though small, were very comfortable, and were fitted with telephones through whichone could summon a stewardess with a basin or a steward with a whiskyand soda. Down below, too, were the saloons, huge apartments withcarved panels, ornamental pillars, glass-pictured domes, colouredfrescoes, and dozens of small tables. There was also the Louis XIV. Restaurant, if one preferred a simple beefsteak to the more formaldinner, and smoking-rooms, reading-rooms, libraries, drawing-rooms, writing-rooms, not to mention the swimming bath and the children'snursery. 

We can imagine the great liner, spick and span in her spotless paintand gleaming brasswork, steaming through a placid summer sea. Her longpromenade decks would be plastered with deck-chairs filled withrecumbent passengers, some dozing, others smoking and talking. Someenergetic enthusiast would be passing from group to group to collectsufficient people to play deck cricket, quoits, or bull-board, whileyet another, armed with a notebook and a pencil, would be endeavouringto inveigle recalcitrant ladies with strict notions as to the sins ofgambling into taking tickets for a sweepstake on the next day's mileage. 

One would hear the laughter of children as they chased each other roundthe decks, and the sotto-voce remarks of some old gentleman roused fromhis afternoon nap by the sudden impact of a podgy infant of fourtripping heavily over his outstretched feet. 

After dark in some secluded corner one might happen upon a man and agirl. They would be sitting very close together, and behaving. . . Well, as men and maidens sometimes do, to beguile the tedium of voyages atsea. 

Everything would be calm and peaceful. Everybody would be happy, eventhe young gentleman with no prospects travelling second class, whohaving won the sweepstake on the day's run and suddenly finding himself£20 the richer, celebrated his luck with his friends in thesmoking-room. 

 * * * * *

But then the war came and changed everything. 

The Admiralty requisitioned the ship and armed her with guns. Theypainted her a dull grey all over, and tore down all her polishedwoodwork to lessen the chances of fire in action, leaving nothing butthe bare steel walls. Most of the cabins were stripped of theirfurniture and fittings, only enough being left intact to provideaccommodation for the officers. 

The carved woodwork and most of the tables and chairs in the saloonswere taken away, and though the painted frescoes and glass domes stillremained, they were dusty and neglected. 

In one corner of the first-class saloon was the wardroom, a spacepartitioned off by painted canvas screens to provide messingaccommodation for the more senior officers. Opposite to it was thegunroom, a similar enclosure for the juniors. 

They manned her with a crew of between three and four hundred RoyalNavy Reserve men, with a leavening of Royal Navy ratings and a fewMarines. They appointed a Captain R. N. In command and two or threeother naval officers, but by far the greater proportion of officers andcrew belonged to the Reserve, and excellent fellows they were. 

Certain of the men had served on beard in peace-time, and had electedto remain on, but the majority came to her for the first time when shecommissioned as a man-of-war. Some were Scots fishermen, men fromtrawlers and drifters, excellent, hardy creatures used to small craft, bad weather, and boat work. Others, having served their time in theNavy, had taken to some shore employment, and in August 1914 had beenrecalled to their old Service. 

Nearly every imaginable trade was represented. In one of thefirst-class cabins was the barber's shop, presided over by a man who inpre-war days had worked in a hair-cutting establishment not far fromVictoria Station. Next door lived another man who had been abootmaker, and he, bringing all the appurtenances of his trade to seawith him, carried on a roaring business as a "snob. " There was also ahaberdashery emporium kept by a seaman who had been employed in somelinen-draper's shop in his native town, while a professional tailor inblue-jacket's uniform spent all his spare time in making and repairingthe garments of his shipmates. Even the ship's electric laundry wasmanned by folk who were well acquainted with starching and ironing. 

Most of the cooks and stewards had left, but sufficient remained toprovide for the needs of the officers and men. The catering was stillrun by the company to which the vessel belonged, and, as she had roomykitchens and all manner of labour-saving devices in the way of electricdish-washers and potato-peelers, the messing was even better than thaton board a battleship. 

Gone were the troops of laughing children and the passengers. A pileof wicked-looking shell and boxes of cartridges for the guns lay readyto hand in the nursery, while the promenade decks resounded to thetramp of men being initiated into the mysteries of the squad and rifledrill and the work at their guns. 

 * * * * *

They have been at it for two years; two years of strenuous navalroutine and discipline which have transformed the passenger liner intono mean man-of-war. 

THE "PIRATES"

"It is not possible to prevent the occasional appearance of enemysubmarines within the range of our shores, but I can give an assurancethat the measures which have been and will be taken are such as torender proceedings of this sort increasingly dangerous to thesubmarines. "--DR. MACNAMARA, _Financial Secretary to the Admiralty_. 

They looked an orderly little squadron of six as they steamed jauntilyout towards the open sea in single line ahead through the grey-green, tide-ripped waters of the most thickly populated river estuary in theworld. 

They were prosaic, snub-nosed-looking little craft, short and squat, with high, upstanding bows, prominent wheelhouses, and stumpymizzen-masts abaft all. They hailed from many ports and still bore theletters and numbers of their peace-time vocation: F. D. For Fleetwood, G. Y. For Grimsby, B. F. For Banff, and P. D. For Peterhead. They weresteam herring drifters in the ordinary, common, or garden, piping timesof peace; little vessels which went to sea for days on end to pitch, wallow, and roll at the end of a mile or a mile and a half of buoyeddrift-net, in the meshes of which unwary herring, in endeavouring toforce a way through, presently found themselves caught by the gills. 

But now, each one of them flew the tattered, smoke-stained apology fora once White Ensign, and they were men-of-war, very much men-of-war. They had been at the game for nearly twenty-four months, and, throughlong practice, they elbowed their way in and out of the traffic withall the fussy, devil-may-care assertiveness of His Majesty's destroyers. 

Their admiral, a Royal Naval Reserve lieutenant, who, in peaceful 1914, was still the immaculate third officer of a crack Western Oceanpassenger liner, looked out of his wheelhouse windows and surveyed thepotbellied, lumbering cargo carriers steaming by with all the kindlytolerance of the regular man-of-war's man. He, though he did not lookit, for they had been coaling an hour before and he was still grimyabout the face, was the only commissioned officer in the squadron, fleet, flotilla, or whatever you like to call it. All the other craftwere commanded by skippers, ex-peacetime-captains of the fishing craft, who were used to the sea and its vicissitudes, and knew the ins andcuts of their vessels far better than they could tell you. The men, for the greater part, were also fishermen enrolled in the Reserve, withhere and there an ex-naval rating in the shape of a seaman gunner orsignalman. 

They may have lacked polish. They knew little about springing smartlyto attention and nothing whatsoever about the interior economy of a6-inch gun. Their attire was sketchy, to say the least of it. Eventhe admiral wore grey flannel trousers, a once white sweater, andcoloured muffler, and it is to be feared that an officer from abattleship might have referred to them collectively as a "something lotof pirates. " Pirates they may have been, but at the best of times astrict adherence to the uniform regulations is not a fetish of thoseserving on board the vessels of the Auxiliary Patrol. They are, it isperfectly true, granted a sum of money by a paternal Governmentwherewith to purchase their kit, but brass buttons and best serge suitsdo not blend with life on board a herring drifter at sea in allweathers. Sea-boots, oilskins, jerseys, and any old thing in the wayof trousers and headgear are far more fashionable. Indeed, one mayoccasionally happen upon a skipper wearing an ancient bowler hat whenwell out in the North Sea and away from the haunts of senior officerswho might possibly take exception to his battered tile. 

But they all took their job seriously, though, like most sailor folk, light-heartedly. They were inured to the sea and its hardships; manyof them were part owners of their own craft, even the man in the redSalvation Army jersey tittivating the six-pounder gun in the lastlittle ship of the line. 

Exactly how they "strafed" the immoral and ubiquitous Hun submarine itis inexpedient to say. They had their little guns, of course, but werefull of other 'gilguys' evolved for the same laudable purpose during aperiod of nearly two years of war. Moreover, the men were experts intheir use, and that their 'gadgets' often worked to the detriment ofFritz may be deduced from that gentleman's extreme unwillingness to beseen in their vicinity, and a casual inspection of the records of theAuxiliary Patrol probably locked up somewhere in Whitehall. Some daythese records may be made public, and then we shall read of happeningswhich will cause us to hold our breath, and our hair to bristle like anail-brush. Who has not heard the story of the unarmed fishing boatwhich attacked a hostile periscope with nothing more formidable than acoal hammer, or the ex-fisherman who attempted to cloud Fritz's visionwith a tar brush?

Striving to encompass the destruction of the wily submarine is by nomeans a one-sided game. Our small craft generally manage to have acredit balance on their side, but Fritz is no fool, and is not the sortof person to go nosing round an obvious trap, or to walk blindfold intoa snare. Sometimes he mounts larger and heavier guns than hisantagonists, and may come to the surface out of range of their weaponsand bombard them at his leisure. In such cases the hunters may becomethe hunted, and may perchance be 'strafed' themselves. Then there arealways mines, contact with one of which may pulverise an ordinarywooden drifter into mere matchwood. 

The work is fraught with risk. It is every bit as dangerous as that ofthe mine-sweepers, and casualties, both in men and in ships, are simplybound to occur. But little is made of them. A few more names willappear in the Roll of Honour, and in some obscure newspaper paragraphwe may read that "on Thursday last the armed patrol vessel ------ wasblown up by a mine" or was "sunk by gunfire from a hostile submarine, "and that "-- members of her crew escaped in their small boat and landedat ------. " That is all; no details whatsoever, nothing but the barestatement. 

But the game still goes on. 

The men who cheerfully undergo these risks in their anxiety to servetheir country, were not professional fighters before the war: they arenow; but in the palmy days of peace they were fishermen, seamen throughand through, who, year in and year out, fair weather or foul, were atsea in their little craft, reaping the ocean's harvest. Their life wasever a hard and a dangerous one, and the hazards and chances of warhave made it doubly so. 

They have none of the excitement of a fight in the open. Much of theirwork in protecting the coastwise traffic is deadly in its monotony, and, as we have become used to it, has come to be looked upon as amatter of course. 

Their gallant deeds are rarely the subjects of laudatory paragraphs inthe newspapers, and the great majority go unrewarded. Even if we dohappen to meet a man wearing a little strip of blue and white ribbon onhis coat or jumper and ask him why he was decorated, he merely laughs, wags his head, and says ---- nothing. 

It is very unsatisfactory of him. 

A MINOR AFFAIR

 H. M. S. -------- c/o G. P. O. , LONDON. June 30th, 1916. 

MY DEAR DANIEL, You ask me for a more elaborate account of a certain little affairwhich took place some time ago. It was merely an episode of a fewlight cruisers, anything up to a score of destroyers, and someseaplanes; quite a minor and a comparatively unimportant littlebusiness which elicited a brief announcement from the Secretary of theAdmiralty, and must have proved rather a Godsend to those newspaperswhose readers were anxious for naval news in any shape or form. 

They made a certain amount of fuss about it, and the navalcorrespondents were soon hard at work elaborating the simple statementaccording to their usual habit. Indeed, the nautical expert of _Earthand Sea_, with the very best intentions in the world, even went so faras to devote the greater part of a column to the business. It is to behoped that his readers were duly edified; but we, who had taken part inthe affair, were merely rather amused. 

And so, for perhaps a week, and before being banished to the limbo offorgotten and unconsidered trifles, the business was a subject forintermittent conversation and a certain amount of conjecture. Then itwas forgotten, and it is doubtful if it will ever be resurrected in anynaval history of the war. 

We had quite a good passage across the North Sea, and at dawn on theday of the operation we arrived in the vicinity of the Danish coast notfar from the German frontier. The weather was good for the time ofyear. Bitterly cold, of course, besides which there were frequentlow-lying snow flurries which came sweeping down across the sea andmade it barely possible to see more than a quarter of a mile; while ourdecks, except where the heat of the engine and boiler rooms melted thesnow as it fell, were soon covered. But in between the squalls the skywas blue, the sea was flat calm, and there was hardly any wind. Moreover, there was not a sign or a vestige of a Hun anywhere, not evena Zeppelin; nothing in sight except a few Danish fishing craft. 

The seaplanes were soon hoisted out and started off on their job. Theyall seemed to get away without the slightest hitch, and it was a finesight watching them taxi-ing along the calm water to get up speed, andthen rising in the air one by one to disappear in the faint hazetowards the horizon. What they were to do, exactly, I cannot say, butwithin ten minutes they had all disappeared and the squadron steamed toand fro waiting for their return. They were expected back in about anhour. 

The full hour passed, and nothing happened. Another quarter of anhour; but still no signs of the 'planes. On board the ships peoplebegan to get rather anxious, thinking that they had been brought downby the Huns, and everybody with glasses was looking to thesouth-eastward for signs of them. But at last, when they had almostbeen given up, the first one suddenly reappeared in the midst of a snowsquall. He was hoisted in, and within the next ten minutes the wholecovey, except two, had returned. 

How their business had gone off was never divulged. A story did getabout afterwards, --I saw it mentioned in some of the newspapers, --tothe effect that one of them had arrived within two hundred feetimmediately over the object he wanted to drop his bombs on, and thenfound he could not let them go because the releasing gear was cloggedup with frozen snow. Whether or not the yarn is true it is impossibleto say, but imagine the fellow's feelings when, after planing down totwo hundred feet with all the anti-aircraft guns in the place goingfull blast, he found he could not drop a single egg! Poor devil!

The seaplanes that did return were soon hoisted in, but in themeanwhile eight destroyers and a couple of other craft had been sent onto steam down the coast in line abreast to see if by any chance the twomissing ones had come down on the water. We were with this lot, andafter an hour's steaming at 20 knots, by which time the island of Syltwas plainly visible about nine or ten miles dead ahead and no trace ofthe lost sheep had been seen, the search had to be abandoned. 

It was then that the three destroyers to seaward sighted two steamtrawlers some way off to the south-westward. They were flying nocolours so far as we could see, but seemed to be in single line ahead, and as they were going straight for Sylt it was pretty obvious thatthey were mine-sweepers or patrol boats, and not mere fishermen. 

The three outer destroyers, --we happened to be one of them, --promptlyaltered course to cut them off from the coast, and before very long wewere buzzing along at something like 30 knots with an enormous mountainof water piled up in our wake, the water being rather shallow. 

The trawlers, poor chaps, hadn't a dog's chance of getting away or ofdoing anything; but I must say we all admired them for their pluck. They had got into line abreast, and soon, when we were within about5, 000 yards, our leading craft hoisted some signal. We had no time tolook it up in the book, but took it to be a signal asking if they wouldsurrender. But not a bit of it. They were patrol boats, and each ofthem had a small gun, and presently there came a flash and a littlecloud of brown smoke from the nearer one of the two. The shell fellsome distance short. 

We had all held our fire up till then, for it was mere baby killing andwe did not want to do the dirty on them if it could be avoided, but asthey started the game of firing on us, we had no alternative but toreply. The sea round about the nearer craft was soon spouting withshell splashes, and between the fountains of spray and clouds of densesmoke in which she tried to hide herself, we could see the red flashesof some of our shell as they hit and burst, and the spurt of flame fromher own little gun as she fired at us. Only three or four of herprojectiles came anywhere near, while the havoc on board her must havebeen indescribable. It was a hateful business to have to fire at herat all, but what else could we do as she would not surrender?

It was all over very soon. The nearer trawler was almost hidden insmoke, and presently, when we got ahead of her and to windward at arange of about 1, 500 yards, we noticed a white thing fluttering in hermizzen rigging. It was a shirt, as we discovered afterwards, and asignal of surrender, so we ceased firing at once and ran down to her topick up the survivors. 

The further trawler, meanwhile, had been sunk by the destroyer ahead ofus, the crew having abandoned her beforehand in two boats. 

We steamed fairly close to our fellow and lowered a boat, for we couldsee all the survivors standing up with their hands above their heads. The ship herself was in a deplorable state. Shell seemed to have bursteverywhere, and one of the first which struck her had cut a steam pipein the engine-room and had stopped the engines. Clouds of steam werecoming from aft, her upper deck was a shambles, and she was badly holedand on fire. She was still afloat, though sinking fast. 

Our boat went across and brought back those that remained of her crew. There were thirteen of them all told, including the skipper, and of themen one was badly, and four more slightly, wounded. Nine had beenkilled outright. 

Then occurred rather a pleasing incident. Our men, a long time before, were going to do all sorts of desperate things to any Germans they gothold of. They were full of the Lusitania business, bomb dropping fromZeppelins, and the treatment of our prisoners. But when the time camethere was a complete revulsion of feeling. They were kindness itself, and when the prisoners came on board the seamen met the seamen andescorted them forward like honoured guests, while our stokers did thesame for their opposite numbers. 

We took all necessary precautions, of course, but the Germans were verywell behaved and gave us no trouble at all. They were a particularlyfine and intelligent-looking lot of men, and presently, when thewounded had been attended to, our fellows were filling them up withfood and cocoa on the mess-deck. They seemed very pleased to get it, and judging from what one heard afterwards, they had evidently expectedto be manacled, leg-ironed, and fed on biscuit and water. But our mendid the best they could for them; gave them food, clothes, andcigarettes. The Germans were profoundly grateful, but couldn't quiteunderstand it. 

Their skipper, a reserve officer who spoke English like a native, hadserved as an officer in British ships, and seemed a good fellow. Hewas pleased to be congratulated on his plucky fight; but it was ratherpathetic all the same, for he had been cut off practically at his ownfront door. 

"You came upon us so suddenly and so near home, " he said, looking atSylt which was only six or seven miles away. "We had not a chance todo anything. "

He told us that he had been in the wheelhouse of his trawler when theshow started. One of our first shell passed through the glass windowswithin a foot of his head without bursting, and the very next did thedamage in the engine-room. He ran down there to see what could bedone, and this must have saved his life, for while he was away anothershell burst in the wheelhouse and put about twenty holes in hisgreatcoat which was lying on the settee. I saw the coat and the holeswhen he came on board, and noticed it had the ribbon of the Iron Crossand that of some other decoration in the button-hole. He showed me hisIron Cross and was very proud of it, but what he got it for I did notgather. He seemed rather secretive about it. The other decoration, with a red-and-white ribbon, was the "Hamburg Cross, " which is given toall officers and men belonging to the town who get the Iron Cross. Ibelieve the other Hansa towns follow the same custom with their braves. 

One thing about the skipper which struck me favourably was that heseemed very keen on the welfare of his men. The poor fellow who wasbadly wounded had been hit in the back, and three or four pieces ofshell were still inside him. He must have been in terrible agony, butwas very brave and did not utter a sound. An operation was quite outof the question, and as the poor chap was obviously in great pain ourSurgeon-Probationer put him in a hammock on the mess-deck and gave himmorphia. Soon afterwards the skipper asked to be allowed to visit him, and when the Doc. Next went forward he found him swabbing the patient'sbrow with icy cold water to bring him to! The Doc. Was rather peevishabout it. 

But to get on with the story of what happened. The trawler wassinking, but not quite fast enough, so we finished her off with acouple of lyddite shell on the waterline. In the meanwhile, as youprobably know, for it was officially announced at the time, twodestroyers had been in collision. The rammer crumpled her bows up abit, but could still steam, but the ship rammed was rather badlydamaged, and had to be taken in tow. It was in the middle of thisoperation that many hostile seaplanes, stirred up like a wasps' nest byour 'planes earlier in the morning, came out and started droppingbombs. None of them came very close to us, --the bombs, I mean, --but wesaw a string of five fall and explode practically alongside onedestroyer, and heard afterwards that there had been a free fight on herupper deck to secure as trophies the splinters which dropped on board. We were all using our A. -A. Guns, and though we did not actually hitany of them so far as we could see, we made them keep up to a heightfrom which accurate bomb-dropping was an impossibility, so nobody washit. But nevertheless it was unpleasant, for no sooner had they let goone consignment than they went home again, filled up afresh, and cameback for another go. They were bombing us off and on for four or fivehours, so far as I can remember, and we counted seven or eight of theblighters in sight at once, so it was "embarras de richesse" so far astargets went. 

We weren't going very fast, for the damaged destroyer could not betowed at a respectable speed on account of her injuries, and at aboutfive o'clock in the afternoon the glass had gone down a lot, and thewind and sea started to get up from the westward. The prospect was notaltogether joyful. We had heard the two trawlers shouting for help bywireless before we sank them, and knew that the German seaplanes hadprobably seen and reported an injured ship being taken in tow. (Thisafterwards turned out to be the case, though, according to theircommuniqué, the seaplanes claimed to have bagged her with a bomb, whichwas not so. ) Moreover, Heligoland was a bare sixty miles away underour lee, so the chances were £100 to 1/2d. That the Huns would come outduring the night and try to scupper the lot of us. It was with somejoy, then, that we found there was a pretty strong supporting forcewithin easy distance. In fact, we actually sighted them at about 6 p. M. 

The weather grew steadily worse, and by sunset there was a pretty bigsea and a fresh breeze, both of which were increasing every minute. The poor old ship in tow was making very heavy weather of it, whileeven we were pretty lively. But things got worse, for by ten o'clock, and a pitch dark night it was, it was blowing nearly a full gale. Thesea, too, had got up to such an extent that there was nothing for itbut to abandon the damaged destroyer. It was easier said than done, for the sea was too big for lowering boats, and the only otheralternative was for some other craft to go alongside her and to takethe men on. I did not see the business myself, but believe anotherdestroyer put her stem up against the side of the one sinking and keptit there by going slow ahead, while the men hopped out one by one overthe bows. 

It was a most excellent bit of work on the part of the salvor, for withthe two ships rolling, pitching, and grinding in the sea, and in utterdarkness, it required a very good head and cool judgment to know howmuch speed was necessary to keep the bows just touching, and no more. If they had come into violent contact the rescuing ship might have beenvery badly damaged. I believe they had to have several shots at it, before they got every man away, but though two fell overboard injumping across, they pulled it off all right without losing a singlelife. The only damage to the rescuing ship was a little bit of a bulgeon the stem just below the forecastle, but this did not make a leak orimpair her efficiency in any way, and she went about for monthsafterwards without having it straightened. They had every right to beproud of their honourable scar!

The poor old ship which had to be abandoned was then left to her fate, and nobody saw the end of her. 

It must have been at about this time, though we did not see it, thatsome hostile destroyers came upon our light cruisers, or rather, ourcruisers happened upon them. What took place I don't quite know, butthe Huns were apparently sighted quite close, and our leading ship, jamming her helm over and increasing speed, rammed one full in themiddle and cut her in halves. It must have been an awful moment forthe poor wretches, for the stern portion of the destroyer sank oneside, and the bow part went rushing on into the darkness at aboutthirty knots. The men on board her could be heard yelling, but it wasquite impossible to do anything to save them as other enemy destroyerswere in the neighbourhood and the sea was far too bad for loweringboats. 

Nothing else of interest took place during the night, except that theweather got worse and worse. The next morning, when we were steamingagainst it, we were having a terrible doing, and it lasted for abouttwenty-four hours, until we got under the lee of the coast. The seawas one of the worst we had ever experienced, short and very steep, andwe couldn't steam more than about eight knots against it. The motionwas very bad, the ship crashing and bumping about in a most unholymanner, and we were all wet through and rather miserable. No hot food, either, for the galley fire had been put out. 

The prisoner who had been badly wounded died early next morning. TheDoctor said he might have lived if the weather had been good, but themotion finished him, poor fellow. He was buried at sea, the Germanofficer reading the burial service. 

We eventually got back into harbour and disembarked the prisoners, andnever was I more pleased to get a decent meal and a little sleep. AuntMaria, having so many nephews, has just sent me another fountain pen, the third since the war started. Also a pair of crimson socks knittedby her cook. The pen will be useful. 

Do you want any more cigarettes? You never acknowledged the last lot Isent, you ungrateful blighter, and at any rate I think it's high timeyou wrote me a letter. Your last one was a postcard. 

Forgive this letter of mine if it is a bit disconnected, but it's thebest I can do at present. 

Well, the best of luck and may you not stop a Hun bullet or a bit ofshrapnel. 

Yours always, T. 

THE FOG

The _Rapier_ was an old destroyer, one of the 370-ton "thirty-knotters"completed in about 1901. She burnt coal and was driven byreciprocating engines, instead of using oil fuel and being propelled bynew-fangled turbines, while 23 to 24 knots were all she could be reliedupon to travel in the best of weather. She had a low, sharp bow andthe old-fashioned turtle-back forward instead of the high, weatherlyforecastle of the later destroyers, and in anything more than amoderate breeze or a little popple of a sea she was like a half-tiderock in a gale o' wind. In fact, except in the very calmest weather, she was a regular hog, for she rolled, pitched, and wallowed to herheart's content, varying the monotony at odd moments by burying herselfin green seas or deluging herself in masses of spray. 

Her small bridge, with its 12-pounder gun, steering wheel, compass, andengine-room telegraphs, was placed on the top of the turtle-back andabout 25 feet from the bows. It acted as a most excellent breakwaterand took the brunt of the heavier seas, and how often the _Rapier_ cameback into harbour with her bridge rails flattened down and her deckfittings washed overboard, I really do not know. It was a fairlyfrequent occurrence, for war is war, and they kept the little ship outat sea in practically all weathers. 

Even in harbour, when her officers and men were endeavouring to obtaina little well-earned sleep, she sometimes had an exasperating habit ofrolling her rails under and slopping the water over her deck, and thenit was that Langdon, her lieutenant in command, wedged in the bunk inhis little cabin in the stern, and driven nearly frantic by theirregular thump, thump, crash of the loosely hung rudder swinging fromside to side as the ship rolled, rose in his wrath and cursed the dayhe was born. 

But whatever he thought in his heart of hearts, he would not hear a badword against his old _Rapier_ in public. She might be ancient; butthen she had done "a jolly sight more steaming" than any other craft ofher age and class. She might burn coal in her furnaces instead ofoil-fuel, and every ounce of coal had to be shovelled on board from acollier by manual labour, whereas, in an oil-driven destroyer, onesimply went alongside a jetty or an "oiler, " connected up a hose, andwent to bed while a pump did all the work. But Langdon never couldendure "the ghastly stink" of crude petroleum, while coal, thoughdirty, was clean dirt. The _Rapier_ might have old-fashioned engines, but with them one ran no chance of developing that affliction ofturbine craft: water in the casing, the consequent stripping of bladesoff the turbine rotors, and a month or so in a dockyard as a naturalconcomitant. Moreover, everybody knew that destroyers withreciprocating engines were far and away the easiest to handle. 

So, from what Langdon said, though it is true that he may have beenrather prejudiced by the fact that she was his first independentcommand, the fifteen-year-old _Rapier_ was a jewel of fair price. Thepowers that be perhaps did not regard her with such rose-tintedoptimism, but for all that, were evidently of the opinion that she wasstill capable of useful work, and kept her constantly at seaaccordingly. 

Exactly what her function was I had better not say, but she alwaysseemed to be on the spot when things happened, and had assisted at the"strafing" of Hun submarines, and had been under fire a great many moretimes than some of her younger sisters, many of whom were craft atleast three times her size, eight knots more speed, and infinitelybetter armed and more seaworthy. 

So it was not to be imagined that the _Rapier_, ancient though she was, suffered from senile decay. 

 * * * * *

"Curse this weather, " the Lieutenant muttered, wrinkling his eyes in avain endeavour to see through the murk. "We've been forty-eight hourson patrol, and now we're due to go into harbour this beastly fog comesdown and delays us. It IS the limit!"

Pettigrew, the Sub-Lieutenant, agreed. "We shall have to coal when wearrive, " he observed mournfully. "That'll take us two hours, and bythe time we've finished, made fast to the buoy, had our baths, and madeourselves fairly presentable, it'll be two o'clock. I take it we go tosea at the usual time this evening, sir?"

Langdon nodded. "Bet your life!" he said with a sigh. "We shall beoff again at eight p. M. I was looking forward to having a decent lunchashore for once, " he added regretfully, "but now this beastly fog'sgone and put the hat on it. Lord! I'm fed up to the neck with thegrub on board!"

"Tinned salmon fish-cakes for breakfast, " murmured the Sub. "Curriedsalmon for lunch, and tinned rabbit pie for dinner. My sainted aunt!The Ritz and Carlton aren't in it!"

The skipper laughed. 

The fog had come down at dawn, and now, halfway through the forenoon, the weather was still as thick as ever; so thick, indeed, that it wasbarely possible to see more than a hundred yards through the white, cotton-wool-like pall. It was one of those breathless, steamy days inmid-July. The sea was glassily calm, while the sun, a mere molten blotin the haze overhead, whose heat was unmitigated by the least suspicionof a breeze, was still sufficiently powerful to make it mostuncomfortably warm. Altogether the torrid clamminess of theatmosphere, and its distinct earthy flavour, reminded one irresistiblyof the interior of a greenhouse. 

It was the sun who had been guilty of causing the fog at all. His rayshad saturated the earth with warmth the day before, heat which had beengiven off during the cooler hours of darkness in a mass of invisiblevapour. Impelled slowly seaward during the night, the heat wave, ifone can so call it, had eventually come into contact with the colderatmosphere over the water, where, following the invariable law ofnature, it had condensed into an infinite number of tiny particles ofmoisture. These, mingling and coalescing, had formed the dense massesof vapour which hung so impalpably over the dangerous, thicklypopulated sea-areas in the closer vicinity of the coast. Furtherafield, seven or eight miles away from the shore, there was nothing buta haze. More distant still the sun shone undimmed, and there were nosigns of fog at all. 

 * * * * *

Thick weather at sea is always exasperating, and to avoid the chance ofcolliding with something they could not possibly avoid at any greaterspeed, Langdon had been forced to ease to the leisurely speed of eightknots, and eight knots to a T. B. D. , even a relic of the _Rapier's_ age, is just about as irritating as being wedged in a narrow lane in a40-horse power Daimler behind a horse pantechnicon. 

They had a man on the forecastle keeping a lookout. The automaticsounding machine was being used at regular intervals to give them somesort of an idea as to their position by a comparison of the depthsobtained with those shown on the chart, but even then the eccentricityof the tidal currents and, let it be said, the erratic and mostunladylike behaviour of the _Rapier's_ standard compass, madenavigation a matter of some conjecture and a good deal of guesswork. 

Somewhere ahead, veiled in its pall of fog, lay the coast. Ahead, andto the right, was a large area of shoal water, portions of whichuncovered at low tide. It had already proved the graveyard of manyfine ships whose bones still showed when the water fell, and Langdonhad no wish to leave his ship there as an everlasting monument to hismemory, while he, probably court-martialled, and at any rate having"incurred their Lordships' severe displeasure, " left the destroyerservice under a cloud which would never disperse. 

Added to which there was always the chance of a collision, for the seaseemed full of ships. Time and tide wait for no man, and, Hunsubmarines or not, mines or no mines, fog or no fog, merchant vesselsmust run. To-day they seemed to be running in battalions and brigades, judging from the howling, yelping, and snorting of their steam whistleshere, there, and everywhere. 

But the _Rapier_ managed to avoid them somehow, and, shortly beforenoon, having heard the explosive fog signal on the end of thebreakwater, she slid slowly past the lighthouse at the entrance andgroped her way into the harbour. It was still as thick as it possiblycould be, but she found the collier, and, after completing with coal, secured to her buoy. 

Ten minutes later Langdon and the Sub were talking together in thelittle wardroom when there came a knock at the door. 

"Signal just come through, sir, " the signalman announced with a smileon his face. "_Rapier_ will proceed to Portsmouth at daylightto-morrow to refit. She will not be required for patrol to-night. "

The ship was long overdue for the dockyard, but the skipper andPettigrew looked at each other, hardly able to believe their ears. 

"Lord!" muttered the former. "That means a week's leave, Sub. D'yourealise that?"

"Do I not, sir!" answered the Sub-Lieutenant, as the signalman retiredwith a grin. 

THE TRADERS

We were steaming to the westward, towards the spot where the sun, glowing like a disc of molten copper, was slowly nearing the horizon. It had been one of those hot, breathless sort of days with no breeze;and now, near sunset, nothing but an occasional cat's-paw stole gentlyacross the sea to ruffle its glassy surface in irregular-shapedpatches. Elsewhere, the water, shining like a mirror, reflected theblazing glory of the sky. 

Some distance off lay the coast, its familiar outline dim, purple, andmysterious in the evening mist. But it was neither the sunset, glorious as it was, nor the scenery which held our imagination. It wasthe shipping. 

All manner of craft there were. First came the _Spurt_, of Tromsö, aNorwegian tramp of dissolute and chastened appearance, whosedeliberate, plodding gait and general air of senility belied her name, or at any rate the English meaning of it. Her rusty black hull wasdecorated with three large squares painted in her national colours, red, with a vertical white-edged stripe of blue in the centre. Next abulbous, prosperous-looking Dutchman, who seemed to waddle in her, orhis, stride. She was slightly faster than the ancient _Spurt_, but wasno flyer, and boasted a canary-yellow hull bearing her name infifteen-foot letters, and enormous painted tricolours stripedhorizontally in red, white, and blue. 

Then two Swedes with unpronounceable names who, by theirembellishments, informed the world that they hailed respectively fromGöteborg and Helsingborg. They also sported large rectangles, paintedin vertical stripes of yellow and blue, while close behind them, aDane, with an absurdly attenuated funnel and long ventilators stickingat all angles out of her hull like pins from a pincushion, ambledstolidly along like a weary cart-horse. She, scorning otherdecoration, merely showed the scarlet white-crossed emblem of hercountry. Some of the neutrals carried signs bearing their names whichcould be illuminated at night, and all seemed equally determined not toafford any prowling Hun submarine a legitimate excuse for torpedoingthem on sight. 

 * * * * *

But the craft which outnumbered the others by more than four to onewere the British. They bore no distinctive marks or colouring on theirsides, and their travel-stained and weather-beaten appearance, theirrusty hulls, discoloured funnels, and the generally dingy andunpretentious look about them showed that they were kept far too busyto trouble about external appearances. The only token of theirnationality was the wisp of tattered red bunting fluttering at thestern of each; the gallant old Red Ensign which, war or no war, stilldances triumphantly on practically every sea, except the Baltic. 

Many of the passing vessels looked out of date and old-fashioned. Someveterans of the 'eighties or 'nineties, fit only to sail under aforeign flag according to pre-war standards, may have been dug out oftheir obscurity to play their part in the war. And a very importantpart it is. Ships must run, and, at a time when the Admiralty havelevied a heavy toll for war purposes upon all classes of shipsbelonging to the Mercantile Marine, every vessel which will float andcan steam can be utilised many times over for the equally importantwork of carrying cargo. It is not peaceful work, either, in these daysof promiscuous mine-laying and enemy submarines armed with guns andtorpedoes ready to sink without warning. 

The important work of the yachts, pleasure steamers, trawlers, anddrifters used for mine-sweeping, patrol work, and other naval purposesneed not be entered into here; but the Mercantile Marine proper, what, for want of a better term, we may call "the deep sea service, " hassupplied the Royal Navy with many thousands of splendid officers andmen who are now serving their country in fighting ships as members ofthe Royal Naval Reserve. Moreover, numbers of its ships of all classesare employed for war purposes as armed merchant cruisers, transports, oil fuel vessels, colliers, ammunition ships, storeships, and the like. But the function of those ships which are left for their legitimatepurpose of cargo carrying is of equal importance to the country, ofinestimable value, in fact, since we could not exist without them. Their duty is fraught with constant peril. Submarines may be lurkingand mines may have been laid upon the routes they have to traverse, butnever have there been the least signs of unreadiness or unwillingnessto proceed to sea when ordered to do so. 

Most of the officers and men of the Mercantile Marine are not trainedto war like their comrades of the Royal Navy. They are not paid, andtheir ships are not built, to fight; but yet, time and time again, their natural pluck and intrepidity has shown itself in the face of anentirely new danger. 

 * * * * *

Instances are so numerous that it is impossible to mention them all. Remember the gallant fight of the Clan MacTavish, with her single gun, against the heavily-armed German raider Moewe. Take the case of the"Blue Funneller" _Laertes_, Captain Probert, which was ordered to stopby an enemy submarine, but, disregarding the summons, proceeded at fullspeed, steering a zigzag course, and so escaped, Remember the little_Thordis_, Captain Bell, which, after having a torpedo fired at her, actually rammed and sank the submarine which fired it. 

Again, there was the transport _Mercian_, Captain Walker, which wasattacked by gunfire from a hostile submarine in the Mediterranean. Some of the troops on board were killed, others were wounded, andnobody could have blamed the captain if he had surrendered. But whatdid he do? He endured a bombardment lasting for an hour and a half, and, thanks to the bravery and skill of all on board, the ship escaped. 

There was also Captain Palmer, of the _Blue Jacket_, who, though hisship had actually been torpedoed, stood by her in his boats, reboardedher, and, in spite of her damage, steamed her to a place of safety. Recollect Captain Clopert, whose vessel, the _Southport_, was capturedby a German man-of-war, was taken to the island of Kusaie, and wasthere disabled by the removal of certain important parts of hermachinery. She was evidently to be utilised as a collier, but nosooner had the enemy left than the master, officers, and men set towork to effect repairs. How they did it with the meagre appliances attheir disposal only they themselves can say, but the fact remains thatthe ship escaped. 

These cases are only typical. Whole volumes might be written round thewarlike deeds of our "peaceful" merchantmen, and from the manyinstances of gallantry we read of and the still greater number which donot achieve publicity it is evident that on every occasion ofencountering the enemy the master of the ship, backed up most nobly byhis officers and crew, has not only done everything possible to savehis ship from capture in the first instance, but has never hesitated todefend his vessel in accordance with the generally accepted tenets ofInternational Law, which state that a merchant ship can defend herselfwhen attacked. 

Courage in the face of the enemy when one can return shot for shot isone thing, but heroism of the same kind in an unarmed ship is on rathera different plane. 

The work of the Royal Navy and the Mercantile Marine is largelyinterdependent. The two great sea services of the country must everwork hand in hand and side by side, and let us never forget what we oweto the latter. 

POTVIN OF THE _PUFFIN_

"Well, I'm damned!" ejaculated the first lieutenant, looking up fromhis breakfast as a barefooted signalman held a slate under his nose. "Just as I'm in the middle of painting ship!"

The navigator, doctor, and assistant paymaster looked up from theirplates. "What's up, Number One?" queried the former. 

"Only that the new skipper's arrived in the English mail, " said thefirst lieutenant glumly. 

"He's coming on board at nine o'clock in the _Spartan's_ steamboat!"

"Good Lord!" protested Cutting, the doctor. "So soon? It was only aweek ago we saw his appointment!"

"Can't help that, " No. One growled. "He's arrived, and he'll be onboard in exactly three quarters of an hour's time. Lord help us!You'd better put on a clean tunic and your best society manners, Doc. You'll want 'em both. "

"Why the deuce can't he leave us in peace a bit longer?" complainedFalland, the lieutenant (N). 

"And why the devil does he want to come just at the end of the quarterwhen I'm busy with my accounts?" grumbled Augustus Shilling, theassistant paymaster, blinking behind his spectacles. "I know jollywell what it'll be. For the next week I shan't be able to call my soulmy own, and he'll be sending for me morning, noon, and night to explainthings. The writer's gone sick, too. Oh, it IS the limit!"

"It is, indeed, " echoed the doctor despondently. "Farewell to a quietlife. By George! I haven't written up the wine books for the lastfortnight. Have I got time to do 'em before he comes?"

The first lieutenant shrugged his shoulders. "You'd better make aneffort, old man, " he said. "He's a rabid teetotaler, and he's sure toask to see 'em first thing. "

"Heaven help us!" cried the medical officer, rising hastily from hischair and disappearing into his cabin. 

"What sort of a chap did you say he was, Number One?" Falland queried, with traces of anxiety in his voice. 

"I only know him by reputation, " the first lieutenant answeredlugubriously. "But he's got the name of being rather . . . Er, peculiar. At any rate, he hates navigators, so you'd better mind your P's andQ's, my giddy young friend. "

"And I haven't corrected my charts for three weeks or written up thecompass journal for a month!" Falland wailed. "Oh, Lor!"

From all of which it will be understood that the wardroom officers ofH. M. Gunboat _Puffin_ were not overjoyed at the advent of their newCaptain. [1]

The date was some time during the last five years of the reign of QueenVictoria; the month, September, and though at this season of the yearthe climate of Hong-Kong is far too moist and too steamy to bepleasant, the _Puffin's_ officers, adapting themselves tocircumstances, had had plenty of shore leave and had managed to enjoythemselves. So had the men. 

Their ship, an ancient, barque-rigged vessel of 1, 000 odd tons;auxiliary engines capable of pushing her along at 9. 35 knots with thesafety valves lifting; and armed with I forget how many bottle-nosed, 5-inch, B. -L. Guns and a Nordenfeldt or two, was swinging peacefullyround her buoy in the harbour. She had swung there for precisely twomonths without raising steam, ever since her late commander had beenpromoted and had gone home to England, leaving the ship in temporarycharge of Pardoe, the first lieutenant. 

Captain Prato had been an easy-going man of serene disposition whoallowed little or nothing to worry him, not even the Commander-in-Chiefhimself. As a consequence the wardroom officers swore by him, and sodid Mr. Tompion, the gunner, and Mr. Slice, the artificer engineer. The ship's company were of the same opinion, so the little _Puffin_ waswhat is generally known as a "happy ship. "

But Commander Peter Potvin, R. N. , Captain Prato's successor, was thedirect antithesis of the former commanding officer, for he had thereputation in the Service of being a veritable little firebrand, and aneccentric little firebrand at that. He was small and thin, andpossessed a pair of fierce blue eyes and a short, aggressive red beard, and was even reputed to insist on naval discipline being carried on inhis own house ashore. At any rate, it is quite certain that his wifefrequently appeared at church with red eyes after her lord and masterhad held his usual Sunday forenoon inspection of the house, and haddiscovered a cockroach in the kitchen or a dish-clout in the scullery, while it was true that he permitted his three children to wear goodconduct badges, each carrying with them the sum of 1d. Per week, afterthree months' exemplary behaviour. But only one of them, Tony, aged 18months, had ever worn a badge for more than a fortnight. 

It was also said, with what truth I do not know, that his servantsfrequently had their leave stopped for not being "dressed in the rig ofthe day, " and for omitting to wear hideous caps and aprons of anuniform pattern designed by Commander Potvin himself without theassistance of his wife. It was bruited about that the cook, housemaid, and parlourmaid, --the nurse alone being excused, --were turned out oftheir beds at the unearthly hour of 5. 30 a. M. And that, as a punishmentfor "being found asleep in their hammocks after the hands had beencalled, " they were rousted out at 4 a. M. To chop firewood. 

The Potvin ménage was not a happy one, and as a consequence hisretainers usually gave notice en masse directly they heard the gallantcommander was about to come home on leave. Even the gardener and bootboy followed the general example, so it was lucky for Mrs. Potvin thatshe had an uncle at the Admiralty who generally managed to send, "dearPeter" to a foreign station. He was rarely at home, or his wife wouldhave been wrought to the verge of lunacy. 

No wonder the _Puffin's_ were not pleased at their future prospects, for the milk of human kindness evidently did not enter into thecomposition of their new commanding officer. 

For twenty-four hours after his arrival on board Commander Potvin wastoo busy paying official calls and unpacking his belongings to make hispresence really felt. The fun began the next morning, when, afterdivisions, he sent for Pardoe to come and see him in his cabin. 

"You may have heard, First Lieutenant, " he began, very pompously, "thatI am a very observant man, and that I notice everything that goes onboard my ship?"

"Indeed, sir, " said Pardoe politely, wondering what on earth was comingnext. 

"Yes, " said the commander. "I am unnaturally observant, and thoughsome people may think I am a faddist, there is very little that escapesmy notice. To start with, I always insist that my officers shall wearstrict uniform, and at the present moment I am grieved to see that youare wearing white socks. "

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know you would mind. The officers in theflagship wear them with white clothing. "

"I was not aware that I had asked you a question, Lieutenant Pardoe, "interrupted the skipper, his beard bristling. "Moreover, what they door do not do in the flagship is no affair of mine. The uniformregulations lay down that socks are to be black or dark blue, and Iexpect my officers to wear them. I also observed just now that theSurgeon was wearing a watch strap across the front of his tunic, whichis in strict defiance of the regulation which says that watch chainsand trinkets are not to be worn outside the coat. I do not wish tohave to take steps in the matter, but kindly bear it in mind yourself, and inform your messmates, that I insist on strict uniform. "

"Aye, aye, sir. "

"There are several more matters I wish to discuss, " the captainresumed, twiddling his moustaches. "You will doubtless have heard thatI like to keep my ship's companies happy and contented, eh?" He lookedup enquiringly. 

"Er--yes, sir. Of course, sir, " said the first lieutenant lamely, having heard precisely the opposite. 

"Very good. To keep the men happy and contented one has to keep thememployed, so in future there will be no leave to either officers or menuntil four o'clock in the afternoon. We shall doubtless be able tofind plenty for them to do on board. "

Number One opened his mouth to expostulate, but thought better of it. "I like the men to feel that their ship is their home, " continued theskipper, "and to encourage them to stay on board in the afternoons andevenings instead of spending their money and their substance in theseterrible grog shops ashore, these low and vicious haunts of iniquity, "he rolled his tongue round the words, "I propose that the officersshall prepare and deliver a series of lectures on interesting topics. I have, " he added, "brought a magic lantern and a good stock of slidesout from England, and some evening next week I propose to deliver thefirst lecture myself. The subject is a most instructive one, 'Theeffects of alcohol on the human body and mind, ' and to illustrate it Ihave prepared a number of most excellent charts showing the increase inthe consumption of spirits and malt liquor between 1873 and the presenttime. The charts, compiled from the most reliable data, are drawn upfor most of the best known professions, sailors, soldiers, labourers, policemen, clergymen, and so on, and I can safely promise you a mostinteresting evening. "

Pardoe, quite convinced that he had to deal with a lunatic, gasped andbegan to wonder how on earth he could leave the ship unostentatiouslywithout damaging his subsequent career. "I'm afraid I'm not much of ahand at lecturing, sir, " he said with a forced smile. "In fact there'shardly a subject I know enough about to----. "

"Pooh, pooh, " laughed the commander. "With due diligence in your sparetime you will be able to learn up quite a lot of subjects, and as forthe actual lecturing, " he shrugged his shoulders, "practice makesperfect, and I have no doubt that before very long we shall find youquite an orator. " He smiled benignly. 

"We will have the lectures once a week, at 8 p. M. , say on Thursdays, "he went on, "and on Sundays I will conduct an evening service at 6. 0. , at which, of course, all officers will attend. You will read thelessons and collect the offertory, Mr. Pardoe. That will leave us fiveclear evenings a week for other harmless occupations, and I proposethat on one of them we have readings for the men from the works ofwell-known authors. Something light and amusing from Dickens or Dumasto start with, and then, as we get on, we might try the more learnedwriters like Darwin, or--er--Confucius. "

The wretched first lieutenant grew red about the face and started tobreathe heavily. 

"Then on another evening we might encourage the men to play progressivegames like draughts, halma, picture lotto, spillikins, ping-pong, andbeggar-my-neighbour. My sole object in doing all this, you willunderstand, is to keep the men amused and instructed, to divert theirminds and, therefore, to keep them happy and contented. After a fewweeks or so they will all be so anxious to come to our entertainments, that they will have lost all desire to go ashore at all. It is a goodidea, is it not?"

The first lieutenant nodded grimly. The idea may have been excellent, but he could hardly imagine Petty Officer Timothy Carey, the hornycaptain of the forecastle, listening to Confucius; nor Baxter, theSergeant of Marines, sitting down to a quiet game of spillikins withScully, the cook's mate. In fact, he foresaw that when he informed themen of the arrangements about to be made for their welfare, he wouldhave all his work cut out to repress the inevitable rebellion. Darwin, Confucius, picture lotto, and beggar-my-neighbour for the hardenedship's company of the _Puffin_! The _Police Gazette_, _Reynolds'Weekly_, pots of beer, and the games known as "Shove ha'penny" and"Crown and Anchor" were far more to their liking. 

"Well, " said Commander Potvin, "that is all I have to say at present;but I am gratified, very gratified indeed, that you agree with myideas. I will draw up and issue detailed rules for our eveningentertainments, but, meanwhile, I should be obliged if you would causethese to be distributed amongst the men. They will pave the way, " headded, smiling as pleasantly as he was able, and handing Pardoe a neatbrown paper parcel. "They will pave the way with good intentions, andI have no doubt that within a few weeks we shall have the happiestship's company in the whole of the British Navy. "

The first lieutenant, too astonished to reply, clutched the parcel andretired to the wardroom, where, flinging his cap on to the settee, herelapsed into the one armchair. "Lord!" he muttered, holding his head, "I believe the man's as mad as a hatter!"

He opened the package to find therein a quantity of bound sheets. Heselected one of the pamphlets at random and examined it with a sigh. "Drink and Depravity, " he read. "Pots of beer cost many a tear. Bewarned in time or you'll repine. "

"Great Caesar's ghost!" he ejaculated. "The man IS mad! To think thatit should come to this. Poor, poor old _Puffin_!"

A few minutes later Falland, on his way aft to visit the captain, glanced into the wardroom. Pardoe still sat in the armchair mutteringsoftly to himself with his head bowed down between his hands. Thefloor, the table, and the chair were littered with tracts of all thecolours of the rainbow. "Saints preserve us!" the navigator murmured. The next really interesting incidents occurred on Sunday morning, whenthe commanding officer made his usual rounds of the ship and inspectedthe men. So far nothing had officially been said about the new_régime_; but, in some mysterious way, the ship's company had aninkling of the happy days in store for them, while, through a lavishdistribution of tracts, literature which, I am sorry to relate, theysolemnly burnt in the galley fire, they were fully aware of their newcaptain's notions on the engrossing subject of drink. Accordingly, toplease him, and to show that they were not the hardened sinners, seasoned reprobates, and generally idle and dissolute characters heperhaps might take them for, they fell in at divisions on that Sabbathmorn wearing their most cherubic and innocent expressions, and theirnewest and most immaculate raiment. 

The _Puffin_ had always been a clean ship, but on this particularoccasion she surpassed herself, for all hands and the cook had donetheir very utmost to uphold her reputation. Her burnished guns andfreshly scoured brass-work shone dazzingly in the sun; her topmasts andblocks had been newly scraped and varnished, while the running rigging, boat's falls, and other ropes about the deck were neatly coiled downand flemished. The decks themselves were as white as holystones, sand, and much elbow grease could make them, and, with her white hull withits encircling green riband and cherry-red waterline, her yellow lowermasts and funnel, and a brand-new pendant flying from the main-truckand large White Ensign flapping lazily from its staff on the poop, the_Puffin_ looked more like a yacht than a man-o'-war. But CommanderPotvin also had a reputation to keep up, and he would not be CommanderPotvin if he could not find fault somewhere. 

"Seaman's division--'shun!" shouted Falland, the officer in charge, asthe commander and first lieutenant made their appearance from under thepoop. "Off--caps!"

The men clicked their heels punctiliously and removed their headgear, and the captain, passing down the front rank with his sword trailing onthe deck behind him, began his inspection. 

"What is your name, my man?" he inquired condescendingly, haltingopposite to a burly bearded able seaman. 

"Joseph Smith, sir. "

"I seem to remember your face, " said the commander. 

"Yes, sir. I served along 'o you in th' _Bulldorg_ five year ago. "

"Indeed. That is most interesting. Well, Smith, " eyeing him up anddown, "I am always most pleased to see my old shipmates again. "

"Yes, sir, " answered the burly one, trying hard to look pleasedhimself, and turning rather red in the effort. As a matter of fact hewas wondering if his commanding officer was blessed, or cursed, with agood memory, and if, by any chance, he remembered the occasion whenhe--Joseph Smith--had last stood before him on the quarterdeck ofH. M. S. _Bulldog_. He had stood there as a defaulter, to be punishedwith ten days' cells and the loss of a hardly-earned good conductbadge, for returning from leave in a state of partial insobriety, andfor having indulged in a heated and more than acrimonious discussionwith the local constabulary. It had happened several years before, andsince then he had turned over a new leaf, but he grew quite nervous atthe recollection. 

But the skipper, apparently, had quite forgotten it, for he went onspeaking. "I am sorry to see, Smith, that, although you have servedwith me before, you have forgotten what I must have taken the greatestpains to teach you. Your hair is too long, and your beard is nottrimmed in the proper service manner. Your trousers are at least twoinches too tight round the knee, and six inches too slack round theankle, while the rows of tape on your collar are too close together. It will not do, " he added, glaring unpleasantly. "The uniformregulations are made to be strictly adhered to. Mr. Falland!"

"Sir. "

"Have this man's bag inspected in the dinner hour every day for afortnight. See that his hair is properly cut by next Sunday, and seethat he either shaves himself clean, or that he does not use a razor atall, according to the regulations. I am surprised that you should haveallowed him to come to divisions in this condition. "

"Very good, sir. "

The Commander passed on, leaving the delinquent with his mouth wideopen in astonishment and righteous indignation. Smith was firmly ofthe opinion that his beard was everything that a beard should be, while, quite rightly, he had always prided himself on being one of thebest dressed men in the ship. Any little irregularities in his attire, irregularities not countenanced by the regulations, were merelyintroduced for the purpose of making himself smarter than ever. It wasa sad blow to his pride. 

But many others suffered in the same way, for hardly a man in thedivision was dressed according to the strict letter of the law. Somehad the tapes on their jumpers too high or too low; others had theV-shaped openings in front a trifle too deep; many, in their endeavoursto make their loose trousers still more rakish, wore them in tooflowing a manner over their feet, and still more, in their anxiety notto spoil the set of their jumpers, carried no 'pusser's daggers, ' orknives, attached to their lanyards. Altogether the first Sunday was aregular débâcle for the _Puffin's_ but an undoubted triumph forCommander Potvin. 

"Mr. Falland, " he said, having walked round the ranks. "I am sorry tofind all this laxity in the important matter of dress, and I rely uponyou to take immediate steps to have it rectified. "

"Aye, aye, sir. "

"And, " the skipper continued, "I notice that you fall your men inaccording to size. I know that some commanding officers like toinspect the men in this way, but personally I prefer to have themgrouped according to appearance. For instance, tall men together, short men together, and the same thing with the fat and the thin, thebearded and the clean-shaven. "

"Very good, sir. But--" the navigator hesitated. 

"But what, Mr. Falland?"

"Suppose a man is tall, thin, and bearded, sir?" asked Falland, inutter perplexity. 

"Seize upon his predominant feature, Mr. Falland, and use your owndiscretion in the matter, " said the Captain, half suspecting that hissubordinate was trying to make fun of him, but knowing full well that, whatever the navigator did, he could always find fault with it. 

He marched forward to continue his rounds, leaving the astonisheddivisional officer wondering if he was also to form special detachmentsof red-faced sailors, white-faced sailors, snub-nosed sailors, andbandy-legged sailors. 

The inspection of the upper-deck and mess-deck passed without muchcomment, the Captain even saying that he was glad to see that the shipwas 'quite clean, ' a term which made the zealous Pardoe writhe withannoyance; but the next thing which caught his attention was a smallhencoop containing eight or nine miserable, bedraggled-looking fowls. 

"Bless my soul, First Lieutenant!" said he. "Look at these fowls!"They were sorry looking birds, it is true, but Chinese chickens are notrenowned for their beauty and sprightliness of appearance at the bestof times. 

"They seem quite healthy, sir, " the First Lieutenant answered, puttinghis head on one side in a most judicial manner. 

"Yes, yes, " murmured the Commander. "But they are all the colours ofthe rainbow. White, yellow, brown, grey, and black. "

"So they are, sir, " said Pardoe, as if he had observed the astoundingfact for the first time. 

"Who do they belong to?"

"They're yours, sir. Your steward looks after them. "

"Does he, indeed?" said the skipper, rather nonplussed. "Well, sendfor my steward. "

The portly and dignified Ah Fong presently appeared. 

"Is it not possible for you to buy fowls of all the same colour?" the"Owner" wanted to know. 

Ah Fong stared in hopeless bewilderment, trying to grasp his master'smeaning. "My no savvy, sah, " he said, shaking his head. 

"Can you not buy your chickens, or my chickens, rather, all one colour?White, for preference, as the weather is hot. "

"I savvy, sah, " exclaimed the Chinaman, with a beatific smile slowlyspreading over his countenance. "You no likee black piecee hen, sah?"

"No, no, that's not what I mean at all, " said Potvin, going off into along explanation. 

At last Ah Fong began to understand what was wanted. "No can do, sah!"he expostulated. "S'pose I go 'shore catch piecee hen. I say to oneman, I wanchee plentee fat piecee hen, no wanchee olo piecee, wancheeyoung plenty big piecee hen for capten. . . . "

"I really cannot waste my time listening to this senselessconversation!" interrupted the Captain, with some petulance. "Mr. Pardoe, you will kindly explain to him that in future all the fowls onboard are to be white in the summer, and blue. . . 'er, I mean black, inthe winter. I will have them in the proper dress of the day like theship's company, do you understand?"

"I do, sir, " said the wretched Pardoe with an inaudible sigh, as thelittle procession moved on. 

He did explain to the steward what was required, and Ah Fong wasconfronted with a dilemma. However, he had his wits about him, and thenext Sunday morning, to Number One's intense astonishment, everywretched fowl in the coop, black, grey, or brown, had been freshlywhitewashed. Their feathers were all plastered together, and theylooked supremely unhappy and more bedraggled than ever, but thecaptain's aesthetic eye was apparently satisfied, for he passed them bywith a glance and made no adverse remarks. 

After the ordeal of divisions the mess-stools, chairs for the officers, and reading desk were brought up and placed on desk under the awnings, and at 10. 30, when church had been "rigged, " the tolling of the bellsummoned the officers and ship's company to divine service. Pardoe, after satisfying himself that everything was ready, went aft to reportto the Captain, and, somewhat to the surprise of everyone, CommanderPotvin presently appeared without his tunic, advanced to the readingdesk, and started the service. 

At first people thought that he had discarded his jacket merely for thesake of coolness, and, as the day was unusually hot, some of the otherofficers were half inclined to follow his sensible example. But whenat last church was over and Pardoe had occasion to see the Captainagain, he discovered the real reason for the "Owner's" removal of hisouter garment. 

"You may have noticed, Lieutenant Pardoe, that I took the precaution toremove my tunic before reading the Church service, " said the skipper. 

"I did, sir, " answered the First Lieutenant. "In fact, it was so hot, that I nearly followed your example. "

Potvin glared. "I hardly understand what you mean, Mr. Pardoe?" hesaid with asperity. "The fact of its being hot or cold does not effectmy religious ideas. "

"I beg your pardon, sir. I thought that. . . "

"Kindly do not impute these motives to me, " the Commander went on tosay. "I consider that we should all attend divine service in a stateof the utmost humility, and I removed my tunic so that I should appearbefore the Almighty in the same simple garb as the men, not as theircommanding officer!" He puffed out his chest with importance. 

Pardoe merely gasped, for the idea that the Almighty might be undulyinfluenced by the sight of the three gold stripes and curl on hiscaptain's shoulder-straps was quite beyond his comprehension. Nevertheless, Commander Potvin was quite serious, and on leaving hispresence Pardoe repaired to his cabin, and wrote a fervent appeal to aformer captain of his, asking that officer to use his influence to havehim removed from his present appointment. He loved his little_Puffin_, it is true. He would be very sorry to leave her; butanything was better than serving in a ship commanded by a lunatic. 

For a week the gunboat's officers and men endured the new routine withwhat fortitude they could muster. On Monday they had their progressivegames, when the watch on board, --the watch whose turn it was to go onleave had gone ashore to a man, --were compelled, much to their disgust, to squat round on the upper deck with draughts, halma, andpicture-lotto boards spread out before them. The proceedings were notexactly jovial, for the men looked, and were, frankly bored, while aparty of four able seamen, finding the innocent attractions of HappyFamilies hardly exciting enough, were subsequently brought up beforethe First Lieutenant on a charge of gambling. 

Half an hour after the games started, moreover, two other men, one amarine and the other the ship's steward's assistant, fell in to see him. 

"What is the matter?" he asked. 

"Well, sir, " the marine explained. "It's like this 'ere. I was toldoff to play draughts along o' this man, an' all goes well until I makestwo o' my men kings an' starts takin' all 'is. Then 'e says as 'owI've been cheatin', so I says to 'im, polite like, as 'ow I 'adn't doneno such thing, an' wi' that 'e ups an' 'its me in the eye, sir, whichisn't fair. "

"He hit you in the eye?" asked Number One. 

"Yes, sir, " said the sea-soldier, exhibiting a rapidly swelling cheek. 

"What have you to say?" the First Lieutenant asked the allegedassailant. 

"What he says isn't true, sir. I did say he had been cheatin', becoshe had, becos he was movin' all his other pieces over the board how heliked. I says he mustn't do that, becos it isn't the game, but he saysthat as he's been told off to play, he'll play how he bloomin' welllikes. I says it's cheatin', and he hits me on the nose, so I hits himback, and we has a bit of a dust up. " He exhibited a gory handkerchiefas proof of his injuries. 

"Do either of you men bear any grudge against the other?" asked Pardoe, knowing that they had often been ashore together. 

"No, sir, " came the immediate reply. 

"Well, go away, and don't make such fools of yourselves again. Wecan't have all this bickering and fighting over a simple game ofdraughts. "

The two combatants retired grinning, and Pardoe, sighing deeply, walkedup and down the deck wrapped in thought. One fact was quite patent, and that was that if the innocent amusements for the ship's companywere suffered to continue, he would require the wisdom and patience ofa Solomon to arbitrate between the disputants. 

On Tuesday they had a reading from Shakespeare, conducted by theCaptain, and, to judge from the _sotto-voce_ remarks of the audience, they were neither amused nor instructed. 

"'E must be wet if 'e thinks we liken listenin' to this 'ere stuff!"muttered Able Seaman McSweeny dismally. "'E talks abart 'is ruddymerchant o' Venice, but I doesn't want to 'ear nothin' abart a. . . . Eyetalian shopkeeper. I expec's 'e was one o' these 'ere blokes wotwheeled an ice-cream barrer. S'welp me I do!"

A loud titter greeted his utterance, and Commander Potvin stoppedreading for a moment, and glanced round with a fierce expression, without being able to see whence the sounds of merriment emanated. 

No, judging from the trite remarks from the men, the reading from theworks of England's most famous poet and playwright was not anunqualified success. 

On Thursday came the Captain's lecture on the effects of alcohol, atwhich, to Pardoe's great astonishment, there was an unusually fullattendance. Even men belonging to the watch ashore were present, someof them bringing friends from other ships with them. 

The audience, suspicious at first, eventually became strangelyenthusiastic, loud cheering, much stamping on the deck, and evenshrieks and cat-calls completely drowning the lecturer's voice formoments at a time. The applause became more vociferous still when theman attending the magic lantern inadvertently placed his hand on itsalmost red-hot top, and interrupted the proceedings with a loud andvery startled: "Ow! The bloomin' thing's burnt me!"

Anyone but the Commander might have detected something sarcastic andironical in the excessive applause, but he, the possessor of a skinlike unto that of an armadillo, was very pleased with the reception ofhis discourse. 

"I told you I had an interesting subject, " he said afterwards to theFirst Lieutenant. "The hearty applause was very gratifying, and it iswonderful how a little straight talk goes down with the men. "

"I only hope my lecture will be an equal success, sir, " answeredPardoe, rather at a loss what to say. 

His subject was "Cities of Ancient Greece. "

But at last came the time when the _Puffin_ was ordered to sea, and at8. 30 on that fateful morning the gunboat, with her gallant commanderstanding on the poop in the attitude of Sir Francis Drake starting onhis circumnavigation of the world, paddled gently down the crowdedharbour and out through the Lye-mun pass. It was in this narrowpassage that they had their altercation with a lumbering Chinese junktacking slowly to and fro against the tide. 

"Hard a-port!" ordered Falland, who was conning the ship. 

"Hard a-starboard!" contradicted the Commander excitedly. "What areyou thinking about, Mr. Falland?"

The Navigator's order would have taken the ship well clear, but thehelmsman, perplexed by having two diametrically opposite commandshurled at his head simultaneously, and not knowing which to obey, didnothing. 

There came a howl from the gunboat's forecastle and a frantic, blasphemous yelling from a party of Chinamen clustered on the junk'shigh poop. 

"Full speed astern!" roared Potvin. 

But it was too late, for a moment afterwards the _Puffin's_ flyingjib-boom slid neatly through the very centre of the matting sail on thejunk's mizzen mast. More shrill cursing and strident execration fromthe junk, followed by a series of bumps and crashes as the two vesselscollided, bow to stern. A large pig, suspended, according to thepleasant habit of the Chinese, in a wicker-work basket over the junk'squarter, also two similar baskets filled with fowls, became detachedfrom their moorings and fell overboard. Then the junk's mizzen-mastbegan to bend ominously, and before long, amidst more shrieks andyells, it snapped off short and collapsed on the poop, knocking oneelderly Chinaman and two children into the water as it fell. It wasfollowed almost immediately afterwards by the _Puffin's_ flyingjib-boom. 

The gunboat's engines were stopped and the two vessels drifted togetherside by side, while a party with axes set to work to clear away thewreckage. 

"Why on earth don't you look where you're going?" the Commander bawledat the junkmaster. 

"Yah me ping wi taow!" howled the Chinaman, which, being interpreted, means, "You tailless son of a devil, " the greatest possible insult. 

It was followed by more mutual abuse and recrimination, but thegentleman in the junk, since Commander Potvin could not understand aword he said, was popularly supposed to have got the best of the wordyencounter. 

But the skipper was quite determined to have somebody's blood, andseeing he could make no impression on the junk, vented his spleen onthe Navigator. 

"Mr. Falland!" he exclaimed, his eyes flashing and his heart full ofrage. "The collision was entirely your fault. I shall report thematter to the Admiral, and meanwhile you will remain in your cabinunder arrest!"

"But, sir. I really----"

"I require no explanations, sir. You are guilty of gross neglect andcarelessness!"

Falland left the poop. 

The damage was not sufficiently serious to delay the ship, and, havingchopped herself free, she proceeded on her journey, her Commandertaking upon himself the duties of the deposed Navigator. 

It was unfortunate that, in calculating the course to be steered, heapplied 3° deviation the wrong way. It was equally unfortunate that hemiscalculated the set of the current, since it was these two thingswhich, at 11. 53 a. M. Precisely, caused the gunboat to come into violentcontact with a ledge of rocks with barely six feet of water over themat high water. 

"Good heavens! What's that?" shouted the skipper, as there came aseries of muffled, grinding crashes under water and the ship stoppeddead. 

"We've hit something, sir, " said Pardoe, who was on the poop. Theyhad, and for some hours remained stuck fast. In fact, the _Puffin's_bones would have been there to this day if she had not been steaming ather leisurely, economical speed of 7 1/2 knots, and it was only bysheer good luck, and with the assistance of salvage tugs and appliancesfrom Hong-Kong, that she was ever got off at all. As it was she wasmerely badly damaged, and came back into harbour in tow of one tug, while a couple of others, with their pumps working at full speed andgushing forth streams of water, were lashed alongside her. 

Falland was not court-martialled, but a week later Commander Potvin, after an interview with the Admiral and certain medical officers, foundthat the climate of Hong-Kong was too rigorous for his constitution, and embarked on board a P. And O. Steamer for passage home to England_en route_ for Yarmouth. 

The gunboat's officers watched her until she was out of sight, and thenrepaired to the wardroom and indulged in cocktails. 

"I'm sorry for him, " said No. One, lifting his glass with a grin. 

"Here's luck to him, and to us. "

"Salve, " nodded the doctor, swallowing his potion at a gulp. 

The Royal Naval Hospital for mental cases is situated at Yarmouth. 

[1] The commanding officer of a man-of-war, whatever his rank, isalways "the captain. " More familiarly he may be referred to "theowner, " "skipper, " or "old man. "