Transcriber's note:

 "Bartimeus" is the pseudonym of Captain Lewis Anselm da Costa Ritchie, R. N. 

THE LONG TRICK

by

"BARTIMEUS"

Author of "A Tall Ship, " "Naval Occasions, " etc. 

 "Much of what you have done, as far as the public eye is concerned, may almost be said to have been done in the twilight. "--_Extract from address delivered by the Prime Minister on board the Fleet Flagship, Aug. _, 1915. 

Cassell and Company, LtdLondon, New York, Toronto and Melbourne

First Published. October 1917. Reprinted (Twice) October 1917, November 1917. 

 TO one CHUNKS Who, in moments of frenzy, is called HUNKS and answers readily to TUNKS, TINKS or TONKS, This Book is INSCRIBED

FOREWORD

DEAR N AND M, This is the first opportunity I have had of answering your letter, although I am hardly to blame since you chose to write anonymously andleave me with no better clue to your address than the Tunbridge Wellspostmark. 

Fee! Fi! Fo! Fum! I am sorry about Torps, though. I admit hisdeath was a mistake, and I fancy my Publisher thought so too: but wecannot very well bring him to life again, like Sherlock Holmes. Soplease cheer up, and remember that there are just as many fine fellowsin the ink-pot as ever came out of it. 

I have borne in mind the final paragraph of your letter, which said, "We do beseech you not to kill the India-rubber Man. " In fact, Ioriginally meant him to be the hero of this book. But as the bookprogressed I found the melancholy conviction growing on me that theIndia-rubber Man had become infernally dull. A pair of cynicalbachelors like you will, I know, attribute this to marriage and poorBetty. For my part I am inclined to put it down to advancing years. 

I have just finished the book, and, turning over the pages, foundmyself wondering how you will like it. It has been written in so manydifferent moods and places and noises and temperatures that the generaleffect is rather patchwork. But, after all, it was written chiefly forthe amusement of two people, and (as I believe all story-books ought tobe written) out of some curiosity on the Author's part to know "whathappened next. "

Thus, you see, I strive to disarm all critics at the outset by theassumption of an ingenuous indifference to anything they can say. Butthere is one portion of the book on which I have expended so muchthought and care that I am willing to defy criticism on the subject. Irefer to the Dedication. 

You probably skip Dedications, but they interest me, and I have studiedthem a good deal. They are generally arranged in columns like untidyaddition sums, and no two lines are the same length. This is veryimportant. At the end you arrive, as it were by a series ofstepping-stones, at the climax. And there you are. 

No. Let the critics say what they will about the book: but I hold thatthe Dedication is It. 

Yours sincerely, "Bartimeus"

_October_, 1917. 

CONTENTS

FOREWORD

CHAPTER

 1. BACK FROM THE LAND 2. THE "NAVY SPECIAL" 3. ULTIMA THULE 4. WAR BABIES 5. UNCLE BILL 6. WET BOBS 7. CARRYING ON 8. "ARMA VIRUMQUE. .. " 9. "SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES" 10. THE BATTLE OF THE MIST 11. THE AFTERMATH 12. "GOOD HUNTING" 13. SPELL-O! 14. INTO THE WAY OF PEACE

 NOTE

 The Chapters headed "Wet Bobs" and "Carrying On" appeared originally in Blackwood's Magazine and are included in the book by kind permission of the Editor. 

THE LONG TRICK

CHAPTER I

BACK FROM THE LAND

Towards eight o'clock the fog that had hung threateningly over the Cityall the afternoon descended like a pall. 

It was a mild evening in February, and inside the huge echoing vault ofKing's Cross station the shaded arc lamps threw little pools of lightalong the departure platform where the Highland Express stood. Theblinds of the carriage windows were already drawn, but here and there acircle of subdued light strayed out and was engulfed almost at once bythe murky darkness. Sounds out of the unseen reached the ear muffled andconfused: a motor horn hooted near the entrance, and quite close at handa horse's hoofs clattered and rang on the cobbled paving-stones. Thepersistent hiss of escaping steam at the far end of the station seemed tofill the air until it was presently drowned by the ear-piercing screechof an engine: high up in the darkness ahead one of a bright cluster ofred lights holding their own against the fog, changed to green. Thewhistle stopped abruptly, and the voice of a boy, passing along thecrowded platform, claimed all Sound for its own. 

"_Chor-or-or-clicks!_" he cried in a not unmusical jodelling treble, "_Chorclicks!--Cigarettes!_"

The platform was thronged by bluejackets and marines, for on thisparticular evening the period of leave, granted by some battleship in theNorth, had expired. They streamed out of refreshment rooms and entrancehalls, their faces lit for a moment as they passed under successive arclights, crowding round the carriage doors where their friends andrelations gathered in leave-taking. Most of them carried little bundlestied up in black silk handkerchiefs and paper parcels whose elusivecontents usually appeared to take a leguminous form, and something of thetraditional romance of their calling came with them out of the blacknessof that February night. It was reflected in the upturned admiring facesof their women-folk, and acknowledged by some of the younger menthemselves, with the adoption of an air of studied recklessness. 

Some wore the head-gear of enraptured civilian acquaintances and sang inundertones of unrequited love. Others stopped in one of the friendlycircles of light to pass round bottled beer, until an elderly female, bearing tracts, scattered them into the shadows. They left her standing, slightly bewildered, with the empty bottle in her hands. She had theair, for all the world, of a member of the audience suddenly abandoned ona conjurer's stage. 

In the shelter of one of the great pillars that rose up into the darknessa bearded light o' love stopped and emptied his pockets of their silverand coppers into the hands of the human derelict that had been hiscompanion through the past week. "'Ere you are, Sally, " he said, "takewhat's left. You ain't 'arf been a bad ole sort, mate, " and kissed herand turned away as she slipped back into the night where she belonged. 

Farther along in the crowd an Ordinary Seaman, tall and debonair andsleek of hair, bade osculatory farewell to a mother, an aunt, a fiancéeand two sisters. 

"'Ere, " finally interrupted his chum, "'ere, Alf, where do I come in?"

"You carry on an' kiss Auntie, " replied his friend, and applied himselfto his fiancée's pretty upturned mouth. This the chum promptly did, following up the coup, amid hysterical laughter and face-slapping, byswiftly embracing the mother and sisters. 

"You sailors!" said the friend's mother delightedly, straightening herhat. 

"Don Jewans, all of 'em, " confirmed the aunt, recovering the power ofspeech of which a temporary displacement of false teeth had robbed her. "Glad there wasn't no sailors down our way when I was a girl, or Ishouldn't be 'ere now. " A sally greeted by renewed merriment. 

Indifferent to the laughter and horse-play near them a grave-faced PettyOfficer stood by the door of his carriage saying good-bye to his wife andchildren before returning to another nine months' exile. A little boy ina sailor-suit clung to the woman's skirt and gazed admiringly into theface of the man he had been taught to call "Daddie"--the jovial visitorwho came to stay with them for a week once a year or so, after whosedeparture his mother always cried so bitterly, writer of the letters shepressed against her cheek and locked away in the yellow tin box under thebed. .. . 

She held another child in her arms--a wide-eyed mite that stared up intothe murk overhead with preternatural solemnity. Their talk, of aninarticulate simplicity, is no concern of ours. The little group hasbeen recorded because of the woman. Mechanically rocking the child inher arms, with her neat clothes and brave little bits of finery, with, above all, her anxious, pathetic smile as she looked up into the face ofher man, she stood there for a symbol of all that the warring Navydemands of its women-folk. 

Beyond them, where the first-class carriages and sleeping saloons began, the platform became quieter and less crowded. Several Naval and one ortwo Military officers walked to and fro, or stood at the doors of theircompartments superintending the stowage of their luggage; a little wayback from the light thrown from the carriage windows, two figures, a manand a girl, stood talking in low voices. 

Presently the man stepped under one of the overhanging lamps andconsulted his wristwatch. The light of the arc-lamp, falling on theshoulder-straps of his uniform great-coat, indicated his rank, which wasthat of Lieutenant-Commander. 

"We've got five minutes more, " he said. 

The girl nodded. 

"I know. I've been ticking off the minutes for the last week--in myhead, I mean. " She smiled, a rather wan little smile. Her companionslipped his arm inside hers, and together they walked towards the train. 

"Come and look at my cabin, Betty, and--let's see everything's there. "

He helped her into the corridor, and, following, encountered theuniformed attendant. The man held a notebook in his hand. 

"Are you Mr. Standish, sir?" he inquired, consulting his notebook. 

"That's my name as a rule, " was the reply. "At the moment though, it'sMud--spelt M-U-D. Which is my abode?"

"This way, sir. " The attendant led the way along the corridor and pushedopen the door of the narrow sleeping compartment. "Here you are, sir. "He eyed the officer's companion with a professionally reassuring air, asmuch as to say, "He'll be all right in there, don't you worry. " Itcertainly looked very snug and comfortable with the shaded light abovethe neat bunk and dark upholstery. 

"Ah, " said the traveller, "we just wanted to--er--see everything was allright. "

"Quite so, sir. Plenty of time--lady not travelling, I presume? I'llcome along when we're due to start and let you know. " He closed the doorwith unobtrusive tact. 

The lady in question surveyed the apartment with the tender scrutiny of amother about to relinquish her offspring to the rough usage of anunfamiliar world. 

"Bunje, darling, " she said, and bent and brushed the pillow with herlips. "That's so that you'll sleep tight and not let the bogies bite. "She smiled into her husband's eyes rather tremulously. "And take care ofyourself as hard as ever you can. Remember your leg and your poor oldhead. " His cap lay on the bunk, and she raised a slender forefinger totrace the outline of the shiny scar above his temple. "I've mended youso nicely. "

"I'll take care of myself all right, and you won't cry, will you, Betty, when I've gone? Promise--say: 'Sure-as-I'm-standing-here-I-won't-cry, 'or I'll call the guard!"

"I--I can't promise not to cry a tiny bit, " faltered Betty, "but Ipromise to try not to cry much. And you will write and let me know whenI can come North and be near you, won't you?" A sudden thought struckher. "Bunje, will they censor your letters? How awful! And mine too?Because I don't think I could bear it if anybody but you read my letters. "

"No, they won't read 'em, " reassured her husband. "At least, not yours. And if mine have to be read, the fellow who reads 'em just skims through'em and doesn't really take in anything. I've had to do it, an' I know. "

"Still, I'll hate it, " said Betty woefully, and started at a light tap atthe door. "Passengers are taking their seats, sir, " said the warningvoice outside. 

Doors were banging and farewells sounding down the length of the trainwhen Betty stepped out on to the platform. A curly-headed subaltern of aHighland regiment who had been in possession of the door surrendered it, and, catching a glimpse of Betty's face, returned to his compartmentthanking all his Gods that he was a bachelor. A whistle sounded out ofthe gloom at the far end of the long train, and a green light waved abovethe heads of the leave-takers. A faltering cheer broke out, gatheredvolume, and, as the couplings tautened with a jerk, came an answeringroar from the closely packed carriages. 

Standish bent down. "Good-bye, Bet----" and for a moment lips andfingers met and clung. The train was moving slowly. 

"God bless you!" she said with a queer little gasp, and stepped back intoone of the circles of subdued light. 

For a few seconds he saw her thus, a slim, girlish, fur-clad figurestanding with her hands at her side like a schoolgirl in class, her facerather white and her lips compressed: then a bend hid her and the tumultof cheering and farewell died. 

"Good on you, little girl, " he muttered, and withdrew his head andshoulders to fumble fiercely for his pipe. Courage in the woman he loveswill move a man as never will her tears. There is also gratitude in hisheart. 

He retraced his steps to his sleeping-compartment and was aware of thefaint fragrance of violets still lingering in the air. She had beenwearing some that he had bought her late that afternoon. .. . 

He sat down on the bunk and fervently pressed the tobacco into the bowlof his pipe with his thumb. "Oh, damn-a-horse!" he said. For a momenthe sat thus sucking his unlit pipe and staring hard at the carpet, andnot until it sounded a second time did a knock at the door of thecompartment cause him to raise his head and say, "Come in!"

The door opened, and a clean-shaven, smiling countenance, followed by apair of broad shoulders, appeared cautiously in the opening. Standishstared at the apparition, and then rose with a grin of welcome. 

"Why!" he said, "Podgie, of all people! Come in, you old blighter!"

The visitor entered. "How goes it, Bunje?" he said. "I saw you withyour missus just now, so I hid--I'm in the next cabin. " He indicated theadjoining compartment with a nod. 

"Sit down, old lad. What are you doing here? I thought----" Thespeaker broke off abruptly, and his glance strayed involuntarily to theground. The new-comer nodded, and, sitting down on the bunk, pushed hiscap back from his forehead. 

"That's right. " He extended his left leg. "Cork foot. What d'you go onit, Bunje, eh?" They contemplated the acquisition in silence for amoment. "I was in a destroyer, you know, " pursued the speaker, "and oneof Fritz's shore batteries on the Belgian coast got our range by mistakeone day at dawn. Dusted us down properly. " He extended his leg again. "Hence the milk in the coco-nut, as you might say. However, we had amakee-learn doctor on board--Surgeon-Probationer, straight out of theegg, and no end of a smart lad: he dished me up in fine style. I went tohospital for a bit, and they gave me six months' full-pay sick leave--nota bad old firm, the Admiralty. "

"What then, " asked the other, "invalided?"

The visitor nodded. "But about a month ago I fell-in and said I couldn'tkick my heels any longer. Hadn't two to kick, in point of fact!" Helaughed softly at the grim jest. "So they lushed me up to this outfit, and gave me a job as King's Messenger. I'm carrying despatches betweenthe Admiralty and the Fleet Flagship. Better'n doing nothing, " he addedhalf-apologetically. 

"Quite, " agreed Standish gravely: none knew better than he how belovedhad been the career thus abruptly terminated. He wondered, as he met thespeaker's smiling eyes with a sympathetic grin, whether he himself couldhave carried it off like this. "But it was rotten luck--I'm----"

The King's Messenger rose. "I've got a drop of whisky somewhere in mybag, " he interrupted. "Come along in there: I can't leave mydespatches--we'll have a yarn. "

He limped through the doorway, steadying himself with his hands againstthe rocking of the train. Standish followed. Never again, he reflected, would he follow those broad shoulders in a U. S. "Forward rush" to thefamiliar slogan of "_Feet--forwards--feet!_"

"You were wounded, too, last spring, weren't you?" queried the King'sMessenger, burrowing in his suit case for his flask. "Squat down at theend there--got your glass?" He measured out two portions of whisky andfrom the rack produced a bottle of soda. "Say when. .. "

Standish nodded. "Thanks--whoa! Yes, I got a couple of 'cushy' woundsand three months' leave. "

The other turned, helping himself to soda-water. "Lor', yes, and you gotspliced, too, Bunje!" He contemplated the Benedict over the rim of histumbler with the whimsical faint curiosity with which the bachelor NavalOfficer regards one of his brethren who has passed beyond the Veil. 

"Yes. " For a moment Standish assumed a thoughtful expression. Then helooked up, smiling. "What about you, Podgie? Isn't it about time youtoed the line?"

The King's Messenger shook his head. "No. It doesn't come my way. " Hiseyes rested contemplatively on his outstretched leg. "Not very likely toeither. .. . How d'you like the idea of joining up with the 'Great Silent'again after the flesh-pots and whatnot?"

For the second time he had changed the conversation almost abruptly. 

Standish lit his pipe. "What's it like up there now?" He jerked hishead in the direction in which they were travelling. "How are theysticking it? Have you been up lately? I haven't been in the Grand Fleetyet. "

"Yes, I was up--let's see, last week. Oh, they're all right. A bitbored, of course, but full of ginger. They go out and try to coax Fritzto come out and play from time to time. Fritz says 'Not in thesetrousers, I don't think, ' and then they go home again, dodging 'tinfish'[1] and raking up Fritz's 'warts'[2] out of the Swept Channels. Talking of 'warts' reminds me of a yarn going round last time I wasup--it's a chestnut now, but you may not have heard it. One of themine-layers nipped down in a fog and laid a mine-field off the mouth ofthe Ems. It was a tricky bit of work, and it seems to have touched upthe Padre's nerves a bit, because on the way back next morning, when hewas reading prayers--you know the bit about 'encompassed the waters withbounds'?--he said, 'Encompassed the bounders with warts, ' which was justwhat they had done, pretty effectively!"

The door to the corridor was half-open, and a tall figure in Navaluniform who was passing at that moment glanced in, hesitated, and filledthe doorway with his bulk. A slow smile spread over his face and showedhis white, even teeth. It was a very infectious grin. 

"How goes it, Podgie?" he said quietly. 

The King's Messenger looked up. "Hallo!" he retorted. Then camerecognition. "Thorogood, surely! Come in, old lad. What are you doingaboard the lugger-- D'you know Standish?"

The new-comer nodded a greeting, acknowledging the introduction. 

"Station-mates in the East Indies, weren't we?" said Standish. 

"That's right, " replied the other. "I remember you: we were both in camptogether--way back in the 'Naughty Naughts. ' We used to call you theIndia-rubber Man--Bunje for short. "

Standish laughed. "They do still, " he said, "mine own familiar friends. "

"Have a drop of whisky, " interrupted the King's Messenger. "'Fraid Ihaven't got a glass----"

The visitor hesitated. "Well, I've got old Mouldy Jakes in mycompartment. Can I bring him along: the old thing may get lonely. Hewas in your term in the _Britannia_, wasn't he?"

"He was. Fetch him along, " said the King's Messenger. "Standish wantsto know all about life in the Grand Fleet. You two ought to be able toenlighten him a bit between you. "

Thorogood contemplated the India-rubber Man thoughtfully. 

"Just joining up? Mouldy and I have been there since January, '15--I'llfetch him. "

The speaker vanished and returned a moment later with a companion whowore a Lieutenant's uniform, and carried a tooth-glass in his hand. Hislean, rather sallow face relaxed for an instant into a smile during theprocess of introduction, and then resumed a mask-like gravity. Heup-ended a suit-case, sat down and silently eyed the others in turn. 

"What have you two been doing?" asked the King's Messenger. "Been onleave?"

"Yes, " replied Thorogood. "I met Mouldy this morning, and we had a dayin town together. "

"Brave man! I should be sorry to have had such a responsibility. Whatdid you do?"

"Well, we lunched with my Uncle Bill at his club----"

"That was nice for Uncle Bill--what then?"

"Uncle Bill had to go to the Admiralty, so I took Mouldy for a walk inSt. James's Park"--the speaker contemplated his friend sorrowfully--"andI lost him. "

The King's Messenger laughed. "What happened to you, Mouldy?"

The officer addressed put his empty glass between his knees and proceededto fill a cherrywood pipe of villainous aspect from a Korean oiled-silktobacco pouch. 

"Took a flapper to the movies, " was the grave and somewhat unexpectedreply. 

Thorogood, lounging in any easy attitude against the door, took up thetale of gallantry. "Apparently the star film of the afternoon was'Britain's Sea-Dogs, or Jack-Tars at War, ' and that appears to have beentoo much for our little Lord Fauntleroy. He slipped out unbeknownst tothe fairy, and I found him at the club an hour later playing billiardswith the marker. "

The cavalier relaxed not a muscle of his sphinx-like gravity. "Neverknow what to do with myself on leave, " he observed in sepulchral tones. "Always glad to get back. Like the fellow in the Bastille--what?" Heraised his empty tumbler and scanned the light through it with sombreinterest. "Long ship, this, James. "

The phrase is an old Navy one, and signifies much the same thing as theGovernor of North Carolina said to the Governor of South Carolina. 

"Sorry, " apologised the host. "There isn't any more soda, I'm afraid, but----"

"Don't mind water, " said his guest, diluting his tot from thewater-bottle. He turned to the India-rubber Man. 

"What ship're you going to?" he asked. 

Standish named the ship to which he had been appointed. The other took asip of his whisky and water and nodded with the air of one whose worstmisgivings had been confirmed. 

"I remember now: I saw your appointment. James and I belong to her. We're going to be shipmates, then. " He blew a cloud of smokeceilingwards. "It's all right in one of those new ships: no scuttles:tinned air and electric light between decks: wake up every morningfeeling's if you'd been gassed. An' the turrets----" He plungedgloomily into technicalities that conveyed the impression that theinterior of a turret of the latest design was the short cut to a lunaticasylum. "I'm the Assistant Gunnery Lieutenant in our hooker, and I tellyou it's a dirty business. "

"What d'you do for exercise?" queried the India-rubber Man when theAssistant Gunnery Lieutenant lapsed again into gloomy silence. 

"Plenty of that, " said Thorogood. "Deck-hockey and medicine-ball--youmark out a tennis-court on the quarter deck, you know, and heave a 9-lb. Ball over a 5 ft. Net--foursomes. Fine exercise. " He spoke with thegrave enthusiasm of the athlete, to whom the attainment of bodily fitnessis very near to godliness indeed. "You can get a game of rugger when theweather is good enough to allow landing, and there's quite a decentlittle 9-hole golf course. Oh, you can keep fit enough. "

"How about the sailors--are they keeping cheery?"

Thorogood laughed. "They're amazing. Of course, we've got a real whiteman for a Skipper--and the Commander, too: that goes a long way. Andthey're away from drink and--other things that ain't good for 'em. Everybody has more leisure to devote to them than in peace-time: theiramusements and recreations generally. Cinema shows and regattas, boxingchampionships, and all the rest of it. There's fifty per cent. Lesssickness and fewer punishments than we ever had in peacetime. Of course, it's an exile for the married men--it's rough on them, but on the wholethere's jolly little grumbling. "

"Yes, " said the India-rubber Man. "It must be rough on the married men. "He felt suddenly as if an immense period of time had passed since he saidgood-bye to Betty: and the next moment he felt that he had had enough ofthe others. He wanted to get along to his own compartment where thescent of violets had lingered. 

He rose, stretching himself, and slipped his pipe into his pocket. "Well, " he said, "'Sufficient unto the day. ' I'm turning in now. "

There was a little pause after his departure, and Thorogood prodded thebowl of his pipe reflectively. 

"I wonder what's happened to the India-rubber Man?" he said. "It's sometime since I saw him last, but he's altered somehow. Not mouldy exactly, either. .. . "

"He's married, " said the King's Messenger, staring at the shaded electriclight overhead, as he sprawled with one elbow on the pillow. 

Mouldy Jakes gave a little grunt. "Thought as much. They get likethat. " He spoke as if referring to the victims of an incomprehensibleand ravaging disease. "An' it's always the good ones that get nabbed. "He eyed the King's Messenger with an expression of melancholyomniscience. "Not so suspicious, you know. "

"Well, " said Thorogood, "that is as may be: but I'm off to bed. Comealong, Mouldy. "

The misogamist suffered himself to be led to the double-berthedcompartment he shared with Thorogood. 

The King's Messenger locked the door after their departure and got intopyjamas. For a long time he sat cross-legged on his bunk, nursing hismaimed limb and staring into vacancy as the express roared on through thenight. Finally, as if he had arrived at some conclusion, he shook hishead rather sadly, turned in, and switched out the light. 

"Good lad, Podgie, " observed Thorogood reflectively to his companion, ashe proceeded to undress. 

Mouldy Jakes, energetically brushing his teeth over the tinywashing-basin, grunted assent. 

"Ever met my cousin Cecily?" pursued Thorogood. "No, I don't think youdid: she was at school when we stayed with Uncle Bill before the war. "

"Shouldn't remember her if I had, " mumbled the gallant. 

"She's Uncle Bill's ward, and by way of being rather fond of Podgie, Ifancy--at least, she used to be, I know. But the silly old ass won't gonear her since he lost his foot. "

Mouldy Jakes dried his tooth-brush, and, fumbling in his trouser pocket, produced a penny. 

"Heads or tails?" he queried. 

"Tails--why?"

"It's a head. Bags I the lower berth. "

The India-rubber Man, in his compartment, had got into pyjamas and wassitting up in his bunk writing with a pencil and pad on his knees. Whenhe had finished he stamped and addressed an envelope, rang for theattendant, and gave it to him to be posted at the next stopping-place. It bore an address in Queen's Gate, London, where at the moment theaddressee, curled up in the centre of a very large bed, was doing herbest in the darkness to keep a promise. 

[1] Torpedoes. 

[2] Mines. 

CHAPTER II

THE "NAVY SPECIAL"

Railway travel appeals to the sailor-man. It provides him with ampleleisure for conversation, sleep, or convivial song. When thepossibilities of these absorbing pursuits are exhausted, remains aheightened interest in the next meal. 

The pale February sunlight was streaming across snow-covered moorlandthat stretched away on either side of the line, when the HighlandExpress drew up at the first stopping place the following morning. From every carriage poured a throng of hungry bluejackets in search ofbreakfast. Many wore long coats of duffle or sheepskin provided by amaternal Admiralty in view of the severe weather conditions in the farNorth. The British bluejacket is accustomed to wear what he is told towear, and further, to continue wearing it until he is told to put onsomething else. Hence a draft of men sent North to the Fleet from oneof the Naval depots in the South of England would cheerfully don theduffle coats issued to them on departure and keep them on until theyarrived at their destination, with an equal disregard for such outwardcircumstances as temperature or environment. 

A night's journey in a crowded and overheated railway carriage, muffledin such garb, would not commend itself to the average individual as anideal prelude to a hearty breakfast. Yet the cheerful, sleepy-eyedcrowd of apparently par-boiled Arctic explorers that invaded therestaurant buffet vociferously demanding breakfast, appeared on thebest of terms with themselves, one another and the world at large. 

A score or more of officers besieged a flustered girl standing beside apile of breakfast baskets, and the thin, keen morning air resoundedwith banter and voices. The King's Messenger, freshly shaven and pinkof countenance (a woman once likened his face to that of a cherublooked at through a magnifying glass), stood at the door of hiscarriage and exchanged morning greetings with travellers of hisacquaintance. Then the guard's whistle sounded; the noise and laughterredoubled along the platform and a general scramble ensued. Doorsslammed down the length of the train, and the damsel in charge of thebreakfast baskets raised her voice in lamentation. 

"Ane o' the gentlemen hasna paid for his basket!" she cried. Headsappeared at windows, and the owner of one extended a half-crown. "It'smy friend in here, " he explained. "His name is Mouldy Jakes, and hecan't speak for himself because his mouth is too full of bacon; but hewishes me to say that he's awfully sorry he forgot. He was struck allof a heap at meeting a lady so early in the morning. .. . " The speakervanished abruptly, apparently jerked backwards by some mysteriousagency. The train started. 

The maiden turned away with a simper. "It was no his friend at all, "she observed to the young lady from the buffet, who had emerged to wavefarewell to a bold, bad Engine Room Artificer after a desperateflirtation of some forty seconds' duration. "It was himself. "

"They're a' sae sonsie!" said the young lady from the buffet with arapturous sigh. 

At the junction where the train stopped at noon, Naval occupation ofthe North proclaimed itself. A Master-at-Arms, austere of visage andstentorian voiced, fell upon the weary voyagers like a collie rallyinga flock of sheep. A Lieutenant-Commander of the Reserve, in a tatteredmonkey-jacket, was superintending the unstowing of bags and hammocks bya party of ancient mariners in white working rig and brown gaiters. Aretired Boatswain, who apparently bore the responsibilities of localTraffic Superintendent upon his broad shoulders, held sage council withthe engine driver. 

The travellers were still many weary hours from their destination, butthe solicitude of the great Mother Fleet for her sons' welfare wasplain on every side. There were evidences of a carefully planned, wisely executed organisation in the speed with which the great crowd ofblue-jackets and marines of all ranks and ratings, and bound for fiftydifferent ships, were mustered, given their dinners and marshalled intothe "Navy Special" that would take them on their journey. 

Mouldy Jakes deposited his bags and rug strap on the platform andsurveyed the scene with mournful pride. "Good old Navy!" he observedto the India-rubber Man, while Thorogood went in search of food. "Goodold firm! Father and mother and ticket collector and supplier ofham-sandwiches to us all. Who wouldn't sell his little farm and go tosea?"

Standish picked up his suit-case and together they made for theadjoining platform, where the train that was to take them on theirjourney was waiting. 

They selected a carriage and were presently joined by Thorogood, burdened with eatables and soda water. The bluejackets were already intheir carriages, and the remaining officers, to the number of about ascore, were settling down in their compartments. They represented allranks of the British Navy; a Captain and two Commanders were joined bythe Naval Attaché of a great neutral Power on his way to visit theFleet. An Engineer Commander and a Naval Instructor shared a luncheonbasket with a Sub-Lieutenant and a volunteer Surgeon. Two Clerks, aMidshipman and a Torpedo Gunner found themselves thrown together, andat the last moment a Chaplain added himself to their company. 

The last door closed and the King's Messenger, carrying his despatchcase, came limping along the platform in company with the grey-beardedCommander in charge of the base. The King's Messenger climbed into hiscarriage and the journey was resumed. Along the shores of jade-tintedlochs, through far-stretching deer forest and grouse moor, pastbrawling rivers of "snow-brew, " and along the flanks of shale-strewnhills, the "Navy Special" bore its freight of sailor-men. 

No corridor connected the carriages to afford opportunities for aninterchange of visits for gossip and change of companionship. Theoccupants of each compartment settled down grimly to endure themonotony of the last stage of their journey according to the dictatesof their several temperaments. 

The King's Messenger, in the seclusion of his reserved compartment, read a novel at intervals and looked out of the window for familiarlandmarks that recalled spells of leave in pre-war days, when hetramped on two feet through the heather behind the dogs, or, thigh deepin some river, sent a silken line out across the peat-brown water. 

In an adjoining compartment a Lieutenant of the Naval Reserve sat atone end facing a Lieutenant of the Volunteer Reserve, while a smallMidshipman, effaced behind a magazine, occupied the other corner. Conversation, stifled by ham sandwiches, restarted fitfully, andflagged from train weariness. Darkness pursued the whirling landscapeand blotted it out. Sleep overtook the majority of the travellersuntil the advent of tea baskets at the next stopping place revived themto a more lively interest in life and one another. 

The Reserve Lieutenant fussed over his like a woman. "I wouldn'ttrouble if I never smelt whisky again, " he confided to his vis-à-vis, "but I couldn't get on without tea. " He helped himself to three lumpsof sugar. 

The ice thinned rapidly. 

"With fresh milk, " said the Volunteer Reserve man appreciatively, pouring himself out a cup. "Eh, Jennings?"

The Midshipman, thus addressed, grinned and applied himself in silenceto a scone and jam. 

"Ah, " said the Reserve man with a kind of tolerance in his tone, suchas a professional might extend to the enthusiasm of an amateur in hisown trade. "Cows scarce in your job?"

"A bit, " was the unruffled reply. "We've just brought a Norwegianwind-jammer in from the South of Iceland. .. . " He indicated with a nodthe young gentleman in the corner, who was removing traces of jam fromhis left cheek. "I'm bringing the armed guard back to our base. "

The Reserve man drank his tea after the manner of deep-sea sailor-men. That is to say, you could shut your eyes and still know: he wasdrinking hot tea. 

"Armed Merchant-cruiser squadron?" he queried. Imperceptibly his tonehad changed. The Armed Merchant-cruisers maintain the Allied blockadeacross the trade routes of the Far North: "fancy" sailor-men do notapply for jobs in one of these amazons of the North Sea, and it takesmore than a Naval uniform to bring a suspect sailing ship many milesinto port for examination under an armed guard of four men. 

The Volunteer nodded. "We had a picnic, I can tell you. It blew likehell from the N. E. , and the foretopmast--she was a barque--went like acarrot the second day. We hove to, trying to rig a jury mast, when uppopped a Fritz. "[1] The speaker laughed, a pleasant, deep laugh ofcomplete enjoyment. "I thought we were in for a swim that would knockthe cross-Channel record silly! However, I borrowed a suit from theskipper--and he wasn't what you'd call fastidious in his dresseither----"

The Volunteer made a little grimace at the recollection, because he wasa man of refined tastes and raced his own yacht across the Atlantic inpeace time. 

"It was too rough to board, but the submarine closed to within hailingdistance, and a little pipsqueak of a Lieutenant, nervous as a cat, talked to us through a megaphone. Fortunately I can speakNorwegian. .. . "

"What about the skipper of the wind-jammer?" interrupted the other. 

"He kept his mouth shut. Wasn't much in sympathy with the company thatowned the submarine, having lost a brother the month before in asteamship shelled and sunk without warning. You can't pleaseeverybody, it seems, when you start out to act mad in a submarine. Well, this lad examined our papers through a glass and I chucked him acigar. .. . He hadn't had a smoke for a week. Then he sheered off, because he saw something on the horizon that scared him. He was veryyoung, and, as I've said, nerves like fiddle strings. "

The Reserve man lit a cigarette and inhaled a great draught of smoke. There was something in his alert, intent expression reminiscent of abull terrier when he hears rats scuffling behind a wainscot. 

The war has evolved specialists without number in branches of Navalwarfare hitherto unknown and unsuspected. Among these is the SubmarineHunter. The Reserve man belonged to this type, which is simply areversion to the most primitive and savage of the fighting instincts. At the first mention of the German submarine he leaned forward eagerly. 

"Threw him a cigar, did you?" he said grimly. "Sorry I wasn'tthere. I'd have thrown him something. That's my line ofbusiness--Fritz-hunting. "

The ribbon of the Distinguished Service Cross on the lapel of hismonkey-jacket showed that he apparently pursued this branch of sportwith some effect. "Been at it from the kick-off, " he continued. "Started with herring nets, you know!" He laughed a deep bark ofamusement. "Lord! We had a lot to learn. We began from an East Coastfishing port, working with crazy drifters manned by East Coastfishermen. There was a retired Admiral in charge, as tough an oldterror as ever pulled on a sea boot--and half a dozen of us alltogether, some Active Service and some Reserve like me. Navy? Blessyou, _we_ were the Navy, that old Admiral and us six. " The speakerraised his voice to make plain his words above the rattle of the train. "There was a lot of talk in the papers about Jellicoe and Beatty andthe Grand Fleet and the Battle Cruisers, but they didn't come our wayand we didn't trouble them. We had a couple of score of trawlers anddrifters and four hundred simple fishermen to cram the fear of the Lordinto. That was our job!"

He spoke with the peculiar word-sparing vividness of the man to whomthe Almighty had vouchsafed the mysterious gift of handling other men. "Long-shore and deep-sea fishermen, good material, damned good, butthey took a lot of coaxing. " He paused and contemplated his handsresting on his knees. Scarred by frost-bite they were, with huge bonesprotruding like knuckle-dusters. "Coaxing, mind you, " he repeated. "I've been chief of an Argentine cattle-boat for four years and Secondon a windjammer round the Horn for three years before that. I knowwhen to drive and when to coax. Never touched a man, sir. " He paused, rubbing off the moisture condensed on the window, to peer info thenight. 

Here, then, was an Apostle of Naval Discipline among a community offishermen whose acknowledged tradition it was to get drunk when andwhere it suited their inclinations, to put to sea in the top-hats oftheir ancestors and return to harbour as weather or the fish dictated, whose instinctive attitude towards strangers was about as encouragingas that of the Solomon Islanders. 

"We took 'em and trained 'em--gradually, you understand. Taught 'em tosalute the King's uniform, an' just why orders had to be obeyed:explained it all gently"--the stupendous hand made a gesture in the airas if stroking something. "Then after a while we moved 'em on tosomething else--the Game itself, in fact--and my merry men tumbled toit in no time. It was in their blood, I guess. They'd huntedsomething all their lives, and they weren't scared because they had totake on something a bit bigger. I tell you, after a few weeks I justprayed for a submarine to come along and show what we could do. "

The Volunteer grinned understandingly. "Well?" he said. 

"We got one a week later. Just for all the world like a bloomin'salmon. First we knew that there was one about was the _MerrieMaggie_, one of our trawlers, blowing up. Well, I'd been over the samespot in the morning, and there were no mines there then, so I knew ourfriend wasn't far off. .. . " The Submarine Hunter mused for a moment, staring at his clasped hands, with the faint blue tattoo-marks showingunder the tan. "We got him at dawn--off a headland. .. . Oh, best bitof sport that ever I had!" The speaker's hard grey eye softened at therecollection. "We've got lots since, but never one as neat as that. He just came to the surface and showed his tail-fin and----" the hugehands made a significant downward gesture. 

If you have ever heard a Regimental Bombing Officer describe theclearing of an enemy traverse, you will understand the completeexpressiveness of that gesture. 

"I'm going North now to join a new base up there. There are one or twododges that I can put them up to, I reckon. "

The Volunteer filled and lit a pipe. 

"Pretty work it sounds. Ours is duller, on the whole, but we get ourshare of excitement. You never sight a steamer flying neutral colourswithout the possibility of her hoisting the German ensign and slippinga torpedo into you. That's why we introduced the Red Pendant business. It meant inconvenience for all parties, but neutrals have only got theHun to thank for it. "

"Never heard of it, " said the other. "Fritz-hunting is my game. "

"Well, you see, ever since they've tried to slip raiders through theblockade we can't afford to close a stranger flying neutral colourswithin gun or torpedo range. So we had to explain to neutrals that ared flag hoisted by one of our merchant cruisers is the signal to heaveto instantly, and that brings her up well out of range. Then we drop aboat and steam off and signal her to close the boat, and the boardingofficer goes on board and examines her papers. If she's got a cargowithout guarantees she's sent into one of the examination ports underan armed guard to have it overhauled properly. "

"For contraband?"

"Yes, and to see that the commodity she carries isn't in excess of theration allowed to the country of destination--if she's eastward bound, that is. Also the passengers are scrutinised for suspects, and so on;it's a big job, one way and another. That's all done by theExamination Service at the port, though, and I don't envy them the job. We only catch 'em and bring 'em in. "

For a while longer he talked between puffs at his pipe of the "twilightservice" rendered by the Armed Merchant-cruisers. He spoke of grimstern-chases under the Northern Lights, of perils from ice andsubmarines and winter gales, while the Allied strangle-hold tightenedmonth by month, remorselessly, relentlessly. 

"It's a peaceful sort of job, though, on the whole, " he concluded. "Nobody worries us. The public, most of 'em, don't know we exist. Journalists don't want to come and visit us much, " he chuckled. "Wedon't find our way into the illustrated papers. .. . "

"That's right, " said the Submarine Hunter. "That's the way to work inwar-time. If I had my way----"

A jarring shudder ran through the train as the brakes were applied andthe speed slackened. The Reserve Man lowered the window and peered outinto the darkness. A flurry of snow drifted into the dimly lightedcarriage. 

"Hallo!" he ejaculated. "We're here. Bless me, how the time goes whenone gets yarning. "

The Volunteer rose and held out his hand. 

"My name is Armitage, " he said, and named two exclusive clubs, one inLondon and the other in New York. "Look me up after the war if youpass that way. "

The Submarine Hunter took the proffered hand in his formidable grip. 

"Pleased to have met you. Mine's Gedge. I don't own a club, but theLiverpool Shipping Federation generally knows my address. And thegirls from Simonstown to Vladivostock will tell you if I've passed thatway!"

He threw back his head, displaying the muscular great throat above hiscollar, and laughed like a mischievous boy. 

"Good luck!" he said. 

"Good hunting!" replied the Volunteer. 

He turned to the Midshipman. "Come along, sonny, shake the sleep outof your eyes and go and collect our little party. "

Outside in the snowy darkness the great concourse of men was beingmustered: lanterns gleamed on wet oilskins and men's faces. Hoarsevoices and the tramp of heavy boots through the slush heralded thepassage along the platform of each draft as they were marched to thebarrier. A cold wind cut through the cheerless night like a knife. 

Armitage paused for a moment to accustom his eyes to the darkness. 

"Here we are, Mouldy, " said a clear-cut, well-bred voice out of thedarkness surrounding a pile of luggage. "Here's our stuff. Get atruck, old thing!"

Armitage turned in the direction of the voice: as he did so a passinglantern flashed on the face of a Lieutenant stooping over someportmanteaux. 

"I thought as much, " he said. "Thought I recognised the voice. " Hestepped towards the speaker and rested his hand on his shoulder. "James Thorogood, isn't it?" he said. 

The other straightened up and peered through the darkness at the faceof the Volunteer Lieutenant. "Yes, " he replied, "but it's devilishdark--I can't----"

"I'm Armitage, " said the other. Thorogood laughed. "Great Scott!" heexclaimed. "Were you in the train? I didn't see you before----"

"Neither did I, " was the reply, "but I heard your voice and recognisedit. How is Sir William?"

"Uncle Bill? Oh, he's all right. Hard at work on some comic inventionof his, as usual. "

The other nodded. "Well, give him my love when you write, and tell himI've struck the type of man he wants for that experiment of his. I'llwrite to him, though. Now I must go and find my little party ofbraves--bringing an armed guard back to our base. Good-bye and goodluck to you. "

They shook hands, and the Volunteer half turned away. An afterthoughtappeared to strike him, however, and he stopped. 

"By the way, " he added, "how's Miss Cecily? Well, I hope?"

"She's all right, thanks, " was the reply. "I'll tell her I've seenyou. "

"Will you? Yes, thank you. And will you say I--I am looking forwardto seeing her again next time I come South?"

The speaker moved away into the darkness. 

At that moment appeared Mouldy Jakes, panting behind a barrow. "Who'sthat old bird?" he queried. 

"Another of 'em, " replied Thorogood. 

"'Nother of what?"

"Cecily's hopeless attachments. He's a pal of Uncle Bill's, and asrich as Croesus. Amateur deep sea yachtsman before the war. He'sawfully gone on Cecily. "

"'Counts for him hanging round your neck, I s'pose, " commented thestudent of human nature. "Sort of 'dweller-near-the-rose' business. Heave that suit-case over--unless you can find any more of yourcousin's admirers sculling about the country. P'raps they'll load thistruck for us and shove it to the boat. Ah, here's Podgie!"

A moment later the King's Messenger joined the group. 

"Will you all come and have supper with me at the hotel?" he said. "It's the last meal you'll get on terra firma for some time to come. I've got a car waiting outside. "

Mouldy Jakes heaved the last of the bags on to the hand-cart andenlisted the services of a superannuated porter drifting past in thedarkness. The King's Messenger had slipped his arm inside Thorogood's, and the two moved on towards the barrier. 

"Has your wife got a young brother?" asked Mouldy Jakes abruptly as heand the India-rubber Man followed in the wake of the porter and thebarrow. 

"Yes, " replied Standish. "A lad called Joe--cadet at Dartmouth. "

"Did you ever ask him to dinner--before you were engaged, I mean?"pursued the inquisitor. 

The India-rubber Man laughed. 

"Well, not dinner exactly. But I went down to Osborne College once andstood him a blow-out at the tuck-shop. "

His companion nodded darkly in the direction of the King's Messenger. 

"Shouldn't wonder if Thorogood was feeling like that lad Joe. Usefulfellow to travel with, Thorogood. "

[1] Submarine. 

CHAPTER III

ULTIMA THULE

Across the stormy North Sea came the first faint streak of dawn. Itovertook a long line of Destroyers rolling landward with batteredbridge-screens and salt-crusted funnels; it met a flotilla ofmine-sweeping Sloops, labouring patiently out to their unending task. Itlit the frowning cliffs, round which wind-tossed gulls wailed andbreakers had thundered the beat of an ocean's pulse throughout the ages. 

The Destroyers were not sorry to see the dawn. The night was theirtask-master: in darkness they worked and in the Shadow of Death. Theypassed within hailing distance of the Sloops, and on board the reelingDestroyers here and there a figure in streaming oilskins raised his armand waved a salutation to the squat grey craft setting forth in thecomfortless dawn to holystone Death's doorstep. 

The Mine-sweepers refrained from any such amenity. Anon the darknesswould come again, when no man may sweep for mines. Then would be theirturn for grins and the waving of arms. In the meanwhile, they preferredto remain grim and restless as their work. 

Presently the Destroyers, obedient to a knotted tangle of flags at theyardarm of their leader, altered course a little; they were making for anopening in the wall of rock, on either side of which gaunt promontoriesthrust their naked shoulders into the surf. The long black, viperishhulls passed through under the ever-watchful eyes of the shore batteries, and the hooded figures on the Destroyer bridges threw back their dufflecowls and wiped the night's accumulation of dried spray and cinders outof the puckers round their tired eyes. 

The Commanding Officer of the leading Destroyer leaned across thebridge-rails and stared round at the ring of barren islands encirclingthe great expanse of water into which they had passed, the naked, snow-powdered hills in the background: at the greyness and desolation ofearth and sky and sea. 

"Home again!" he said in an undertone to the Lieutenant beside him. "Itain't much of a place to look at, but I'm never sorry to see it againafter a dusting like we got last night. "

The Lieutenant raised the glasses slung round his neck by a strap andlevelled them at a semi-globular object that had appeared on the surfacesome distance away. "There's old Tirpitz waiting to say good morning asusual. "

The Commander laughed. "Rum old devil he is. That's where the Hun hasthe pull over us. He's got something better than a seal to welcome himback to harbour--when he _does_ get back!"

"When he does, yes. " The other chuckled. "Gretchens an' iron crossesan' joy bells. Lord, I'd love to see 'em, wouldn't you? Just for fiveminutes!"

The Commander moved across to the tiny binnacle. "I'd rather see my ownwife for five minutes, " he replied. Then, raising his voice, "Starboardten!"

"Starboard ten, sir, " repeated the voice of the helmsman. 

The Commander stood with watchful eye on the swinging compass card. "Midships . .. Steady!"

"Steady, sir!" sang the echo at the wheel. The Commander glanced aftthrough the trail of smoke at the next astern swinging round in thesmother of his wake. "Well, we shan't be long now before we tie up tothe buoy--curse these fellows! Here come all the drifters with mails andratings for the Fleet. .. . Port five!"

"Port five, sir!" The flotilla altered course disdainfully to avoid asteam drifter which wallowed through the wake of the Destroyers in thedirection of the distant fleet, still shrouded by the morning mist. "That's the King's Messenger going off to the Fleet Flagship. There comethe others, strung out in a procession, making for the differentsquadrons. Wake up, you son of Ham!" The speaker stepped to the lanyardof the syren and jerked it savagely. Obedient to the warning wailanother drifter altered course in reluctant compliance with the Rule ofthe Road. "I'd rather take the flotilla through Piccadilly Circus thanmanoeuvre among these Fleet Messengers! They're bad enough on the highseas in peace-time with their nets out, but booming about inside aharbour they're enough to turn one's hair grey. "

If the truth be told, the past had known no great love lost between theDestroyers and the fishing fleet. Herring-nets round a propeller are notcalculated to bind hearts together in brotherly affection. Perhaps dimrecollections of bygone mishaps of this nature had soured the DestroyerCommander's heart towards the steam-drifter. 

On the outbreak of war, however, the steam fishing fleets became an armof the great Navy itself, far-reaching as its own squadrons. Theyexchanged their nets for guns and mine-sweeping paraphernalia: theybecame submarine-hunters, mine-sweepers, fleet-messengers and patrollersof the great commerce sea-ways in the South. They became a little Navywithin the Navy, in fact, already boasting their own peculiar traditions, and probably as large a proportion of D. S. C. 's as any other branch of themother Service. 

They are a slow, crab-gaited community that clings to gold earrings andfights in jerseys and thigh boots from which the fish-scales have notaltogether departed. Ashore, on the other hand (where their women rule), they consent to the peaked cap and brass buttons of His Majesty'suniform, and wear it, moreover, with the coy self-consciousness of abulldog in a monogrammed coat. 

Link by link they have built up a chain of associations with the parentNavy that will not be easily broken when the time comes for these littleauxiliaries to return to their peaceful calling. They have worked sideby side with the dripping Submarine; they have sheltered through stormsin the lee of anchored Battleships; they have piloted proud Cruisersthrough the newly-swept channels of a mine-field, and brought aBattle-cruiser Squadron its Christmas mail in the teeth of a Northernblizzard. In token of these things, babies born in fishing villages fromthe Orkneys to the Nore have been christened after famous Admirals andmen-of-war, that the new generation shall remember. 

The drifter that had altered course slowly came round again when the lastof the Destroyers swept past, and the three figures in the bows ducked asshe shipped a bucket of spray and flung it aft over the tiny wheel-house. One of the figures turned and stared after the retreating hulls. 

"Confound 'em, " he said. "Just like the blooming Destroyers, chuckingtheir weight about as if they owned creation, and making us take theirbeastly wash. " He took off his cap and shook the salt water from it. One of the other two chuckled. "Never 'mind, Mouldy, it will be yourturn to laugh next time we go to sea, when you're perched on theforebridge sixty feet above the waterline, and watching ourDestroyer-screen shipping it green over their funnels. "

Mouldy Jakes shook his head gloomily. "Laugh!" he echoed. "Then I'd getshoved under arrest by the skipper under suspicion of being drunk. "

The drifter rounded an outlying promontory of one of the islands, andThorogood raised his hand. "There you are, " he said, "there's our littlelot!" He indicated with a nod the Battle-fleet of Britain. 

"And very nice too, " said the India-rubber Man, staring in the directionof the other's gaze. "Puts me in mind, as they say, of a picture I sawonce. 'National Insurance, ' I think it was called. "

A shaft of sunlight had struggled through a rift in the clouds and fellathwart the dark waters of the harbour. In the far distance, outlinedagainst the sombre hills and lit by the pale sunshine, a thicket oftripod masts rose towering above the grey hulls of the anchoredBattle-fleet. 

As the drifter drew near the different classes of ships becamedistinguishable. A squadron of Light Cruisers were anchored between themand the main Fleet, with a thin haze of smoke hovering above their rakingfunnels. Beyond them, line upon line, in a kind of sullen majesty, laythe Battleships. Seen thus in peace-time, a thousand glistening pointsof burnished metal, the white of the awnings, smooth surfaces of enamel, varnish and gold-leaf would have caught the liquid sunlight and concealedthe menace of that stern array. 

Now, however, stripped of awnings, with bare decks, stark as gladiators, sombre and terrible, they conveyed a relentless significance heightenedby the desolation of their surroundings. 

From the offing came the rumble of heavy gunfire. 

"Don't be alarmed, " said Thorogood to the India-rubber Man, who hadturned in the direction of the sound; "we haven't missed the bus!" Helooked along the lines with a swift, practised eye. "It's only some ofthe Battle-cruisers out doing target practice. That's our squadron, there. " He pointed ahead. "We're the second ship in that line. "

The drifter passed up a broad lane, on either side of which towered greysteel walls, unbroken by scuttles or embrasures; above them the muzzlesof guns hooded by casemates and turrets, the mighty funnels, piled upbridges and superstructures, frowned down like the battlements offortresses. Men, dwarfed by the magnitude of their environment to thesize of ants, and clad in jerseys and white working-rig, swarmed aboutthe decks and batteries. 

"There's the Fleet Flagship, " continued Thorogood, pointing. "That shipwith the drifters round her, flying the Commander-in-Chief's flag. That's where Podgie was bound for. Rummy to think he'll be back inLondon again in a couple of days' time!"

A seaplane that had been riding on the surface near the Fleet Flagship'squarter, rose like a flying gull, circled in wide spirals over the Fleetand sped seawards. Across the lanes of water, armed picket-boats, withpreternaturally grave-faced Midshipmen at their wheels, picked their wayamongst the traffic of drifters, cutters under sail, hooting storecarriers and puffers from the distant base. 

Mouldy Jakes contemplated the busy scene without undue enthusiasm. 

"Everything seems to be much the same as usual, " was his dry comment. "They seem to have got on all right without me for the last seven days. We've had a coat of paint, too. Wonder what's up. P'raps the King'scoming to pay us a visit. Or else the Commander reckons it's about timeto beat up for his promotion. "

The skipper of the drifter jerked the miniature telegraph to "Slow, " anda hoary-headed deck-hand stumped into the bows with a heaving line coiledover his arm. The drifter crept up under the quarter of a Battleshipthat towered above them into the grey sky. 

A tall, thin Lieutenant with a telescope under his arm looked down fromthe quarterdeck and made a gesture of greeting. 

"Hullo, Tweedledum, " said Thorogood; and added, "Bless me, Tweedledum'sshaved his beard off!"

"Must be the King, then, " said Mouldy gloomily. "Means I shall have toorder another monkey-jacket. " A bull terrier thrust a python-like headbetween the rails and wagged his tail. The drifter grated her fendersalongside and made fast. 

The three officers climbed the swaying ladder to the upper deck, and weregreeted in turn by the tall Lieutenant with the telescope. "You'reStandish, aren't you?" he asked, turning to the India-rubber Man. "TheCommander wants to see you--you're an old shipmate of his, it seems?" Heled the way as he spoke towards a door in the after superstructure. 

"Yes, " was the reply. "He was the First Lieutenant in my last ship--withthis Skipper. "

"Ah, " said the other, "she must have been a good ship then. "

They skirted a hatchway in the interior of the superstructure that yawnedinto the electric-lit interior of the ship, past cabins opening on to theforemost side of them, and stopped at a curtained doorway. A square ofpolished mahogany was screwed into the bulkhead beside it, with thefollowing inscription in brass letters:

 DON'T KNOCK. COME IN. 

The Officer of the Watch drew back the curtain and motioned to hiscompanion to enter. "Lieutenant Commander Standish, sir, " he said. 

The Commander, who was writing at a knee-hole table, turned and rose withhis grave, slow smile. 

"Come in, Bunje, " he said, holding out his hand. "Very glad you've gothere at last. " He laid his left hand for an instant on the India-rubberMan's shoulder and searched his face with kindly grey eyes. "How're thewounds and the wife and all the other things you've collected since I sawyou last?"

The India-rubber Man laughed. 

"They're all right, sir, thanks. " He glanced at the cap, with its goldoak leaves adorning the brim, lying on the desk. "I haven'tcongratulated you on your promotion yet, " he added. "I was awfully gladto hear you had got your 'brass hat'!"

The Commander laughed. "I still turn round when anyone sings out 'NumberOne, '" he replied. "I was beginning to feel as if I'd been a FirstLieutenant all my life! Seems quite funny not to be chivvying roundafter the flat-sweepers. " He resumed his seat. "Well, you'll find a fewof the old lot here: there's the Skipper of course, and Double-OGerrard--d'you remember the A. P. ? And little Pills: he's Staff Surgeonnow, and no end of a nut. .. Let's see--oh, yes, and young Bowses: heused to be one of our snotties, if you remember. 'Kedgeree, ' the otherscalled him. He's Sub of the Gunroom. That's about all of the old lot inthe Channel Fleet. But I think you'll like all the rest. It's a veryhappy mess. "

The India-rubber Man was roving round the cabin examining photographs. 

"Hullo!" he said. "You've got poor old Torps's photo here. "

"Yes, " was the reply. "I--I met a woman when I was on leave, of whom hewas very fond. She had two of his photographs and gave me that one. "The Commander had risen to his feet and was staring out of the scuttlewith absent eyes. "But, come along. The Skipper wants to see you, andthen I'll take you along to the mess. It's getting on for lunch time. What sort of a journey did you have?"

Still chatting they left the superstructure and passed aft along thespacious quarterdeck, where, round the flanks of the great superimposedturrets, a part of the watch were sweeping down the deck and squaring offropes. The Commander led the way down a hatchway aft to an electric-litlobby, where a marine sentry clicked to attention as they passed, andopened a door in the after bulkhead. They crossed the fore cabinextending the whole beam of the ship, and entered the after cabin. 

Unlike other cabins on the main deck, this was lit by scuttles in theship's side, and right aft, big armoured doors opened on to the sternwalk. It lacked conspicuously the adornments usually associated with theCaptain's apartment. Bare corticene covered the deck; the walls of whiteenamelled steel were unadorned save for a big scale chart of the NorthSea and a coloured map of the Western Front. A few framed photographsstood on the big roll-topped desk in one corner, and a bowl of purpleheather occupied the flat mahogany top to the tiled stove where anelectric radiator glowed. A bundle of singlesticks and a pair of foilsstood in the corner near an open bookcase; a padded "chesterfield" and afew chairs completed the austere furnishing of the cabin. 

The Captain was standing before a deal table supported by trestles, whichoccupied the deck space beneath the open skylight. On the table, amidthe litter of glue-pots, cardboard, thread and varnish, stood a model ofa Super-Dreadnought. He turned at the entry of the Commander and hiscompanion, laying down a pair of scissors. 

"Good morning, Standish, " he said. "Glad to see you again. I won'toffer to shake hands--mine are covered with glue. " He smiled in thewhimsical humorous way that always went straight to another man's heart. "We're all returning to our second childhood up here, you see!" Heindicated the model. "This is my device for keeping out of mischief. When finished I hope it will fill a similar role for the benefit of myson, Cornelius James. "

Standish examined the model with interest and delight. 

"What a ripping bit of work, sir, " he said. It was, indeed, a triumph ofpatient ingenuity and craftmanship. 

"It's an improvement on wood-carving, " was the reply. "All workingparts, you see. " The Captain set in motion some internal mechanism, andthe turret guns trained slowly on to the beam. He pressed a button. "Electric bow and steaming lights!" His voice had a ring of almostboyish enthusiasm, and he picked up a tangle of threads from the table. "But this fore-derrick purchase is the devil, though. All last evening Iwas on the sheaves of one of the double blocks--maddening work. Hornby'sdesigning a hydraulic lift to the engine-room; column of water concealedin the foremast, d'you see? When's that going to be finished, Hornby?"

The Commander laughed. "We'll have it done in time for Corney'sbirthday, sir. "

The Captain turned from the model. "Well, Standish, " he said, "allthis"--he nodded at the work of his patient hands--"all this looks ratheras if we never had anything better to do! As a matter of fact, it's onlyduring the winter that one finds time for anything. We're pretty busy, one way and another, you'll find. It'll take you some time to learn yourway round your turret, I expect. Jakes appears to find his an object ofsome interest--do you know him, by the way?" The Captain's humorous blueeyes twinkled. 

"Yes, I travelled up with him, sir. He mentioned the turret. "

"He probably did. He spends most of his life in his. Well, I'm gladyou've turned up in time for the Regatta. Our Wardroom crew wants a bitof weight. I told the Admiral we were going to win the cock--theSquadron trophy--this year, so you must see what you can do about it. Also, I want you to look after the Midshipmen. They're a good lot, andthere's one in particular--Harcourt, isn't it, Commander?--who ought topull off the Midshipmen's Lightweights if he can keep down to the weight. One or two want shaking up--Lettigne's too fat---- However, you probablywant to sling your hammock; hope you'll be comfortable. " The Captainnodded dismissal. As they reached the door the Captain spoke again. "Bythe way, " he said, "the children send their love. .. . "

"Now, " said the Commander as they emerged, "it's nearly lunch time. Comealong to the smoking-room. "

They ascended again to the upper deck and forward of the superstructure, descended a hatchway to the main deck. An open door in the armouredbulkhead gave a glimpse forward of a gun battery and a teeming mess-deckintent on its mid-day meal, where men jostled each other so thickly roundthe crowded mess tables that it seemed incredible that anyone could livefor years in such surroundings and retain an individuality. 

They turned away and passed aft down an electric-lit alley-way. A dooron the right opened for a moment as they passed, and emitted the strainsof a gramophone and a boy's laughter. 

"That's the Gunroom, " said the Commander. He led the way round a cornerand past the bloated trunk of an air-shaft to the other side of the ship. "Here we are, " he said, and opened a mahogany door in the white bulkhead, stepping aside to allow the other to enter a smallish square apartmentlit by a skylight overhead and hazy with tobacco smoke. A few paddedsettees and arm-chairs and a piano of venerable aspect, together with atable covered by magazines and papers, comprised the furniture;half-a-dozen coloured prints and a baize-covered notice board completedthe adornment of the walls. Through a doorway beyond came the hum ofconversation and clatter of knives and forks, where, in the Wardroom, lunch had already commenced. About half-a-dozen members of the Mess, however, still occupied the smoking-room; the nearest to the door, ashort, slightly built Staff Surgeon, in the act of shaking angosturabitters into a glass which a steward proffered on a tray, turned his headas the newcomers entered. 

"Bunje!" he cried, and put the bitters down. "Bunje! my son, Bunje! Oh, frabjous day, Calloo, Callay! My arms enfold ye. .. . " He enveloped theIndia-rubber Man in a bear-like embrace. "Behold the prodigal returning!Steward, bring hither a fatted calf and the swizzle-stick. Put a cherryin it and a slice of lemon and eke crushed ice. My dear life!" He heldthe India-rubber Man at an arm's length. "Bunje, these are moments whenstrong men sob like little children. But let me introduce you. "

The occupants of the smoking-room, grinning, came forward to greet thenew messmate. The Staff Surgeon named them in turn. 

"This is the P. M. O. He's plus two at golf. I mention that in case heoffers to take you ashore and play you for half-a-crown. P. M. O. , this isStandish, a wounded hero and a friend of my care-free youth. " Thespeaker rolled his r's, thrust his hand into the bosom of hismonkey-jacket and struck a histrionic attitude. 

"Seated on the settee, " he resumed, "caressing an overfed bull terrier, we have Tweedledee, likewise overfed. Get up and say how d'you do to thegentleman, Tweedledee. "

A short, chubby-faced Lieutenant rose and shook hands rather shyly. 

"Now, " pursued the Doctor, "casting our eyes round the room at random wesee the Pilot--otherwise known as the 'Merry Wrecker. ' The portlygentleman in clerical garb helping himself to a cigarette out of someoneelse's tin--His Eminence the Padre. The Captain of Marines you seeconsuming gin and bitters: title of picture, 'Celebrities and theirHobbies. ' This is the Engineer Commander. He is considerably senior tome and I therefore refrain from being witty at his expense. Takingadvantage of the general confusion caused by your arrival, the FirstLieutenant selects this moment to peep into the turgid pages of anillustrated Parisian journal I regret to say this mess contributes to. "

The lecturer paused for breath. A tall, florid-faced LieutenantCommander with a broken nose, who had been leaning over the paper table, pipe in mouth, straightened up with a chuckle and ostentatiouslyfluttered the pages of the _Times_. He eyed the Staff Surgeonreflectively for a moment and turned to the Captain of Marines. 

"Have we had enough, do you think, Soldier?" he asked in a voice ofominous quiet. 

"I almost think so, " replied the Captain of Marines. He finished his_apéritif_ and stared absently at the skylight overhead. 

"Pills, dear, " said the First Lieutenant in honeyed accents, "we'reafraid you are showing off before a stranger. There is only one penaltyfor that. "

"The Glory-hole, " said the Captain of Marines, and hurled himself on theStaff Surgeon. The First Lieutenant followed suit, and between them theydragged their struggling victim to the door. 

The bull terrier leaped around them with hysterical yelps of excitement. 

"Open the door, Padre, " gasped the Captain of Marines as the struggleswayed to and fro. "Garm, you fool, shut up!"

The Chaplain complied with the request with alacrity, and the threeinterlocked figures and the ecstatic dog floundered through out into theflat. 

Just outside, in an angle formed by the armour of the turret and theWardroom bulkhead, was a small cupboard. It was used by the flat-sweeperand messengers for the stowage of brooms, polishing paste, caustic sodaand other appliances of their craft, and was just large enough to hold asmall man upright. 

Into this dungeon, with the assistance of the Navigator, they succeededin stowing the Staff Surgeon, and despite his protests and franticstruggles, shut and fastened the door. 

"Now, " said the First Lieutenant, "let's go and have some lunch. "

"But you aren't going to leave him there, are you?" protested theIndia-rubber Man. 

"Oh, no, " was the reply. "The Padre is taking the time. Three minuteswe give him. " They passed through into the long Wardroom where a scoreor more of officers were seated at lunch round the table that occupiedpractically the whole length of the apartment. "Come and sit here nextto Thorogood--you travelled up with him, didn't you?"

The officer in question, who was ladling stewed prunes out of a dish onto his plate, grinned at the new-comer. 

"Here you are, " he said gaily. "Pea soup and boiled pork, my lad, " andpassed the menu. "Mouldy's vanished since we got onboard. He's probablylunching in his blessed old turret. I had some difficulty in restraininghim from trying to put his arms round it when he saw it again. Hullo!Here's Pills. Pills, you look rather warm and your hair wants brushing. "

"So would yours if you had been set upon by Thugs, " retorted the Doctoras he took his seat. "Pea soup, please. Ha! There you are, Bunje. Sorry I had to slip it across Number One and the Soldier just now. However, boys will be boys and the least said soonest mended. All is notgold that glitters and a faint heart never won fair lady--pass the salt, please. "

"'Fraid we're rather a noisy mess, " said the Commander. "You don't getmuch chance to sit and think beautiful thoughts when Pills is about. Hope you'll get used to it. "

The India-rubber Man laughed. "I expect so, " he said. 

CHAPTER IV

WAR BABIES

"Properly at ease. .. . Class, 'Shun! Left turn! Dismiss!"

The dozen or so of flannel-dad Midshipmen composing the class sprangstiffly to attention, turned forward, and made off briskly in thedirection of the hatchway. The India-rubber Man thrust his hands intothe pockets of his flannel trousers and strolled across the quarterdeckto where the Officer of the Watch was standing. 

"Tweedledum, " he said, elevating his nose and sniffing the keen morningair, "I can smell bacon frying somewhere. So could my class: I couldsee their mouths watering. You might send for the cook and tell himnot to do it. "

"You're a dirty bully, Bunje, you know, " said the Officer ofthe Watch reprovingly. "Fancy dragging those unhappy childrenout of their innocent hammocks at this unearthly hour of themorning to flap their legs and arms about and do 'Knees up!' and'Double-arm-bend-and-stretch!'" He raised a gloved hand and rubbed hisblue nose. Ashore a powdering of snow lay on the distant hills; in theEast the sky was flushing with bars of orange and gold athwart thetumbled clouds. An armed drifter, coming in from the open sea, stoodout against the light in strong relief. "Here's Mouldy Jakes comingback from Night Patrol--I bet even he isn't as cold as I am. "

"Rot!" retorted the Physical Trainer. "Do _you_ good, Tweedledum, tohop round a bit on a lovely morning like this!"

"Hop round!" echoed the other. "Hop round!" He looked about him as ifsearching for a weapon. The dew, which everywhere had frozen duringthe night, was slowly thawing on the canvas covers of guns andsearchlights, dripping from shrouds and yards and aerials. 

"Lord alive!" continued the Watchkeeper. "Haven't I been hopping roundthis perishing quarterdeck since four a. M. Keeping the Morning Watch?If Tweedledee doesn't come and relieve me soon I shall die of frostbiteand boredom. " The India-rubber Man was moving towards the hatchway. "And if you're going along to the bathroom, for pity's sake see there'ssome hot water left that I can sit and thaw in. "

In the meanwhile the Midshipmen had descended to the cabin-flat wheretheir chests occupied most of the available deck space. Flushed andbreathless with exercise, the majority proceeded to divest themselvesof their flannels and, girt with towels, made off for the bathroom. One, however, flung himself panting on to his chest, and sprawledpartly across his own and partly on his neighbour's. 

"I swear this is a bit thick!" he gasped. "I'm not used to this sortof frightfulness. " He waved his legs in the air. "I shall get heartdisease. Anguis pec--pec---- What's it called?"

"Peccavi, " prompted his neighbour, slipping out of his clothes anddonning a great-coat in lieu of a dressing-gown. "Otherwise 'The ruddy'eart-burn. ' Just move your greasy head off my till. I want to get atmy razor. "

"That's the worst of these 'new brooms'"--the victim of heart troublesurveyed his legs anxiously--"I know I've lost a couple of stone sincethis physical training fiend joined. I don't suppose my people willknow me when I go home. "

"Well, you aren't likely to be going home for some time to come, " saidanother, a seraphic-faced nudity contemplating his biceps in the smalllooking-glass that adorned the inside of his chest, "so I shouldn'tworry. I say, I'm sweating up a deuce of an arm on me. Shouldn'twonder if I pulled off the Grand Fleet Light-weights next month, " headded modestly, "if this sort of thing goes on. I just mention it incase any of you are thinking of putting your names in. " He turned fromthe glass, laughing. "Hullo, Mally, going to have a shave, old thing?"

"Yes, if I can get at my razor---- Oh, Bosh, get off mychest--sprawling all over my gear!"

"I'm in a state of acute physical exhaustion. I feel tender and giddy. I _know_ all this foul exercise is bad for me early in the morning. "The speaker sat up and juggled dexterously with a cake of soap, asponge and a tooth-brush. "I'm getting rather good at this---- Myword, look at Mally's shaving outfit. One would think he was a sort ofEsau--'stead of only having to shave once a blooming week!"

"Are you going to shave, Mally?" queried a voice across the flat. "Because I'm not sure I shouldn't be better for a bit of a scrapemyself. Can I have a rub at your razor after you?"

"You can have it after me if you swear not to skylark with it, " repliedthe owner. "Only, last time I lent it to you, you shaved your beastlyleg----"

"Only for practice, " admitted the petitioner, advancing with a fingerand thumb caressing his chin. 

"Well it blunted it, anyhow. Come on, I'm going to the bathroom now. "

The Gunroom bathroom was situated in another flat, reached via theaft-deck. Here about this hour an intermittent stream of figures inquaint _négligé_ passed and repassed to their toilets. Inside thebathroom itself song and the splashing of water drowned all othersounds. The owner of the enlarged biceps was seated, fakir-wise, cross-legged in one of the shallow, circular baths in a corner, bailingwater over himself from an empty cigarette tin. 

"Harcourt, old thing, " said the shaving enthusiast, who had filled abath and dragged it alongside his friend, "did you mean what you saidjust now about the boxing show--are you going to put your name down forthe Light-weights?"

The fakir stopped crooning a little song to himself and nodded. "Yes, I'm rather keen on it as a matter of fact. Standish saw me scrappingwith Green the other night and sent for me afterwards and told me toget fit. I'm going to have a shot at it, I think. Wouldn't you?"

His friend tested the temperature of the water in his bath with histoe, and got in. "Yes, rather, " he replied, and hesitated. "I'm goingin for it too, " he added. 

Harcourt rose and reached for his towel. "_Are_ you, Billy?" For amoment his eyes travelled over the other's slim form. "What a rag! Wemay draw each other--anyhow we shall have to scrap if we get into thesemi-finals. Billy, I believe you'd bash me!" He towelled himselfvigorously. 

The other shook his head. "You beat me at Dartmouth. But I'm going tohave a jolly good shot at it, cully!" He looked up with his facecovered with soap-suds and they laughed into each others' eyes. 

 * * * * *

Breakfast in the Gunroom was, to employ a transatlantic colloquialism, _some_ breakfast. 

There was porridge to start with and then a bloater, followed by hashedmutton and cold ham ("for them as likes it, " the Messman wouldsay--which meant he pressed it on nobody) and marmalade: perhaps anapple or two to wind up with to the everlasting honour of the VegetableProducts Committee who supplied them gratis to the Fleet. Then pipesand cigarettes appeared from lockers, and the temporarily-closedflood-gates of conversation reopened. The Wireless Press Message wasdiscussed and two experts in military strategy proceeded to demonstratewith the aid of two cruet-stands, a tea-spoon, and the Worcester Sauce, the precise condition of affairs on the Western Front. "Mark you, "said one generously, "I'm not criticising either Haig or Joffre. Butit seems to me that we should have pushed _here_"--and upset theWorcester Sauce. 

This mishap to the Loos salient was in process of being righted whenthe door opened and a short, square-shouldered figure, with awind-reddened face and eyes of a dark, dangerous blue, entered themess. He came in stamping his feet and blowing on his hands, callingloudly for breakfast the while. "My, there's a good fug in here, " heobserved appreciatively, and proceeded to divest himself of a dufflecoat, and a pair of night glasses which were slung round his neck in aleather case. He stumped across to the table, dragging his legs inheavy leather sea-boots rather wearily. 

"Am I hungry?" he demanded, insinuating himself with some difficultybetween the long form and the table, and sitting down. "Oh, no!Nothing to speak of. Cold? Not a bit: only frozen stiff. Any sleeplast night? Rather! Nearly ten minutes. Porridge, please, and passthe brown sugar. " The remainder of his messmates appeared disposed toreturn to strategical discussion. "Did we have any fun last night?"continued the speaker, raising his voice slightly. "Well, nothing tospeak of. Only downed a Fritz. "

"_Downed_ one?" roared the Mess, galvanised suddenly into rapt interestin the new-comer and all his works. 

"Yep. We were Outer Night Patrol last night. Me and Mouldy Jakes. Hedoes make me smile, that official. " A plateful of porridge proceededto pass rapidly to its last resting place. 

"He _might_ have taken me, " said one of the others wistfully. "Youdon't belong to his Division or his turret or anything. "

"It was my turn. You went last time. But you missed something, I cantell you!"

"What d'you mean, " said the Sub over the top of his paper. "Just coughup the details and let your beastly breakfast wait. "

The Night Patroller extracted the backbone from a bloater with swiftdexterity. "Well, " he continued, "it was very dark last night andfoggy in patches: rum night. Very little wind and no sea. We wereright outside and the Engineer sent up to say he thought there wassomething foul of the propeller. So we stopped and investigated with aboathook. There was a lot of weed and stuff fouling us. We wereplaying about with it _mit_ boathook for nearly a quarter-of-an-hour, and suddenly old Mouldy Jakes put up his head and sniffed about a bitand muttered 'Baccy. '"

"He's got a nose like a hawk, " said the Midshipman of that officer'sDivision with a tinge of pride in his voice. 

The Mess perforce had to possess its soul in patience while theraconteur swiftly disposed of the bloater. 

"So I sniffed too, and I could smell it quite plain. We were lyingstern to the wind; 'sides it wasn't decent baccy like ours, but sort ofScorp stuff, so we knew it wasn't one of our fellows smoking. Hashedmutton, please; and another cup of coffee. It was pitch dark and for amoment we couldn't see a thing. Then, suddenly, right on top of uscame a submarine! She was on the surface and there was a fellow on theconning tower and a couple of figures aft. She must have been smellingabout on the surface having a smoke and recharging her batteries. "

The remainder of the Gunroom had crowded round the speaker, somekneeling on the form with their elbows among the débris of breakfast, others sat on the edge of the table hugging their knees. 

"My word, Matt, " said one, his eyes dancing, "I bet you got cold feet. "

"Cold feet!" snorted the hero of the moment. "There wasn't time forcold feet. It was too sudden. They just grazed past us, going veryslow, and there was a devil of a bobbery. I fancy they thought theywere properly in the _consommé_. A trap or something. Anyhow the twobraves aft lost their heads and jumped overboard, and the bird in theconning tower disappeared like a Jack-in-the-box--properly rattled. "

"What price old Mouldy?" asked the listeners. "Utterly unmoved, Isuppose! Lord, I'd love to have seen him!"

"Oh, bored stiff by the whole performance, of course. Still he didmake one wild leap for the gun and got off a round at point-blankrange. Hit her just below the conning tower. She must have been indiving trim, because she went down like a stone, bubbling like an emptysoda-water bottle. "

"What about the Huns in the water?" demanded the enthralled Clerk. 

"We could only find one. The other must have got mixed up with thesubmarine's propeller. The one we picked up was nearly done andawfully surprised because we gave him dry clothes and hot drinks and asmoke, and didn't spit in his eye or anything of that sort. Said theirofficers always told them we illtreated our prisoners. Aren't theyNature's little Nobs?"

There was a little silence, each one busy with his own thoughts. Finally one broke the silence, voicing the opinion of the rest:

"Well, " he ejaculated, "some people have all the blinking luck. I'vedone about twenty night patrols since I've been up here and never seenanything 'cept a porpoise. "

The Night Patroller lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke with theair of a man who had earned it. "You were at Suvla Bay and the landingfrom the _River Clyde_, " he retorted. "You can't have _every_ ruddything in life. "

 * * * * *

A fine day in Ultima Thule--they were rare--was an occasion forthankfulness and rejoicing. Directly after luncheon the members ofGunroom and Wardroom made their way on deck to bask in the sun andsmoke contemplative post-prandial pipes in the lee of the aftersuperstructure. Forward, in amidships, the band was playing a slowwaltz and fifty or so couples from among the ship's company weresolemnly revolving to the music with expressions of melancholyenjoyment peculiar to such exercise. 

"It's make-and-mend this afternoon, " said the Senior Midshipman, tilting his cap over his eyes and lazily watching the antics of a gullvolplaning against the light wind. He sat on the deck with his backagainst the superstructure and his hands clasped round his knees. 

"It's a topping day, too, " added Malison from his vantage astride thecoir-hawser reel. "Too good to waste onboard. The footer ground'sbagged--let's have a picnic in one of the cutters. Have tea ashore, an' fry bangers over a fire. "

The project found favour generally. "We might ask one or two of theWardroom, " suggested Harcourt. "Some of the cheery ones; Standish andThorogood and the Doc, say. "

"_And_ old Jakes, " supplemented the Midshipman of that officer'sDivision jealously. "I'd like to ask him. He loves picnics. "

Mouldy Jakes was included in the invitation list by general consent. His half-humorous, resigned air of chronic boredom had a peculiarattraction for all the Midshipmen; in the case of the Midshipman of histurret it amounted to idolatry. 

"Go an' ask 'em, Harcourt, " said the Senior Midshipman. "You're theBlue-eyed Boy with the Wardroom. I'll go and tackle the Commander forthe cutter. "

"Then Bosh and I will go and ginger-up the Messman, " said another, "andget a basket packed. What shall we have for tea?"

"Sloe-gin, " promptly responded a tall, pale Midshipman with a slightlyfreckled nose and sandy hair. "Sloe-gin and bangers. [1] And getstrawberry jam: see the Messman doesn't try and palm off any of hisbeastly gooseberry stuff like he did last time. What about bacon andeggs, and some tins of cocoa and milk, and a cake and some sardines----"

"Wonk, " interrupted the caterer, "we're only going to have tea ashore. We aren't going to camp out for the week-end. "

"I tell you what, " said Mouldy Jake's patron, "I'll bring my line andwe'll catch pollack and fry _them_ for tea too. "

"Well, I'm going to shift, " said Malison, and the Committee of Supplybroke up and passed down below. 

Half an hour later the cutter, manned and provisioned, with the skiffin tow, hoisted her foresail and sheered off from the after gangway. The India-rubber Man, as Senior Officer of the expedition, took thehelm and banished the Young Doctor into the bows, where, to judge bythe ecstatic shouts of merriment that floated aft, his peculiar form ofwit was much appreciated. Thorogood, at the main sheet, with an olddeerstalker on his head and a pipe in his mouth, led the chorus in thesternsheets. Mouldy Jakes had usurped the skiff, and having satisfiedhimself that he was required to take no further part in the navigationof the expedition, made himself comfortable in the bottom of the boatand blinked at the sky through puffs of smoke from his pipe. 

He was followed into this voluntary exile by the Midshipman of hisDivision, one Morton, who sat in the bows contemplating himaffectionately. 

Precisely what it was that inspired this apparently one-sidedattachment was never very apparent. The almost passionate loyalty andaffections of youth are hardy plants, thriving abundantly on thescantiest soil. 

For a while only the drowsy swish of the water past the bottom of theboat, and snatches of merriment or song drifting aft from the cutter, broke the silence in the skiff. Then Mouldy Jakes's companionapparently tired of this silent communion. 

"Sir, " he said, "would you like to fish?"

"No, " said Mouldy Jakes. 

His host proceeded to unwind his line. "Do you mind if I do?" heenquired. 

"No, " was the reply. 

The Midshipman watched his line in silence for a little while. "Do youthink you sank that submarine last night?" he asked presently. 

Mouldy Jakes closed his eyes and gave a grunt with an affirmativeintonation. 

"It must have been a topping show. Weren't you awfully bucked, sir?"

Another grunt. 

"I suppose you didn't get a wink of sleep all night?"

A vague confirmatory noise. 

"You must be jolly tired, sir. Wouldn't you like to sleep a bit now, sir?"

"Yes. "

"Right ho, sir. You can carry on and have a jolly good caulk. I'mgoing to fish, and I'll call you when we get to the island where we'regoing to land. .. . Is your head quite comfortable?"

Silence reigned in the skiff. 

The cutter had passed beyond the outskirts of the Fleet, and thedecorum required of the occupants of a Service boat in suchsurroundings no longer ruled their behaviour. They sang and shoutedfor sheer joy of bellowing, full-lunged, across the untrammelled water. No one whose life is not spent in the narrow confines of a man-of-war, walking paths sternly ruled by Naval Discipline, can realise theintoxicating effect of such an emancipation. The mysterious workingsof the Midshipman-mind found full play on these occasions, as theytumbled about in the bottom of the boat in the unfettered enjoyment ofa whole-hearted "scrap. " If you have ever seen young foxes at play, buffeting each other, yelping with simulated anguish, nuzzlingendearments half savage and half in play, you have an idea of thebottom of a cutter full of Midshipmen proceeding on a picnic. It wasan embodiment of youth triumphant, shouting with laughter at the Jestof Life. 

"Where shall we go?" asked Standish, smiling, during a lull when thecrew sat panting and flushed with exertion, grinning at each other overthe tops of the thwarts. 

"Any blooming where, " shouted Thorogood. "As long as it is out ofsight of the Fleet. I feel I've seen enough of the Silent Navy for anhour or two. " Then raising his voice he chanted:

"_Put me upon an island where the girls are few. .. _"

"Right, " retorted the Indian-rubber Man. "We'll go round this littleheadland. Ready about! Check the fore sheet! Come aft out of thebows, Pills, you clown, unless you want us to miss stays. "

"I don't want to go to an island, " cried the Surgeon plaintively, "where the girls are few. " He surveyed the heather-crowned isletssurrounding them on all sides, the lonely haunts of cormorants andblack-backed gulls. "I'm all for houris and sirens and whatnots----"

The foresail swung across and knocked him into the bottom of the boat. 

"You frail Ulysses!" exclaimed Thorogood, as they set sail on the newcourse. "You aren't to be trusted in these populous parts. We mustlash you to the mast!"

"And stop his ears with cotton-wool, " said a Midshipman whoseacquaintance with the classics was still a recent, if sketchyacquisition. 

A party set off into the bows to put the proposal into immediateexecution, but the imminence of land and a shout from the helmsmanarrested them in their purpose:

"Down foresail. Top up mainsail!" The cutter, with the skiff towingpeacefully astern, glided into a little bay where miniature cliffs, some twenty feet in height, rose from a narrow shale-strewn beach. Theanchor plashed overboard. 

"_Here we are, here we are, here we are again!_" carolled the Surgeonlustily. "Come alongside, skiff! The landing of the LancashireFusiliers is about to commence under a withering fire!"

A letter received that morning from a soldier brother who had takenpart in that epic of human gallantry had apparently inspired the YoungDoctor. He pointed ahead with a dramatic gesture at the cliffs. "Yonder are the Turks! See, they fly, they fly!" A pair of agitatedcormorants, sunning themselves on the rocks, flew seaward withoutstretched necks. "Lead on, brave lads, and I will follow!"

The skiff came bumping alongside, and Mouldy Jakes, galvanised intowakefulness by the confusion and laughter, found himself inextricablyentangled in the fishing-line, holding a kettle that someone had thrustupon him in one hand and a frying-pan in the other. Half a dozenpartly clad forms, followed by the Doctor, flung themselves headlonginto the skiff and made for the shore. The bows grated on the shingleand they sprang out. 

"For drill purposes only, " explained the Surgeon breathlessly, "we areTurks!"

Under his direction they proceeded to collect pebbles. "A witheringvolley will accordingly be opened on the Lancashire Fusiliers. "

Despite a heavy fire of pebbles, the landing was ultimately effected;the invaders abandoned their trousers and floundered gallantly throughthe bullet-torn shallows. Ensued a complete rout of the Turks, whowere pursued inland across the heather with triumphant shouts and thecorpse of a seagull, found on the beach, hurled after them from thepoint of a piece of driftwood. 

The evicted snipers eventually returned with their caps full ofplovers' eggs, to find a fire of bleached twigs blazing and sausagesfrizzling in the frying-pan. They were handed mugs of hot tea. 

In the phraseology of chroniclers of Sunday-school treats, "amplejustice was done to the varied repast. " Then it was discovered thatthe tide was falling, and a hasty re-embarkation followed. 

Sails were hoisted, the anchor weighed, and the cutter, with the emptyskiff in tow, headed for the West, where the sun was already setting ina great glory of gold. 

The brief warmth of a Northern spring day had passed, and, as theyrounded the promontory and the Fleet hove in sight once more, dufflecoats and mufflers were donned and a bottle of sloe-gin uncorked. 

"Mug-up!" cried the Sub. "Mug-up, and let's get 'appy and chatty. "They crowded together in the stern-sheets for warmth, and presentlyThorogood started "John Brown's Body Lies A-mouldering in the Grave, "without which no properly conducted picnic can come to a fittingconclusion. The purple shadows deepened in the far-off valleys ashore, and anon stole out across the water, enfolding the anchored Fleet intothe bosom of another night of a thousand vigils. 

It was dusk when they reached the outlying Cruisers, and nearly darkwhen the first ship in the Battle Fleet hailed them. Then hailanswered hail as one Battleship after another rose towering above theminto the darkling sky, and one by one passed into silence astern. 

Silence also had fallen on the singers. Seen thus from an openboat under the lowering wings of night, there was somethingawe-inspiring--even to these who lived onboard them--in the stupendousfighting outlines limned against the last of the light. Completedarkness reigned on board, but once a dog barked, and the strains of anaccordion drifted across the water as reminders that each of thesemenacing mysteries was the habitation of their fellow-men. A tinypin-point of light winked from a yard-arm near by to another pin-pointin the Cruiser line: Somebody was answering an invitation to dinner at7. 45 p. M. , with many thanks; then, reminder of sterner things, asearchlight leaped out spluttering over their heads, and swept to andfro across the sky like the paint-brush of a giant. 

A half-drowsy Midshipman in the bows of the cutter watched the messageof hospitality blinking through space; he consulted the luminous dialon his wrist. "H'm, " he observed to his companion, "I thought it wasgetting on for dinner-time. Funny how quickly one gets hungry again. "

A hail challenged them from the darkness, and a towering outline loomedfamiliarly ahead. 

"Aye, aye!" shouted the voice of the India-rubber Man from the stern, adding in lower tones, "Boathook up forward. Fore halliards inhand. .. . "

"Home again!" said another voice in the darkness. "And so the long daywears on. .. "

 * * * * *

Dinner in the Gunroom was over. One by one the occupants becameengrossed in their wonted evening occupations and amusements. 

"Mordaunt, " said the sandy-haired Midshipman, rising and opening thegramophone, "would you like to hear George Robey?"

The officer addressed, who was sitting at the table apparently in thethroes of literary composition, raised his head. "No, " he replied, "Iwouldn't; I'm writing a letter. 'Sides I've heard that record at leastseven hundred and eighty-one times already. "

"Can't help it, " retorted the musical enthusiast, winding the handle ofthe instrument. "_I_ think he's perfectly priceless!" He set theneedle, stepped back a pace and stood beaming appreciatively into thevociferous trumpet while the song blared forth. 

"Reminds me, " said Harcourt, laying down a novel and rising from thecorner of the settee where he had curled himself, "I must write to myyoung sister for her birthday. Lend me a bit of your notepaper, Billy. "

His friend complied with the request without raising his eyes. "Howd'you spell 'afford'?" he enquired. 

"Two f's, " replied Harcourt. "'Least I think so. Can I have a dip atyour ink?"

"I thought it was two, but it doesn't look right, somehow. " The twopens scratched in unison. 

Matthews, the Midshipman of the previous Night Patrol, had stretchedhimself on an adjacent settee and fallen asleep immediately afterdinner. 

Lettigne, otherwise known as "Bosh, " amused himself by juggling with abanana, two oranges and a walnut, relics of his dessert. Hisperformance was being lazily watched by the Sub from the depths of thearm-chair which he had drawn as near to the glowing stove as the heatwould allow. It presently attracted the notice of two other Midshipmenwho had finished a game of picquet and were casting about them for afresh distraction. This conversion of edible objects into jugglingparaphernalia presently moved one to protest. 

"Why don't you eat that banana, Bosh, instead of chucking it about?" heenquired. 

"'Cause I can't, " said the exponent of legerdemain. 

"Why not?" queried the other. 

"Too full already, " was the graceful response. "I'm justwaiting--waiting till the clouds roll by, so to speak. "

The two interlocutors eyed each other speculatively. 

"Did you have any dessert?" asked one. 

"No, " was the sorrowful reply. "My extra-bill's up. "

Thereupon they rose together and fell straightway upon the juggler. Anequal division of the spoil was made while they sat upon his prostrateform, and eaten to the accompaniment of searching prods into theirvictim's anatomy. 

"Bosh, you ought to be jolly grateful to us, really. You'd probablyhave appendicitis if we let you eat all this--phew! Mally, just feelhere. .. . Isn't he a hog! . .. "

"Just like a blooming drum, " replied the other, prodding judicially. 

Over their heads the tireless voice of the gramophone trumpeted forthits song. The Sub who had kept the Middle Watch the night before, slept the sleep of the tired just. The door opened and a JuniorMidshipman entered hot-foot. "Letters, " he shouted. "Any letters tobe censored? The mail's closing tomorrow morning. "

"Yes, " replied the two correspondents at the table, simultaneouslybringing their letters to a close. 

"Hurry up, then, " said the messenger. "The Padre's waiting to censorthem. He sent me along to see if there were any more. "

Mordaunt folded his letter and placed it in an envelope. "Got a stamp, Harcourt? I've run out. " He extended a penny. 

Harcourt looked up, pen in mouth, thumping his wet sheet with theblotting paper. "In my locker--I'll get you one in a second. "

"Oh, do buck up, " wailed the messenger. "I want to turn in, an' thePadre's waiting. "

"All right, " retorted Harcourt. He rose to his feet. "I forgot:little boys lose their roses if they don't get to bed early. Billy, shove that letter in an envelope for me, to save time, while I get thestamp. " His friend complied with the request and picked up his pen toaddress his own epistle. As he did so the prostrate juggler, with asudden, spasmodic recrudescence of energy, flung his two assailants offhim and struggled to a sitting position. They were on him again likewolves, but as they bore him prostrate to the deck he clutched wildlyat a corner of the table-cloth. 

The next moment the conflict was inextricably involved with thetable-cloth, letters, note-paper, envelopes and ink descending upon thecombatants in a cascade. 

"You clumsy owls, " roared Harcourt, returning from his locker. "Now, where's my letter. .. . " He searched among the débris. 

"I say, do buck up, " wailed the sleepy voice on the threshold. 

"Buck up?" echoed Harcourt. "Buck up! How the devil can I buckup--ah, here we are. " He picked up an envelope, glanced carelesslyunder the still open flap and sat down to address it. "Got yours, Billy? Here's the stamp. "

"Yes, " replied the other, grovelling in the darkness under the table. "This is it. " He reappeared with a letter in his hand. 

"The Padre----" again began the impatient envoy. 

"All right--all right!" Mordaunt hurriedly affixed the stamp andaddressed the envelope without looking at the contents. "Here youare, " he said, holding it out. The messenger departed hastily. 

The bang of the door awoke the Sub. 

"Now, then, " he said. "Enough of this. Switch off that cursedgramophone. Get up off the deck. Mop that ink up and square off thetable-cloth. Knock off scrapping, you three hooligans. "

The hooligans obeyed reluctantly, and sat panting and dishevelled onthe settee. By degrees the Mess resumed its tranquillity. 

Harcourt stretched his slim form and yawned sleepily. "I'm going toturn in now. And to-morrow know all men that I start training. "

"That's right, " said Lettigne, still panting and adjusting hisdisordered garments. "Nothing like being really fit--ready to goanywhere an' do anything--that's my motto. " He rang the bell andordered a bottle of ginger beer. 

[1] Tinned sausages. A delicacy peculiar to Gunrooms of the Fleet. 

CHAPTER V

UNCLE BILL

Sir William Thorogood rose from the table on which lay a confusion ofpapers, drawings and charts. He walked across the cabin to the tiledfireplace, selected a cigar from his case, and lit it with precise care. 

"You're right, " he said. "You've put your finger on the weak spot. Noone in Whitehall saw it, and they're seamen. I didn't see it, and--andI'm called a scientist. " He made an imperceptible inclination of hishead towards his companion as if to convey a compliment. 

The other occupant of the broad cabin smiled a little grimly. "It's aquestion of actual experience, " he said. "Experience of this particularform of warfare, and the means of meeting it hitherto at our disposal. "

He pencilled some figures on a piece of paper and studied them withknitted brows. 

"It's a pity, " he said presently. "You're on the brink of the moststupendous discovery of our day. The submarine was a wonderfulinvention, and there's no limit to the possibilities of itsdevelopment--or abuse. Until an effective counter can be devised itremains a very terrible menace to civilisation in the hands of anunscrupulous belligerent. "

Sir William smoked in silence. His thin, aristocratic face, and hislevel grey eyes, had a look of fatigue. "I was particularly glad toavail myself of your invitation, " he said. "I wanted practicalexperience of the conditions in the North Sea--weather and visibility. And, later on, in the North Atlantic. I'm going over to Ireland nextmonth. " His tired eyes followed the blue smoke curling upwards. "Ofcourse, the experiments we tried down South answered all right for shortdistances. That's what rather deceived us. They were harbour trials, nomore. We want something more exhaustive than that. And, as you say, there's the pull of the tides to consider. .. . Confound the tide!"

His companion smiled. "That's what Canute said. Or words to thateffect. But it didn't help matters much. "

"Quite, " replied Sir William dryly. "Well, I should like to take apatrol boat and one of our submarines for a day or two and test that newtheory--to-morrow if I may. And--while I think of it--I have promised ayoung nephew of mine to dine with him to-night in his ship, if it in noway inconveniences you?"

The other nodded, and, reaching out his hand, pressed the button of anelectric bell beside his desk. 

 * * * * *

It was the hour preceding dinner, and the majority of the members of theWardroom had congregated in the ante-room to discuss sherry and the day'saffairs before descending to their cabins to change. It was a cheerfulgathering, as the hour and the place betokened, and the usual mild chaffflowed to and fro in its mysteriously appointed channels. 

In Naval communities, as in most others where men are segregated fromwider intercourse by a common mode of life and purpose, each one occupiesthe place designed for him by Destiny for the smooth working of thewhole. These types are peculiar to no trade or profession. A gatheringof farmers or elders of the Church, or even Christy Minstrels, would, ifthrown together for a sufficient period of time, and utterly dependent onone another for daily intercourse, fall into the places allotted to eachby temperament and heredity. Each little community would own a wit and abutt; the sentimentalist and the cynic. The churl by nature would appearthrough some veneer of manner, if only to bring into relief the finerqualities of his fellows; lastly, and most surely, one other would jinglea merciful cap and bells, and mingle motley with the rest. 

The First Lieutenant had just come down from the upper-deck, and stoodwarming his hands by the fire. Big-boned, blue-eyed, health and vitalityseemed to radiate from his kindly, forceful personality. Of all theofficers on board "Jimmy the One" was, with perhaps the exception of theCaptain, most beloved by the men. A seaman to the fingertips, slow towrath and clean of speech, he had the knack of getting the last ounce outof tired men without driving or raising his voice. Working cables on theforecastle in the cold and snowy darkness, when men's faculties growtorpid with cold, and their safety among the grinding cables depends moreupon the alert supervision of the First Lieutenant than the mere instinctfor self-preservation, "Jimmy the One" was credited with powers allied tothose of the high Gods. "'Tween decks, " where the comfort andcleanliness of close on eleven hundred men was mainly his affair, theyabused, loved and feared him with whole-hearted affection. His largefootball-damaged nose smelt out dirt as a Zulu witch-doctor smells outmagic. The majority of the vast ship's company--seamen ratings, at allevents--he knew by name. He also presided over certain of the lower-deckamusements, and, at the bi-weekly cinema shows, studied their tastes inthe matter of Charlie Chaplin and the Wild West with the discriminationof a lover choosing flowers for his mistress. 

His own personal amusements were few. He admitted possessing three bookswhich he read and re-read in rotation: "Peter Simple, " "Alice inWonderland, " and a more recent discovery, Owen Wister's "Virginian. " Awidowed mother in a Yorkshire dower house was the only relative he wasever heard to refer to, and for her benefit every Sunday afternoon he satdown for an hour, as he had since schooldays, and wrote a boyish, detailed chronicle of his doings during the past week. 

The two watch-keeping Lieutenants sat one on each arm of the deep-seatedchesterfield opposite the fire. They were the Inseparables of the Mess, knit together in that curious blend of antagonistic and sympathetictraits of character which binds young men in an austere affection passingthe love of woman. One was short and stout, the other tall and lean; anillustration in the First Lieutenant's edition of "Alice in Wonderland"supplied them with their nicknames, which they accepted from the firstwithout criticism or demur. 

The Fleet Surgeon sat between them cleaning a pipe with a collection ofseagull's feather gathered for the purpose on the golf links ashore. Hewas thin, a grey-haired, silent man. His face, in repose, was that of adeliberate thinker whose thoughts had not led him to an entirely happygoal. Yet his smile when amused had a quality of gratitude to thejester, not altogether without pathos. He had a slightly cynicaldemeanour, a bitter tongue, and a curiously sympathetic, almost tendermanner with the sick. He was professedly a fierce woman-hater, and whenashore passed children quickly with averted eyes. 

Of a different type was the Paymaster, sunny as a schoolboy, irresponsible in leisure hours as the youngest member of the Mess. Perhaps there had been a time when he had not found life an altogetherlaughing matter. He had an invalid wife; his means were small, and mostof his life had been spent at sea. But misfortune seemed to have buttossed a challenge to his unquenchable optimism and faith in the mercy ofGod. He had picked up the gage with a smile, flung it back with a laugh, and with drawn blade joined the gallant band of those who striveeternally to defend the beleaguered Citadel of Human Happiness. 

Others came and went among the gathering; the Engineer Commander, fiercely bearded and moustached, who cherished an inexplicable beliefthat a studied soldierly accent and bearing helped him in his paththrough life. The Major, clean-shaven and philosophic; the GunneryLieutenant, preoccupied with his vast responsibilities, aseaman-scientist with a reputation in the football-field. The TorpedoLieutenant, quiet, gentle-mannered, fastidious in his dress and not givento overmuch speech. The Engineer-Lieutenant, whose outlook on lifealternated between moods of fierce hilarity and brooding melancholy, according to the tenour of a correspondence with a distracting Red Crossnursing sister exposed to the perils of caring for good-looking militaryofficers in the plains of Flanders. Lastly, the Captain of Marines; hewas the musician of the Mess, much in demand at sing-songs; editor, moreover, of the Wardroom magazine, a periodical whose humour was of aturn mercifully obscure to maiden aunts. A first-class cricketer andracquet-player, a student of human nature with a tolerance for thefailings of others that suggested a strain of Latin blood, and a Marinewith an almost passionate pride in the great traditions of his Corps. 

Such were among the occupants of the anteroom when Thorogood entered thecrowded room and crossed over to the door leading to the Wardroom wherethe Marine waiters were laying the table. 

"Tell the Messman I've got a guest to dinner, " said Thorogood to theCorporal of the Wardroom servants. 

The Young Doctor, who was leaning against the overmantel of the stovewarming himself, crossed over to Thorogood with an expression ofportentous solemnity on his face. 

"James, " he said, and laid a hand on the other's shoulder, "before youget busy on the wassail-bowl, my lad, I should like to remind you thatthe boat's crew will commence training for the Regatta at 7 A. M. To-morrow. No fatheads wanted. Enough said. "

The Gunnery Lieutenant looked up from a game of draughts with Double-OGerrard, the Assistant Paymaster. "Who've you got dining with you, Jimmy?" he asked. The introduction of "new blood" into a Mess, even forthe evening, is generally a matter of interest to the inmates. 

"An old uncle of mine, " was the reply. "He signalled from the Flagshipthat he was coming to dinner. I don't know what he's doing up here. "

Mouldy Jakes, who was sitting on an arm of the sofa watching the game ofdraughts, looked across at Thorogood. 

"Sir William?" he asked. "Is that man of mystery up here? What's he upto?"

"Don't know, " replied Thorogood. "Dirty work, I suppose. "

The Young Doctor assumed an expression of rapture. "What!" he cried, "myold college chum Sir William!" Then with a swift change of mimicry hebent into a senile pose with nodding head and shaking fingers, mumblingat his lips:

"Ah! Ah!" he wheezed, "how time flies! I mind the day when he and Iwere lads together--hee-hee--brave lads . .. Eton and Christ Churchtogether----" He broke off into a decrepit chuckle. 

"Dry up, Pills, you ass, " cried the Torpedo Lieutenant, laughing. "Youaren't a bit funny--in fact, I'm not sure you aren't rather bad form. "

"Bad form?" echoed the First Lieutenant. "Let us see now. What's thepenalty for bad form, Pay? I've forgotten. "

"To be devoured by lions, " said the Paymaster calmly, with an eye on thesofa where Garm, the bull-terrier, sprawled as usual. 

"That's right, " said the First Lieutenant, "so it is: devoured of lions. "

The next moment the Doctor was tripped up into the depths of the sofa, the bull-terrier, thus rudely awakened from slumber, dumped on top ofhim, and his struggles stifled by the bodies of the Paymaster and FirstLieutenant. "Eat him, Garm--Hi! good beastie! Chew his nose, lick hiscollar. .. !"

The great bull-terrier, accustomed to being the instrument of suchsummary execution, entered into the game with zest, and sprawling acrossthe Surgeon's chest with one massive paw on his face, nuzzled andslavered in an abandonment of affectionate gusto. 

"Oh!--oh!--oh!--pah!--phew!" The victim writhed and spluttered protests. "Dry up--Garm, you great donkey! Piff!--you're--smothering--me--beast!Ugh! my collar--clean--no offence--Jimmy, I 'pologise--lemme get up . .. Faugh!"

In the midst of the uproar the door opened and the Midshipman of theWatch appeared. 

"Mr. Thorogood, sir, " he called. "Someone to see you. "

The group on the sofa broke up. The Surgeon sat up panting and wipinghis face. The dog jumped to the deck and accompanied Thorogood across tothe door, wagging a friendly tail. 

Sir William Thorogood, hat in hand, with his cloak over his arm, enteredthe ante-room. His eyeglass fell from his eye. 

"Hullo, Uncle Bill, " exclaimed his nephew. "You're early--nice andearly--we've just started training for the Regatta and we're straffingthe coxswain by way of a start! Er--Staff Surgeon Tucker, Sir WilliamThorogood. "

The Surgeon advanced with a rather embarrassed grin and shook hands withthe eminent scientist. 

"I fancy I knew your father once, " said the latter smiling. "He held thechair of Comparative Anatomy--we were at college together--bless me!--agood many years ago now. " He stood smiling down at Pills from his leanheight. 

The Mess chortled at the Surgeon's discomfiture. Thorogood turned to theCommander who had just then entered. "This is Commander Hornby, " hesaid, and introduced the two men. "There's Mouldy--you remember him?"Mouldy Jakes came over and shook hands gravely. "And this is the rest ofthe Mess. " He included the remainder with a wave of his hand, and SirWilliam acknowledged the informal general introduction with the grave, smiling self-possession of the perfectly bred Englishman. 

"Now, " said his nephew, "what about a cocktail, Uncle Bill?"

"Yes, " said Mouldy Jakes, sharing with his friend the responsibility ofentertaining this eminent guest. "We've got rather a good brand--fizzyones. Do you a power of good, sir!"

Sir William laughed. "Thank you, " he said, "but fizzy cocktails and Icame to the parting of the ways more years ago than I care to remember. Perhaps I may be allowed to join you in a glass of sherry. .. . ?"

"Rather, " said his host, and gave the order. "Well, Uncle Bill, " hesaid, "what brings you up to Ultima Thule and on board the Flagship?"

The Scientist helped himself to a biscuit from the tray on a little tablenear the door. "I'm staying with--with an old friend for a few days, fora change of air, " he said. He took the proffered glass of sherry andsipped it appreciatively. "May I congratulate you on your excellentsherry?"

"It's not bad, " said Mouldy Jakes. "I'm the wine caterer, " he addedmodestly. 

At this juncture dinner was announced and they passed through into thelong Wardroom. 

Shaded electric lights hung down above the table that traversed thelength of the Mess. A number of ornamental pieces of silver and trophiesadorned the centre of the table and winked and glistened against the darkmahogany. Slips of white napery ran down on either side, on which theglasses, silver and cutlery lay. They took their places, thepresidential hammer tapped, and the Chaplain, rising, offered briefthanks. Immediately after a buzz of conversation broke out generally. 

Sir William, on the right of the President, indicated the glitteringtrophies. "I see you keep your plate on board, " he said, smiling, "evenin war. "

The Commander laughed. "Well, " he said, "all these things we actuallywon ourselves. There's a lot more stuff--the things that belong to theship itself, one commission as much as another, and those we landed. Then, if we get sunk, successive ships bearing our name will carry them, you see . .. Yes, half a glass, please. But all you see here we won atbattle practice just before the war, boat-racing and so on. .. . Incidentally we hope to win the Squadron Regatta this year. That big oneover there was from the passengers of a burning ship we rescued. .. . Ifwe're sunk they may as well go down with us; at least, that's how we lookat it. It is only in keeping with our motto, after all. "

He pushed across a silver menu-holder, bearing the ship's crest and mottoon a scroll beneath it. The guest picked it up and examined it. "Whatwe hold we hold, " he read. "Yes, I see. It's not a bad interpretation. "

Sir William looked round the table at the laughing, animated faces--manyof them little more than boys seen through the long perspective of hisown years. 

The Chaplain was having "his leg hauled. " The joke was obscure, andconcerned an episode of bygone days which appeared to be within theintimate recollection of at least half the number seated round the table. 

The other half were demanding enlightenment, and in the laughter andfriendly mischief on certain faces Sir William read an affectionate, mysterious freemasonry apparently shared by all. 

For a moment he leaned back, contemplating in imagination the scores ofgreat ships surrounding them on all sides, invisible in the night: ineach Wardroom there was doubtless a similar cheerful gathering beneaththe shaded electric lights. Musing thus, glancing from face to face, andlistening, half uncomprehending, to the laughing jargon, he glimpsed foran instant the indefinable Spirit of the Fleet. Each of thesecommunities, separated by steel and darkness from the other, shared it. It stretched back into a past of unforgotten memories, linking one andall in a brotherhood that compassed the waters of the earth, and boretheir traditions with unfailing hands across the hazard of the future. 

The meal drew to a close and the decanters went slowly round. MouldyJakes, from his seat opposite the President, was attempting to catch SirWilliam's eye. His nephew intercepted and interpreted thegesticulations. "Mouldy's recommending the Madeira, Uncle Bill, " saidhis nephew; "he evidently feels that his reputation as wine caterer is atstake after your comments on the sherry!"

Sir William laughed and filled his glass accordingly. 

Obedient to a signal conveyed to the Bandmaster by a Marine waiter, theband in the flat outside came suddenly to a stop. 

Down came the President's hammer, and the name of the King preceded theraising of glasses. Then the violins outside resumed their whimperingmelody; coffee followed a second circulation of the decanters, andpresently the smoke of cigars and cigarettes began to eddy across thepolished mahogany. 

A few minutes later the Master-at-Arms entered the Wardroom, and steppingup to the Commander's chair, reported something in a low voice. TheCommander turned sideways to the guest of the evening. "Will you excuseme if I leave you?" he said. "I have to go the rounds. " And rising fromthe table left a gap at Sir William's side. Intimate conversationbetween uncle and nephew, hitherto impracticable, was now possible. 

"How's Cecily, Uncle Bill?" asked James. "Which reminds me, " he added, "that I met Armitage when I was coming back from leave. "

Sir William removed his cigar and contemplated the pale ash withinscrutable eyes. 

"I heard from Armitage, " he replied. "Did you by any chance meet hiscompanion on the journey up?"

James shook his head. "No, I only saw Armitage for a moment, and thatwas in the darkness at the rail-head. But you haven't told me how Cecilyis. "

"She wants to go to America, " replied his uncle. 

"America!" echoed his nephew. "Why?"

"To stay with an old school friend. It seems she wants to go over for aNewport season. "

"But, " said James and paused, "are you going to let her go, Uncle Bill?"

"She says she's going, " was her guardian's reply. 

James smoked in silence for a moment. 

"But Newport, " he said. "Where on earth did Cecily develop a taste forthat sort of life?"

"Read about it in a book, I fancy, " said Sir William. 

"But it isn't the sort of thing I can imagine appealing to Cecily in theleast, " objected her cousin. "I know what Cecily likes--pottering aboutin old tweeds with a dog, sketching and fishing. I can't see her atBailey's Beach surf-bathing with millionaires in the family diamonds. Besides, what about her war work--her Hospital Supply Depot?"

Sir William made no answer. 

"Is she unhappy about anything?" pursued James. "Has Armitage beenmaking love to her? I know he used to follow her about like a sick dog, but I didn't know it upset her. "

Sir William smiled. "No, " he said, "I shouldn't have said so either. But I don't claim any profound insight into the feminine mind. All Iknow is that she looks rather pale, and she has grown uncommonly quiet. At times she has restless moods of rather forced gaiety. But the reasonfor it all, I'm afraid, is beyond me. "

"Do you remember d'Auvergne?" asked his nephew suddenly. "Podgied'Auvergne. He spent a summer leave with us once, and he used to come upto town a good deal from Whale Island when he was there. Do you thinkCecily is in love with him?"

"Bless me, " said Sir William helplessly, "I don't know. I never rememberher saying so. Do you think that would account for--for her presentmood? Women are such curious beings----"

"I know he's fearfully gone on her, " said James, "but he lost a footearly in the war. He hasn't been near her since. "

"Why not?" asked the Scientist vaguely. 

"Oh, because--because he's fearfully sensitive about it. And he'sfrightfully in love with her. You see, a thing like that tellsenormously when a fellow's in love. "

"Does it?" enquired Sir William. "Well, granted that your theory iscorrect, I fail to see what I am to do. I can't kidnap this young manand carry him to my house like the alien visitor you once brought todisturb my peaceful slumbers. "

"Ah, " said James, "Crabpots!" He chuckled retrospectively. 

"If he has really developed a neurotic view of his injury, as you imply, "continued the older man, "it's no use my inviting him, because he wouldonly refuse to come. "

"You'll have to work it somehow, " replied his nephew. "Sea voyagesaren't safe enough just now--we'd never forgive ourselves if we letCecily go and anything happened to her--or Podgie either, " he addedgrimly. 

By twos and threes the members of the Mess had risen from the table anddrifted into the ante-room to play bridge, or to their cabins, there towrite letters, read, or occupy themselves in wood-carving and kindredpursuits. At a small table in the comer of the long Mess the officers ofthe Second Dog Watch had finished a belated meal, and were yarning in lowvoices over their port. 

James and his uncle alone remained seated at the long table. 

"Well, " said the former, "let's move on, Uncle Bill. Would you like arubber of bridge?"

"I can play bridge in London, " replied his guest, rising. "No, Jim, Ithink I'd like to take this opportunity of paying a visit to the Gunroom. When you are my age you'll find a peculiar fascination about youth andits affairs. Do you think they'd object to my intrusion?"

"They'd be awfully bucked, " said James. "Come along. " As they passedout of the door they met the Marine postman entering with his arms fullof letters and papers. "Hullo, " he continued, "here's the mail--you'llsee a Gunroom devouring its letters: rather like a visit to the Zoo aboutfeeding-time!"

They came to the door of the Gunroom, and James, opening it, motioned hisguest to enter. One end of the table resembled a bee swarm: a babel ofvoices sounded as those nearest the pile of letters shouted the names ofthe addressees and tossed the missives back over their heads. 

The two men stood smiling and unobserved in the doorway until thedistribution was complete. Then they were seen, and the Sub advanced toextend the hospitality of his realm. 

"Kedgeree, " said James, "this is my uncle. He's getting bored with theWardroom and I've brought him along here. " The Sub laughingly shookhands, and the inmates in his immediate vicinity gathered round with thepolite air of a community of whom something startling was expected. 

"Won't you sit down, sir?" asked one, drawing forward the battered wickerarm-chair. "It's all right as long as you don't lean back--but if you dowe must prop it against the table. " He suited the action to the words, and the guest sat down rather gingerly. 

"Won't you have something to drink?" queried Kedgeree. "Whisky and sodaor something?"

Sir William smilingly declined. 

"Would you care to hear the gramophone?" queried the champion of thatparticular form of entertainment. "We've got some perfectly pricelessGeorge Robey ones--have you ever heard 'What there was, was Good?'" Hemoved towards the instrument. 

"Never, " said Sir William, taking advantage of the support afforded bythe table and leaning back, "but nothing would give me greater pleasure. "

The disk had no sooner commenced to revolve when Lettigne advanced with asoda-water bottle, a corkscrew and half a lemon, collected at random fromthe sideboard. 

"I don't know if you like watching a bit of juggling, " he said shyly, andbegan to throw into the air and catch his miscellany, while the trumpetof the gramophone proclaimed that "What there was, was Good, " instentorian, brazen shouts. 

Sir William screwed his eyeglass tighter into his eye. "Remarkable!" hesaid warmly. "A remarkably deft performance! Capital! Capital!"

The Gunroom eyed one another anxiously. It was only a question ofmoments before the perspiring Bosh smashed something; the gramophonerecord was palpably cracked; their powers of entertainment were rapidlyreaching their climax. Then came a diversion. The door opened and theMidshipman of the Watch entered. 

"The Flagship's barge has called for you, sir, " he said. 

The gramophone stopped as if by magic, and the overheated juggler caughtand retained the soda-water bottle, the corkscrew and the half lemon witha gasp of relief. 

Sir William rose regretfully and held out his hand. "I have to thank youall for a very delightful quarter of an hour, " he said, smiling, and tookhis departure amid polite murmurs of farewell, followed by James. Proofof his appreciation of the entertainment reached them a week later in theform of an enormous plum cake, and was followed thereafter at regularintervals by similar bounty. 

Lettigne sat down and wiped his forehead. "Phew!" he said when the doorhad closed behind the visitors. "Who was that old comic? I didn't catchhis name. "

"Sir William Thorogood, " replied another. "He's full of grey-matter. "He tapped his forehead, and stepping across to the common bookshelfindicated the back of a text book on advanced mechanics. "That's one ofhis little efforts, " he said. 

Lettigne followed the other's finger. "Good night!" he ejaculated. "Have I been giving a display of my unequalled talents for the benefit ofthe man who has caused me more sleepless nights than Euclid himself?Here is poor old George Robey been shouting himself hoarse too----"

"And I haven't even looked at my mail yet, " said Harcourt, drawing anunopened letter from his pocket. He slit the envelope and sat down inthe vacated arm-chair. It was from his sister at school in Eastbourne, and enclosed another written in a vaguely familiar hand. Boy like heread the enclosure first:

DEAR FATHER [it ran], --I have just put my name down for the boxingchampionship, and I'll do my best to win, because I know how awfully keenyou are. All the same, I think it's a pity you took up that bet withHarcourt's father at the club. He probably can afford to lose and youcan't. There are lots of things that Mother wants that ten pounds wouldbuy. Besides, Harcourt is my best friend, and if we both get into thefinals it would be beastly and like fighting for money. I wish youhadn't told me. I must end now. With love to Mother and Dick. Inhaste. Your loving son, BILLY. 

Harcourt, grown suddenly rather pale, picked up his sister's letter andread with puzzled brows:

DEAR HARRY, --When I opened your last letter I found the enclosed. It hadevidently been put in by mistake, because the envelope was in yourhandwriting. I am sending it back. .. . 

Harcourt pursed up his lips into a whistling shape and refolded theenclosure. It was in Mordaunt's handwriting. But how did it get intothe envelope he himself had addressed to his sister?

At that moment Mordaunt came across the mess holding out a letter. 

"Harcourt, " he said, "my father has just sent me this letter. Isn't ityour handwriting?"

Harcourt took the sheet of paper and glanced at it. "Yes, " he said, "it's one I wrote to my sister for her birthday. And here's one that shehas just sent back to me. Is it yours by any chance?"

He carelessly extended the folded missive, and summoning all hisself-possession, looked his friend in the eyes and smiled wanly. "I'veonly just read my sister's letter, " he went on. "She seemed ratherpuzzled. .. "

Mordaunt took the proffered letter and nodded. "Yes, " he said, "it'smine. " He, too, paled a little. "I think I know what's happened. Doyou remember that scrap just as we were finishing our letters the othernight? Bosh pulled the table-cloth down and capsized everything. Ourletters got mixed up, and we must have addressed each other's envelopes. "

He stood turning the letter to his father over and over in his fingers. 

"Well, " said Harcourt reassuringly, "it doesn't matter much, old thing, does it? I'm just going to put this in another envelope and send it offto my sister, with a note to explain. There's no harm done! I don'tsuppose your letter was a matter of vast importance either, was it, Billy?" He spoke lightly, in a tone of amused indifference, and turnedto the locker where he kept his writing materials. 

The other walked over to the stove, slowly tearing his letter into pieces. 

"No, " he said. "Oh, no . .. None at all. "

CHAPTER VI

WET BOBS

A flurry of sleet came out of the east where a broad band of light wasslowly widening into day. 

The tarpaulin cover to the after hatchway was drawn aside as if by acautious hand, and the rather sleepy countenance of the Young Doctorpeered out into the dawning. An expression of profound distaste spreadover it, and its owner emerged to the quarterdeck. There he stoodshivering, looking about him as if he found the universe at this hour agrossly over-rated place. After a few minutes' contemplation of itthus, he turned up the collar of his great coat, pulled his cap downuntil it gave him the appearance of a sort of Naval "Artful Dodger, "and walked gloomily to the port gangway. The Officer of the Watch, whowas partaking of hot cocoa in the shelter of the after superstructure, sighted this forlorn object. 

"Morning, Pills!" he shouted. "She's called away: won't be long now. "He wiped his mouth and came across the deck to where the other wasstanding. "Fine morning for a pull, " he observed, throwing his noseinto the air and sniffing like a pointer. "Smell the heather? Lor'!it does me good to see all you young fellow-me-lads turning up herebright and early with the roses in your cheeks. "

The Young Doctor turned a gamboge-tinted eye on the speaker. 

"Dry up, " he said acidly. 

The Officer of the Watch was moved to unseemly mirth. "Where's yourcrew, Pills? I don't like to see this hanging-on-to-the-slack thefirst morning of the training season. You're too easy going for a cox, by a long chalk, my lad. You ought to be going round their cabins nowwith a wet sponge, shouting 'Wet Bobs!' and 'Tally Ho!' and the rest ofit. "

"Dry up!" was the reply. 

"An even temper, boundless tact, a firm manner and an extensivevocabulary--those were the essentials of the cox of a racing boat when_I_ was a lad at College. Why did they make you cox, Pills?"

"'Cos I'm light, " retorted the Doctor. "'Cos I'm a damn fool, " headded with a sudden access of bitterness. "Look here, Tweedledee, whatabout this bloomin' boat? Here I've been standing for the last fiveminutes--ah, there she is. "

He gazed distastefully at the lower boom, where two members of thegalley's crew were casting off the painter that secured the boat to theJacob's ladder. 

"Now, then, " said a loud and cheerful voice at their elbows, "where'sthis boat we've been hearing such a lot about?" A tall, athleticfigure in football shorts and swathed about with many sweaters, with abright red cushion under his arm, stood gazing in the direction of thelower boom. "Well, I'm blowed, " he said, "not alongside _yet_? You'rea nice person, Pills, to leave the organisation of a racing boat's crewto. " He looked round the quarterdeck. "Where're all the others? Lazyhogs! Here we are with the sun half over the foreyard and the boat noteven manned. "

The Surgeon eyed him severely. "You're none too smart on it yourself, Bunje. Where's Thorogood? Where's Number One? Where's Gerrard?Where's--ah, now they're coming. "

A sleepy-eyed procession, athletically clad, but not otherwiseconveying an impression of vast enthusiasm in the venture, trooped upthe hatchway and congregated in a shivering group at the gangway. 

"When I go away pulling, " said the First Lieutenant, apparentlyaddressing a watchful-eyed gull volplaning past with outstretchedwings, "when I go away pulling, I like to get straight into the boat, shove off and start right in. It's this hanging about----"

"It's Tweedledee's fault, " protested the coxswain bitterly. "I wroteit down last night on the slate. He's too busy guzzling cocoa toattend to his job, that's the truth of the matter. Are we all herenow, anyway. .. ?" He scanned the faces of his little band of heroes. "Derreck!" he said suddenly. "Now, where's Derreck? Really, this isjust about the pink limit. How could anyone----"

"Hullo, hullo, hullo!" The form of the Engineer Lieutenant emergedfrom the superstructure and came skipping towards them. "Sorry, everybody! Am I late? My perishing servant forgot to call me. Andthen I couldn't find my little short pants. Tweedledee, I've just beenhaving a lap at your cocoa: the Quartermaster said it was getting cold. "

"Not mine, " replied the Officer of the Watch. "I've finished mine. You've probably drunk the Commander's. He put it down for a minute----"

The face of the Engineer Lieutenant grew suddenly anxious. "Well, whatabout getting into the boat and shoving off? What are we all standingabout getting cold for? I vote we have a jolly good pull, too. Stayaway for half-an-hour or so--eh?"

The long, slim galley came at length alongside under the manipulationof the two rather apathetic members of the galley's crew, and theofficers' racing crew descended the gangway and took possession of her. 

"Now then, " said the Young Doctor, "sort yourselves out: Number Onestroke, Gerrard bow, Bunje----"

"I'm going bow, " said the Engineer Lieutenant. "I pulled bow at Keyhamfor two years, and in China----"

"If you stand there kagging[1] we'll never get away, " interposed thecoxswain, "and the Commander will want to know who drank his cocoa. Bunje second stroke, James third stroke. Derreck, you're second bow, and Tweedledum third bow, and for heaven's sake sit down and stopgassing, all of you. "

Thorogood leaned forward and extended a stretcher for inspection. 

"How the devil am I to pull with a stretcher like this, Pills?" hedemanded. "It'll smash before we've gone a yard. "

"When I was at Keyham, " said the Engineer Lieutenant, slopping waterover the canvas parcelling on his oar in a professional manner, "weused to have stretchers made with----"

"We don't want to hear about Keyham, " said the First Lieutenant, "wewant to get to work. Shove the perishing thing away, James, and stopchawing your fat. If it's good for Nelson it's good enough for you. "

"Do we start training in earnest to-day?" demanded the India-rubberMan, gloomily rubbing his calves. "Because I don't mind admitting thatI like to start gradually. 'Another-Little-Drink-Won't-Do-Us-Any-Harm'sort of spirit. "

"We shan't start at all if Double-O Gerrard doesn't find that blessedboat-hook an' shove her off soon, " retorted the long, lean third bow, speaking for the first time. 

"I can't see without my glasses, " complained the bow, fumbling amongthe blades of the oars. "Where is the bloomin' thing? Ah, here weare!"

"Shove off forward!" bellowed the voice of the coxswain for the thirdtime. 

The bow leaned his weight behind the boathook against the ship's side, and the bows of the galley sheered off slowly. 

"We're awa', " said the India-rubber Man, "we're awa'! Lord, 'owlovely!"

They paddled desultorily for a few strokes. Then the bow "bucketed"and sent a shower of icy spray over the backs of the two after oarsmen. Their loud expostulations were followed by protests from Tweedledum. 

"My oar's got a kink!" he announced lugubriously. 

"Oars!" said the coxswain. "Now, " he said grimly, with the air of aman who had reached the limit of human patience, "I'll give you all aminute. Ease up your belts, tie your feet down, have a wash and brushup, say your prayers, spit on your hands, and get comfortable once andfor all. It's the last stand-easy you'll get. We're going to pullround the head of the line if it breaks blood-vessels. "

The minute passed in invective directed chiefly against the oars, thestretchers, the crutches, the boat generally and the helmsman inparticular. At the expiration of that time, however, they all sat upfacing aft, with their hands expectantly gripping the looms of theiroars and profound gloom on every countenance. 

The coxswain contemplated them dispassionately. 

"You're a cheerful-looking lot to start out with to win the cup back!"was his comment. "Oars ready! 'Way together!"

The crew, like a child that suddenly tires of being naughty, bent totheir oars, and the boat slid through the water under long, swingingstrokes. .. . 

 * * * * *

Regatta-day broke calm and clear. The hands were piped to breakfast, and the Quartermaster of the Morning Watch, as the latest authority onthe vagaries of the barometer, entered the Petty Officers' mess withthe air of one in the intimate confidence of the High Gods. 

"Glass 'igh an' steady, " he announced, helping himself to sausage andmashed potatoes. "We'll 'ave it calm till mebbe five o'clock, thenit'll blow from the south'ard. That's down the course. But we won't'ave no rain to-day. "

The Captain of the Forecastle, who read his "Old Moore's Almanac, " andwas susceptible to signs and portents, confirmed the optimism of theQuartermaster. 

"I 'ad a dream last night, " he said. "I was a-walkin' with my missusalongside the Serpentine--in London, that is. There was swans sailin'on it, an' we was 'eavin' bits of bread to 'em. 'Fred, ' she says, 'you'll 'ave it beautiful for your regatta. You'll win, ' she says, 'the Stokers' Cutters, the Vet'rans' Skiff's, the Orficers' Gigs, an'the All-comers. '"

"That's along of you eatin' lobster for supper last night, " said theShip's Painter, a sceptic who had a sovereign on a race not mentionedby the Captain of the Forecastle's wife. "Wot about the perishin'Boys' Cutters? Didn't your old Dutch say nothin' about them?"

The seer shook his head and performed intricate evolutions with a pinin the cavernous recesses of his mouth. 

"Mebbe she would 'ave if she'd 'ad the chanst, " was the reply. "Butshe didn't 'ave time to say no more afore the Reveille interrupted 'er, an' I 'ad to turn out. "

The Quartermaster of the Morning Watch concluded his repast. "Well, "he said, "Mebbe she'll tell you the rest to-night. Then we'll know'oo's 'oo, as the sayin' is. But there's one crew as I'll put my shirton, an' that's the Orficers' Gigs. "

"'Ow about the Boys' Cutters?" demanded the Ship's Painter whosesovereign was in jeopardy. 

"_An'_ the Vet'rans' Skiffs, " echoed the Captain of the Forecastle, "what my wife mentioned? 'Fred, ' she says----"

"An' the All-comers, " interrupted the Captain of the Side, "wiv theChief Buffer[2] coxin' the launch?"

The Quartermaster of the Morning Watch made a motion with an enormousfreckled paw as if stroking an invisible kitten. "I ain't sayin'nothin' against 'em. Nothin' at all. What I says is, 'Wait an' see. 'I ain't a bettin' man, not meself. But if anyone was to fancy an even'arf quid----"

The shrill whistle of the call-boy's pipe clove the babel of thecrowded mess-deck. 

"A-a-away Racing Whaler's Crew!"

shouted the cracked high tenor. "Man your boat!"

"There you are!" said the Blacksmith, a silent, bearded man. "What arewe all 'angin' on to the slack for? Come on deck. That's the firstrace. "

Regatta-day, even in War-time, was a day of high carnival. The dozenor so of Battleships concerned, each with its crew of over a thousandmen, looked forward to the event much in the same spirit as a Derbycrowd that gathers overnight on Epsom Downs. The other Squadrons ofthe vast Battle-fleet were disposed to ignore the affair; they hadtheir own regattas to think about, either in retrospection or as anevent to come. But in the Squadron immediately concerned it was, nextto the annihilation of the German Fleet, the chief consideration oftheir lives, and had been for some weeks past. 

For weeks, and in some cases months, the racing crews of launches, cutters, gigs, and whalers, officers and men alike, had carried throughan arduous training interrupted only by attentions to the King'senemies and the inclemencies of the Northern spring. And now that theday had come, both spectators and crews moved in an atmosphere ofholiday and genial excitement heated by intership rivalry tofever-point. 

A regatta is one of the safety valves through which the ships'companies of the silent Fleet in the North can rid themselves of alittle superfluous steam. Only those who have shared the repressedmonotony of their unceasing vigil can appreciate what such a day means. To be spared for a few brief hours the irksome round of routine, tosmoke Woodbines the livelong day; to share, in the grateful sunlight, some vantage point with a "Raggie, " and join in the full-throated, rapturous roars of excitement that sweep down the mile-long lane ofships abreast the sweating crews. This is to taste something of thefierce exhilaration of the Day that the Fleet is waiting for, and hasawaited throughout the weary years. 

A Dockyard tug, capable of accommodating several hundred men, layalongside. The ship had swung on the tide at an angle to the coursethat obscured full view of the start. Those of the ship's company whodesired a full complete spectacle from start to finish were to go awayand anchor at some convenient point in the line, from which anuninterrupted panorama could be obtained. The device had otheradvantages: by anchoring midway down the course a flagging crew couldbe spurred on to mightier efforts by shouts and execrations, thebeating of gongs, hooting syren and fog-horns, whistles and impassionedentreaties. 

Accordingly the more ardent supporters of the various crews, armed withall the implements of noise and encouragement that their ingenuitycould devise, embarked. They swarmed like bees over the deck andbridge-house, they clung to the rigging and funnel stays, and perchedlike monkeys on the mast and derrick. Thus freighted the craft movedoff amid deafening cheers, and took up a position midway between twoBattleships moored in the centre of the line. The anchor was dropped, and the closely packed spectators, producing mouth-organs andcigarettes, prepared to while away the time until the commencement ofthe first race. 

They belonged to a West-country ship--that is to say, one manned fromthe Dockyard Port of Plymouth. The master of the tug, whose interestin such matters was, to say the least of it, cosmopolitan, had anchoredbetween two Portsmouth-manned Battleships. The position he hadselected commanded a full view of the course, and there hisresponsibilities in the affair ended. On the other hand, the crews ofthe two Battleships in question, assembled in full strength on theirrespective forecastles in anticipation of the forthcoming race, regarded the arrival of the tug in the light of a diversion sentstraight from Heaven. 

The tug's cable had scarcely ceased to rattle through the hawse-pipewhen the opening shots, delivered through a megaphone, rang out acrossthe water. 

"_'Ullo! Web-feet!_" bellowed a raucous voice. "_Yeer! Where betu?_" A roar of laughter followed this sally. 

The occupants of the tug were taken by surprise. Their interests hadhitherto been concentrated in the string of whalers being towed down tothe distant starting-point by a picket boat. Before they could rallytheir forces a cross-fire of rude chaff, winged by uproarious laughter, had opened on either side. Catch-word and jest, counter and reparteeutterly unintelligible to anyone outside Lower-deck circles were hurledto and fro like snowballs. Every discreditable incident of their jointcareers as units of that vast fighting force, personalities that wouldhave brought blushes to the cheeks of a Smithfield porter, the wholecouched in the obscure jargon of Catwater and Landport taverns, rangbackwards and forwards across the water, and withal the utmost goodhumour and enjoyment wreathing their faces with smiles. 

The distant report of a gun sounded and a far-off roar of voicesannounced that the first race had started; straight-way the tumultsubsided, and an expectant hush awaited the approach of the line ofboats moving towards them like a row of furious water-beetles. 

The race drew nearer, and ship after ship of the line took up thedeep-toned roar. The names of the ships, invoked by their respectiveship's companies as might the ancients have called upon their Gods, blended in one great volume of sound. The more passionately interestedsupporters of the crews followed the strung-out competitors insteam-boats, and added their invocations to the rest. 

A rifle cracked on board the end ship of the line, and the crew of theleading boat collapsed in crumpled heaps above their oars. The racewas over. On board a ship half-way down the line a frantic outburst ofcheering suddenly predominated above all other sounds, and continuedunabated as the rifle cracked twice more in quick succession, announcing that the second and third boats had ended the race. 

A hoist of flags at the masthead of the Flagship proclaimed the namesof the first three crews, dipped, and was succeeded by the number ofthe next race. Again the gun in the bows of the Umpire's steam-boatsped the next race upon its way, and once more the tumult of men'svoices rose and swelled to a gale of sound that swept along the line, and died to the tumultuous cheering of a single ship. 

A couple of hours passed thus, and there remained one race beforedinner, the Officers' Gigs. The events of the forenoon hadconsiderably enhanced the reputation of the Captain of the Forecastleas a prophet. Furthermore, the result of the Boys' Race had enrichedthe Ship's Painter to the extent of a sovereign. It needed but thevictory of the Officers' Gigs to place the ship well in sight of theSilver Cock, which was the Squadron Trophy for the largest number ofpoints obtained by any individual ship. 

The starting-point was the rallying-place for every available steam-and motor-boat in the Squadron, crowded with enthusiastic supporters ofthe different crews. The Dockyard tug, with its freight of hoarse yetstill vociferous sailor-men, had weighed her anchor, and moved down tothe end of the line preparatory to steaming in the wake of the lastrace. 

The Umpire, in the stern of an officious picket-boat, was apparentlythe only dispassionate participator in the animated scene. The long, graceful-looking boats, each with its crew of six, their anxious-facedcoxswains crouched in the sterns, and tin flags bearing the numbers oftheir ships in the bows, were being shepherded into position. A tensesilence was closing down on the spectators. It deepened as the linestraightened out, and the motionless boats awaited the signal withtheir oars poised in readiness for the first stroke. 

"Up a little, number seven!" shouted the starter wearily through hismegaphone. Two hours of this sort of thing robs even the Officers'Gigs of much outstanding interest to the starter. 

"Goo-o-o!" whispered one of the watching men. "'E don't 'arf know 'isjob, the coxswain of that boat. "

The boat in question with a single slow stroke moved up obediently. 

"Stand by!" sang the metallic voice again. Then--

_Bang!_ They were off. 

As if released by the concussion, a wild pandemonium burst from thewaiting spectators' throats. The light boats sprang forward likethings alive, and in their churning wakes came the crowded steam-boats. 

For perhaps two minutes the racing boats travelled as if drawn byinvisible threads of equal length. Then first one and then anotherdropped a little. The bow of one of the outside boats broke an oar, and before the oarsman could get the spare one into the crutch the boatslipped to the tail of the race. The spare oar shipped, however, shemaintained her position, and her crew continued pulling againsthopeless odds with pretty gallantry. 

Half-way down the mile course there were only four boats in it. TheFlagship's boat led by perhaps a yard, with a rival on either side ofher pulling stroke for stroke. Away to the right and well clear, theYoung Doctor urged his crew on with sidelong glances out of the cornerof his eye at the other boats. 

"You've got 'em!" he said. "You've got 'em cold. Steady does it!Quicken a fraction, Number One. Stick it, Bow, stick it, lad!"

The Flagship's boat had increased her lead to half a length ahead ofher two consorts: the Young Doctor's crew held her neck and neck. Thenthe Young Doctor cleared his dry throat and spoke with the tongues ofmen and fallen angels. He coaxed and encouraged, he adjured and abusedthem stroke by stroke towards their goal. The crew, with set, whitefaces and staring eyes fixed on each other's backs, responded likeheroes, but Double-O Gerrard was obviously tiring and the FirstLieutenant's breath was coming in sobs. They were pulling themselvesout. 

The roar of voices on either side of the course surged in their earslike the sound of a waterfall. Astern of them was the picket-boat, agraceful feather of spray falling away on either side of thestem-piece. A concourse of Wardroom and Gunroom officers had crowdedinto her bows, and the Commander, purple with emotion, bellowedincoherencies through a megaphone. 

Then, with one keen glance at the Flagship's crew and one at therapidly approaching finishing line, the Young Doctor chose thepsychological moment. 

"Stand by!" he croaked. "Now, all together--_spurt!_"

His crew responded with the last ounce of energy in their exhaustedframes. They were blind, deaf and dumb, straining, gasping, forcing"heart and nerve and sinew" to drive the leaden boat through those lastfew yards. Suddenly, far above their heads, rang out the crack of arifle, and the next instant another. The crew collapsed as if shot. 

For a moment none was capable of speech. Then the First Lieutenantraised his head from his hands. 

"Which is it, " he asked, "us or them?"

The Young Doctor was staring up at the masthead of the Flagship. Atangle of flags appeared above the bridge-screen. 

"I can't read 'em, " he said. "Which is it? Translate, someone, forpity's sake. "

The crew of the Flagship's boat, lying abreast of them a few yardsaway, answered the question. They turned towards their lateadversaries and began clapping. The next moment the Dockyard tug burstinto a triumphant frenzy, and the picket-boat, full of cheering, clapping mess-mates, slid alongside to take the painter. 

The First Lieutenant stretched out a large, blistered hand. "Shake, Pills, " he said. 

 * * * * *

One race is, after all, very much like another. Yet the afternoon woreon without any appreciable abatement in the popular enthusiasm. And itwas not without its memorable features. The Bandsmen's Race crownedone of the participators in undying fame. This popular hero broke anoar half-way through the race, and rising to his feet promptly sprangoverboard. 

His spectacular action plunged the remainder of the crew in hopelessconfusion, and he himself was rescued with difficulty in a half-drownedstate of collapse by the Umpire's boat. Yet for some occult reason nofeat of gallantry in action would have won him such universalcommendation on the Lower-deck. "Nobby Clark--'im as jumped overboardin the Bandsmen's Race" was thereafter his designation among hisfellows. 

The last race--the All-comers--did not justify universal expectation. The treble-banked launch was indeed coxed by the Chief Boatswain'sMate. A "Funny-party" in the stern, composed of a clown, a nigger anda stout seaman in female attire, added their exhortations to the "ChiefBuffer's" impassioned utterances. But the Flagship's galley, pullingeight oars, with the coxswain perched hazardously out over the stern, won the three-mile tussle, and won it well. 

As the Quartermaster of the Morning Watch had foretold, a breeze sprangup towards the close of the day. It blew from the southward andcarried down the lines a medley of hilarious sounds. 

A drifter hove in sight, shaping course for the Fleet Flagship. Shewas crowded to suffocation with singing, cheering sailor-men, andsecured to her stumpy bowsprit was a silver cock. As she approachedthe stern of the Flagship, however, the uproar subsided, and thedensely thronged drifter was white with upturned, expectant faces. 

A solitary figure was walking up and down the quarterdeck of theBattleship. He paused a moment, suddenly stepped right aft to therail, and smilingly clapped his hands, applauding the trophy in thebows of the drifter. The last rays of the setting sun caught on thebroad gold bands that ringed his sleeve almost from cuff to elbow. 

A wild tumult of frantic cheering burst out almost like an explosionfrom every throat still capable of emitting sound. There was gratitudeand passionate loyalty in the demonstration, and it continued longafter the figure on the quarterdeck had turned away and the drifter hadresumed her noisy, triumphant tour of the Fleet. 

"That's what I likes about '_im_, " whispered a bearded seaman hoarsely, as they swung off on their new course. "'E's that '_Uman_!" He jerkedhis head astern in the direction of the mighty Battleship on whose vastquarterdeck the man who bore a share of the Destiny of Europe on hisshoulders was still pacing thoughtfully up and down. 

[1] Arguing. 

[2] Chief Boatswain's Mate. 

CHAPTER VII

CARRYING ON

The fresh Northern breeze sent the waves steeplechasing across thesurface of the harbour, and lapping over the hull of a BritishSubmarine as she moved slowly past the anchored lines of theBattle-fleet towards the entrance. 

Her Commanding Officer stood beside the helmsman, holding a soiledchart in his hands; further aft on the elliptical railed platform ofthe conning tower a tall, angular, grey-haired man, clad in civiliangarb, stood talking to the First Lieutenant. A Yeoman of Signals, hisglass tucked into his left arm-pit, was securing the halliards to thetelescopic mast, at which fluttered a frayed White Ensign. A couple offigures in sea-boots and duffle coats were still coiling down ropes andsecuring fenders, crawling like flies about the whale-backed hull. Ahundred and fifty feet astern of the conning-tower the unseenpropellers threw the water into vortices that went curling away downthe long wake. 

"We'll pick up the trawler outside, " said the Lieutenant-Commander, folding up the chart and sticking it into the breast of hismonkey-jacket. "Deep water out there, and we can play about. " Hisface was burned by the sun to the colour of an old brick wall; thetanned skin somehow made his eyes look bluer and his hair fairer thanwas actually the case; it accentuated the whiteness of his teeth, andgave his quick smile an oddly arresting charm. 

The elderly civilian considered him with grave interest beforereplying. "Thank you, " he said. "That's just what I want to do--playabout!"

"The other experts are all in the trawler, with the apparatus, "supplemented the Lieutenant-Commander. "We're under your orders, sir, for these experiments. "

"Thank you, " said Sir William Thorogood, Scientist; he drew a cigarcase out of his pocket. "I feel rather like a man accepting another'shospitality and spending the day trying to pick his brains. "

The Submarine-Commander smiled rather grimly. "You mean you're tryingto find a way of cutting our claws and making us harmless?" he said. 

"Well--Fritz's claws, " amended Sir William. 

"Same thing, " replied the Lieutenant-Commander. "What's ours to-day istheirs tomorrow--figuratively speakin', that is. If it's sauce for thegoose it's sauce for the gander--just tit for tat, this game. "

"That, " said Sir William, "is rather a novel point of view. It's notexactly one that is taken by the bulk of people ashore. "

The figure beside the helmsman crinkled up his eyes as he stared aheadand gave a low-voiced order to the helmsman. "Oh?" he said. "I don'tknow much about what people ashore think, except that they're allrattled over this so-called Submarine menace. Anyone that's scared isapt to cling to one point of view. "

"That is so, " replied the Scientist. "But I chose to come out with youto-day for these experiments on the principle of setting a thief tocatch a thief. "

"That's sound, " said the Submarine expert. "Because, you know, in theNavy we all look at life from different points of view, according toour jobs. No, thanks, I won't smoke till we get outside. Now, thosefellows"--the speaker jerked his head astern to the great greyBattleships--"those big-ship wallahs--they're only just beginning totake Us seriously. I put in my big-ship time at the beginning of thewar--we do a year in a big ship, you know, for our sins--and thefellows in the Mess used to jeer at Us. They talked about theirrams. .. . " He laughed. "Rams!" he repeated. "They called us pirates. P'raps we were, but we didn't carry bathrooms in those early boats--noryet manicure sets. .. . Port ten! . .. Ease to five--steady!"

The speaker was silent for a moment, musing. "I don't know that Ialtogether blame 'em. " He turned to his First Lieutenant, a youth someyears his junior with preposterously long eyelashes. "'Member themanoeuvres before the War?" The other laughed and nodded. "Itorpedoed my revered parent's Battleship, " continued the speaker, "attwo hundred yards in broad daylight and a flat calm. " He chuckled. "Lor' bless me! It's like a fairy tale, lookin' back on it after twoyears of war. "

"Haven't they rather altered their tune since, though?" asked thevisitor. 

"A bit, yes. They don't quite know how to take us nowadays. We comein from patrol and tie up alongside them to give the men the run of thecanteen; they ask us to dinner and give cinema shows for the sailors, bless 'em. We're beginning to feel quite the giddy heroes when we findourselves among the Battle-fleet. "

"Cold feet, " interposed the First Lieutenant. "That's what's behind itall. We're It. .. . "

Sir William laughed. "Well, " he said, "what about those craft yonder?There I suppose you have yet another point of view?"

A division of Armed Trawlers lumbered out of their path, the bow gun oneach blunt forecastle rising and dipping as they plunged in theincoming swell. 

"Ah!" said the Lieutenant-Commander, "they're different. They neverhad any preconceived notions about us or their own invulnerability. The boot's on the other foot there. We used to jeer at them once; butnow I'm not so certain. .. . "

"You never know what the hell they'll do next, " explained theLieutenant with the shadow of his eyelashes on his cheek-bone. "That'sthe trouble. 'They knows nothin' an' they fears nothin', '" he quoted, smiling. 

"The personal element comes in more, I suppose, in those craft, " saidSir William musingly. He focused his glasses on a turf cabin ashore. "The Admiral was telling me that a London brain specialist was born inone of those crofter's huts. "

The Submarine Commander nodded. "It's not unlikely, " he said. "TheseNorthern fishermen are a fine breed. But this patrol work hasdeveloped a new type of seaman altogether. We've got a fellow up herehuntin' Fritzes--he's a merchant seaman with a commission in the NavalReserve. .. . There are times when he makes _me_ frightened, thatsportsman. It's a blessing the Hun can't reproduce his type: anyhow, Ihaven't met any over the other side, or up the Baltic. "

"Name of Gedge?" enquired Sir William dryly. 

"That's the lad, " was the reply. "D'you know him, sir?"

"No, but I've heard of him. "

"You'll see him presently, " said the other. "He's waiting for usoutside onboard his trawler. If you go onboard, have a look at thebeam of his fore-hatch: rather interestin'. "

"What about it?" asked Sir William. 

"A little row of notches--that's all. He adds another from time totime, and I feel sort of sorry for Fritz when he's about. "

"Like rats' tails hanging on a stable door, " supplemented the FirstLieutenant in explanation. 

"I see, " said Sir William. "This is going to be interesting. " Hepitched the stump of his cigar overboard and turned up the collar ofhis ulster as the spray began to drift past their heads. 

"We work together sometimes, " said the Submarine Officer, "Gedge and I. Little stunts, you know. .. . It's part of my job, of course, huntin'Fritzes, but it's more than a job with him: it's a holy mission. That's why I'm a bit frightened of him really. " The speaker searchedthe visitor's face with his guileless blue eyes. "I'm afraid ofmeeting him one day, unexpectedly, before I can establish ouridentity!" His quick smile flashed across his sunburnt face and wasgone again. 

The Submarine was passing under frowning walls of cliff, and the murmurof the surf thundering about the caverns and buttresses of thatrock-bound coast almost drowned the throb of the engines beneath theirfeet. Far out to seaward a formation of Mine-sweeping Sloops creptaway to the west. Close inshore, where the gulls circled vociferously, an insignificant trawler with a rusty funnel lay rolling in the swell. A wisp of bunting jerked to the stumpy foremast, and a pair ofhand-flags zigzagged above the trawler's wheel-house. The Yeoman ofSignals on the Submarine's conning tower stiffened like a statue as heread the message. 

"Says, 'Will Sir William Thor-r-ogood come aboar-r-d, sir? If so, he'll send a boat. '" His speech placed him at home in these Northernlatitudes. 

"Reply, 'Yes. Please send boat. '"

A quarter of an hour later Sir William was climbing out of a tubbydinghy over the trawler's bulwarks. A big bronzed man in a jersey andsea-boots, wearing the monkey-jacket of a Lieutenant of the Reserve anda uniform cap slightly askew, came forward, one enormous handoutstretched in greeting. "Pleased to meet you, sir, " he said. "Myname's Gedge. "

Sir William shook hands and winced. 

"I've heard of you, " he said, "and I was anxious to meet you. Whatd'you think of that toy?"

He nodded aft at a web of wire-coils, vulcanite levers and brass keys, standing beneath a wooden shelter in the stern. Three or four officersfrom the Fleet were gathered round it with note-books in their handstesting and adjusting amid its intricacies. 

"I've been lookin' at it, " admitted the big man non-committally. "Itsounds like a cinch, but I understand it ain't perfect yet?"

"Not by what you might call a long chalk, " was the dry reply. 

The big man looked relieved. "That's all right, " he said. "Becausewhen it is I guess I can go right along and get to bed. That littleoutfit's going to finish the war, sir. "

"Hardly, " said Sir William. "But it's intended to help things in thatdirection. Unfortunately, you see, there's still a factor--what wecall an unknown quantity----" He lapsed into technical explanations. The other listened for a while and then shook his head. 

"Maybe you're right, " he said, "but I couldn't say. I'm noscholar--ran away from school too young. But it seems to me----" Helifted a booted foot and rested it on the low gunwale, "Workin' at longdistances, there's the pull of the tides. .. . "

Sir William's eyeglass dropped. He recovered it and screwed it home. 

"Am I right, sir?" asked the big man. 

"You are, " said the Scientist. "You've studied tides, too, have you?"

The Submarine Hunter chuckled. "I've learned to respect 'em, " hereplied dryly. "Down the Malay Archipelago I learned something abouttides, spittin' overboard from salvage craft. .. . " He stood upright. "Well, sir, we'd better get to business. These gentlemen here are thebrains of the party"--he nodded at the group aft. "I'm only in thepicture to put them wise as to certain practical conditions of thegame. .. . " He dropped his voice to a confidential undertone as theywalked aft. "The Navy scares me. It's so damned big, and there's somuch gold lace--and it's so almighty efficient. .. . "

Half an hour's discussion settled the _modus operandi_ for theexperiment. The Submarine Commander rose from the gunwale and tossedaway his cigarette-end, then he grinned at the Submarine Hunter whostood with one shoulder against the structure aft, shredding tobaccointo the palm of his hand. 

"Gardez-vous, Old Sport!" he said, as he began to climb down into thedinghy, where Sir William joined him. 

"That's French, ain't it?" said the Submarine Hunter. "Don't speak thelingo. "

One of the Naval officers standing by the apparatus laughed. "It's achallenge, " he said. "Means 'Mind your eye!'"

The Hunter jerked his clasp knife in the direction of the fore-hatch. "I can mind it all right, " he replied grimly, and laughed with a suddendisconcerting bark of amusement. 

 * * * * *

"Now, " said the Submarine Commander as the pointed bows swung round forthe open sea, "we'll get away out of it. Must keep on the surface fora while--too many short-tempered little patrol boats close in to let uscruise with only a periscope showing. " He waved his hand in thedirection of countless smudges of smoke ringing the clear horizon. "But once we're clear of those we'll dive and hide somewhere for awhile. Give old man Gedge something to scratch his head about, lookin'for us. Then we'll play round and test the apparatus. .. . You'll beable to observe the compass all the time, and I'll give you thedistances. There's a young flood making . .. "

For the space of a couple of hours the boat slid swiftly through thewaves and successive cordons of patrols passed them onwards withflickering signals. The men onboard a line of rusty drifters leanedover the sides of their plunging craft and waved as the jaws of theirbaleful traps opened to let them pass through. Above their heads agull circled inquisitively, shrilling the high, thin Song of theSeventh Sea: astern the peaks of Ultima Thule faded like opals into theblue. 

A little cluster of rocky islands rose at length out of the sea ahead;the Submarine Commander took a swift bearing and rolled up the chart. 

"That'll do, " he said; "now we'll dive. There's a shoal patchhereabouts, and we'll sit on the bottom and have lunch while old manGedge starts looking for us. After lunch we'll let him get near andtry a bit of daylight stalking. " He glanced at the sun overhead. "Bitearly, yet awhile, " he added. 

One by one, led by Sir William, they descended the steel-runged ladderinto the electric-lit depths of the Submarine. A hatch closed with amuffled clang: a few curt orders were followed by a succession ofgurgles like those of the tide flooding through a cavern; theCommanding Officer moved from the eyepiece of the periscope, andgravely contemplated a needle creeping slowly round the face of a largedial. A Petty Officer, with an expression emotionless as that of atraveller in a railway tunnel, sat by the dial manipulating a brasswheel; a few feet away sat a Leading Seaman similarly employed. Theeyes of both men were fixed on the hesitating needle as it shiveredround. Finally the needle wavered, crept on another inch and paused, trembling. The Lieutenant-Commander glanced fore and aft, stripped offa pair of soiled gauntlets and made a low-voiced observation. The twomen, as if released from a spell, turned away from their dials. 

"There we are, " said the Captain cheerfully, "sitting snug on a nicesandy bottom in ten fathoms of water. What's for lunch?" He led theway forward to a folding table between the polished mahogany bunks. "Fried chops, ain't it?" he enquired, sniffing. 

They took their seats on camp stools while a bluejacket dealt out tinplates like playing cards. Sir William turned from a scrutiny of thetiny book-shelf over the port bunk. At the head of the bunk was nailedthe photograph of a girlish face, and in close proximity to it one of alusty baby exploring a fur rug apparently in search of clothes. 

"Not much of a library, I'm afraid, " said the host, seating himself. "I'm not much of a reader myself. The Sub's the bookworm of this boat. "

The First Lieutenant of the Submarine shot a swift glance of suspicionat his Commanding Officer as he helped himself to a chop. The look, however, appeared to pass unnoticed. 

"Some months ago, " continued his Captain, speaking with his mouth full, "we were caught in shallow water over the other side----" he jerked hishead upwards and to the South East. "We were sitting on the bottomwaiting for it to get dark before we came up and charged batteries. Iwas having a stretch-off on my bunk here, and the Sub, of course, hadhis nose in a book as usual. From subsequent developments it appearsthat a Hun seaplane saw us and proceeded to bomb us with great goodwill but indifferent success. "

"We ought never to have been there, " interrupted the First Lieutenantcoldly. "Bad navigation on the Captain's part. "

"Granted, " said the Lieutenant-Commander. "The first bomb was ratherwide of the mark, but it woke me, and I saw the Sub's eyelids flicker. After that I watched him. The Hun bombed us steadily for a quarter ofan hour (missing every time, of course), and the Sub never raised hiseyes from his book. "

"I was interested, " said the First Lieutenant shortly; his eyes, in oneswift glance captain-wards, said more. 

"Quite. I was only trying to prove you were a book-worm. "

"What was the book?" enquired Sir William. 

"Oh, Meredith, sir. Richard something-or-another. Topping yarn. "

The guest steered the conversation out of literary channels. 

"Were you over the other side much?" he asked blandly. 

"Pretty well all the war, till we came up North, " was theLieutenant-Commander's reply. "You'll have to use the same knife forthe butter; hope you don't mind. We get into piggish ways here, I'mafraid. .. . Amusin' work at times, but nothing to the Dardanelles; wenever got out there, though; spent all our time nuzzling sandbanks offthe Ems and thereabouts. Of course, one sees more of Fritz in thatway, but I can't say it exactly heightens one's opinion of him. Weused to think at the beginning of the war that Fritz was asportsman--for a German, you know. But he's really just a dirty dogtaking very kindly to the teaching of bigger and dirtier dogs thanhimself. "

Sir William pondered this intelligence. "That's the generally acceptedtheory, " he said. 

"They may have had some white men in their submarines at one time, butwe've either downed them or they've got Prussianised. They'vedisgraced the very word submarine to all eternity. " The speaker shookhis head over the besmirched escutcheon of his young profession. 

"They're cowards, all right, " added the Lieutenant. "'Member thatFritz we chased all the way to Heligoland on the surface?"

"Yep. Signalled to him with a flashing lamp to stop and fight: calledhim every dirty name we could lay our tongues on. Think he'd turn andhave it out? Not much! . .. Yet he had the bigger gun and the higherspeed. Signalled back, 'Not to-day, thank you!' and legged it insidegun-range of the forts. Phew! That made us pretty hot, didn't it, Sub?"

"Nerves, " said the Lieutenant. "Their nerves are just putrid. Therewas another night once----" he talked quickly between spoonfuls of ricepudding. "In a fog . .. We were making a lightship off the Dutch coastto verify our position. .. . Approached submerged, steering by sound oftheir submarine bell, and then came to the surface to get a bearing. There must have been half a dozen Fritzes round that light, all lostand fluttering like moths round a candle. We bagged one, sitting, andblew him to hell. .. . The rest plopped under like a lot of seals andsimply scattered. Fight? 'Not to-day, thank you. ' They're only goodfor tackling unarmed merchantmen and leaving women in open boats. " Thespeaker wiped his mouth with his napkin. "By God! I wouldn't be a Hunwhen the war's over. They're having a nice little drop of leave now towhat they'll get if they ever dare put their noses outside their ownfilthy country. "

"Amen, " said Sir William. 

The Captain of the boat rose from his seat, glancing at his watch. "Now then, " he said to the Scientist, "Come to the periscope and let'shave a look round. Gedge ought to be over the horizon by now. "

The men moved quietly to their stations and the tanks were blown. Slowly the gauge needles crept back on their appointed paths. TheSubmarine Commander motioned his guest to the periscope and gave him aglimpse of flying spray and sun-kissed wave tops. A mile or so awaylay the group of islands they had seen before lunch, and close inshorea mass of floating débris bobbed among the waves. 

"Baskets, I think--jettison of sorts. I'm going to get amongst it andgo down with the tide, keeping the periscope hidden: it's an old dodge. You can just see the smoke of Gedge's bus coming over the horizon. We'll give him a little game of Peep-bo!"

Sir William drew his watch from his pocket and walked over to thecompass. "In four minutes' time, " he said, "I shall start makingobservations: according to our arrangements Gedge should start theexperiment then. "

"That's right, " said the Lieutenant-Commander with his eyes pressedagainst the eye-piece of the periscope. "Oh, good! It's bales of hayfloating, not baskets. Better still: no chance of damaging theperiscope. There's Gedge----!"

 "Ha! Ha! Ha! Hee! Hee! Hee! I see you, but you can't see me!"

He slewed the periscope through a few points and back to the originalposition. "Hullo!" he said presently, "what's he up to? He's alteredcourse. .. . Thinks he sees something, I suppose. You're wrong, my lad. We're not in that direction. "

The minutes passed in silence. Forward in the bow compartment a manwas softly whistling a tune to himself. The feet of the figure at theperiscope moved with a shuffle on the steel plating. 

"How's the time?" he asked presently. 

"He ought to have started the apparatus, " said Sir William, standing, watch in hand, by the compass. "What's he doing?"

"Legging it to the Northward at the rate of knots--eight points off hiscourse, if he thinks he's going to get anywhere near us . .. Ah! Nowhe's coming round. .. . Humph! You're getting warm, my lad!" Anotherprolonged silence followed, and suddenly the Lieutenant-Commander spokeagain. 

"Sub, " he said in a curiously restrained tone, "just come here aminute. "

The Lieutenant moved obediently to his side and applied his eye to theperiscope. 

"Well?" said the Captain after a pause. "Well, Sister Anne?"

The Lieutenant turned his head swiftly for an instant and looked at hisCommanding Officer. "Have we got any boat out on this patrol to-day?"he asked. 

The other shook his head. "Not within thirty miles of this. 'Sides, he wouldn't come through here submerged, with only his periscopedipping. "

"It's a Fritz, then, " said the Lieutenant, an ominous calm in hisvoice. He stepped aside and relinquished the eye-piece. 

"It is, " said the other. "It's a naughty, disobedient Fritz. He'scoming through in broad daylight, which he's been told not to do. Hehasn't seen us yet--he's watching old man Gedge. Gedge thinks it's usand is pretending he hasn't seen him. .. . Lord! It's like a Frenchmusical comedy. "

Sir William put his watch back in his pocket and stood looking from onespeaker to the other. Finally he removed his eye-glass and began topolish it with scrupulous care. 

"Do I understand----" he began. 

The voice of the Lieutenant-Commander at the periscope cut him short. "Stand by the tubes!" he shouted. 

There was a swift bustle of men's footsteps down the electric-litperspective of glistening machinery. 

"Fritz must be in a tearing hurry to get home, " commented the FirstLieutenant. "P'raps they've all got plague or running short of food. .. Or just tired of life?"

"P'raps, " conceded the Lieutenant-Commander. "Anyhow, that's as maybe. .. . The beam torpedo tube will just bear nicely in a minute. " Thewhite teeth beneath the rubber eye-piece of the periscope showed for aninstant in a broad grin. "Won't old man Gedge jump!"

"Starboard beam tube ready!"

Sir William replaced his eye-glass. A sudden bead of perspiration randown and vanished into his left eyebrow. 

"The Lord, " said the Lieutenant in a low voice, "has placed the enemyupon our lee bow, Sir William. "

"Has he?" said Sir William dryly. "Then I hope He'll have mercy ontheir souls. "

The motionless figure at the periscope gave a couple of low-voicedorders, and in the ensuing silence Sir William felt the artery in histhroat quicken and beat like a piston. Then--

"Fire!"

The boat rolled to port, and all her framework shook like the body of aman shaken by a sudden sob. Back she came to her original trim, andthe Lieutenant, standing by the beam tube, raised his wrist watch andstudied it intently. The seconds passed, throbbing, intolerable, andmerged into Eternity. A sudden concussion seemed to strike the boatfrom bow to stern, and as she steadied the motionless figures, standingexpressionless at their stations, suddenly sprang into life and action. 

There was the metallic sound of metal striking metal as the hatchwayopened, a rush of cool, sweet air, and the Scientist found himselfbeside the two officers, without the slightest recollection of how hegot there, standing in the wind and sunlight on the streaming platformof the conning-tower. The boat was heading with the waves tumblingaway on either side of them in the direction of a cloud of grey smokethat still hung over the water, slowly dissolving in the wind. As theyapproached a dark patch of oil spread outwards from a miniaturemaelstrom where vast bubbles heaved themselves up and broke; the airwas sickly with the smell of benzoline, and mingled with it were theacrid fumes of gas and burnt clothing. A dark scum gathered inwidening circles, with here and there the white belly of a dead fishcatching the sun: a few scraps of wreckage went by, but no sign of aman or what had once been a man. 

"Pretty shot, " said the First Lieutenant approvingly, and leaned overthe rail to superintend the dropping of a sinker and buoy. TheCommanding Officer said nothing. Beneath the tan his face was white, and his hand, as he raised his glasses to sweep the horizon, trembledslightly. 

The Yeoman of Signals turned to Sir William and jerked his thumb at thewater. "Eh!" he said soberly, "yon had a quick call!"

"I ask for no other when my hour strikes, " replied the Scientist. 

"Maybe juist yeer hands are clean, " said the Yeoman, and turned tolevel his telescope at the trawler which was rapidly approaching with acloud of smoke reeling from her funnel and the waves breaking whiteacross her high bows. 

"Here comes Gedge, " observed the Lieutenant-Commander, speaking for thefirst time, "foaming at the mouth and suffering from the reaction offright. Hark! He's started talking. .. . "

Amid the cluster of figures in the trawler's bow stood a big man with amegaphone to his mouth. The wind carried scraps of sentences acrossthe water. 

". .. Darned bunch of tricks aft. .. . How was I to know. .. . Scaredblue . .. Torpedo . .. Prisoners. .. . Blamed inventors. .. . "

"Translate, " said Sir William. The Lieutenant-Commander coughedapologetically. "He's peevish, " he said. "Thought it was us blowingup at first. Wants to know why we wasted a torpedo: thinks he couldhave captured her and taken the crew prisoners if we'd left it to him. "

"Silly ass!" from the First Lieutenant. "How could we let him know hewas playing round with a Fritz? If we'd shown ourselves Fritz wouldhave torpedoed us!"

"I appreciate the compliment, " began Sir William, "that he implies tomy device, but, as a matter of fact, I hardly think the apparatus issufficiently perfect yet----"

The Lieutenant-Commander laughed rather brutally. "He isn't payingcompliments. He went on to say he didn't want the assistanceof--er--new inventions to bag a Fritz once he's sighted him. "

The First Lieutenant came quickly to the rescue. "Of course, " he said, "that's all rot. We're only too grateful to--to Science for trying toinvent a new gadget. .. . Only, you see, sir, in the meanwhile, _until_you hit on it we feel we aren't doing so badly--er--just carrying on. "

CHAPTER VIII

"ARMA VIRUMQUE . .. "

The Flagship's Wardroom and the smoking-room beyond were packed tosuffocation by a dense throng of officers. The Flagship was "At-Home"to the Fleet that afternoon on the occasion of the Junior Officers'Boxing Tournament which was being held onboard, and a lull in theproceedings had been the signal for a general move below in quest fortea. 

Hosts and guests were gathered round the long table, standing in pairsor small groups, and talking with extraordinary gusto. Opportunitiesof intercourse between ships are rare in War-time. Save for anoccasional visitor to lunch or dinner, or a haphazard meeting on thegolf-links, each ship or flotilla dwelt a little community apart. Onoccasions such as this, however, the vast Fleet came together; LightCruiser met Destroyer with a sidelong jerk of the head and a "Hullo, Old Thing. .. " that spanned the years at a single leap; Submarinelaughed across the room at Seaplane-carrier; Mine-sweeper andMine-layer shared a plate of sandwiches with a couple of Sloops anddiscussed the boxing; but they were no more than a leavening amid thethrong of "big-ship folk" who reckoned horse-power by the half hundredthousand and spoke of guns in terms of the 15-inch. 

Almost every rank of Naval officer was represented, from Commander toSub-Lieutenant and their equivalent ranks in other branches; yet thevast majority shared a curious resemblance. It was elusive and quiteapart from the affinity of race. The high physical standard demandedof each on entry, the athletic training of their early years, the sternrigour of life afloat, perhaps accounted for it. But in many of thetanned, clean-shaven faces there was something more definite than that;a strain that might have been transmitted by the symbolic Mother of theRace, clear-eyed and straight of limb, who still sits and watchesbeneath stern calm brows the heritage of her sons. 

A few there were among the gathering with more than youth's unwisdommarring mouth and brow; eyes tired with seeing over-much looked outhere and there from the face of Youth. Yet amid the wholesome, virilecheerfulness of that assembly they were but transient impressions, lingering on the mind of an observer with no more permanency than theshadows of leaves flickering on a sunny wall. 

A Lieutenant-Commander, on whose left breast the gaudy ribbons ofRussian decorations hinted at the nature of his employment during theWar, was talking animatedly to a Lieutenant with the eagle of theNavy-that-Flies above the distinction lace on his cuff. A grave-facedNavigating Commander, scenting the possibility of an interestingdiscussion between these exponents of submarine and aerial warfare, pushed his way towards them through the crush. 

". .. I remember her quite well, " the Flying Man was saying as hestirred his tea. "Nice little thing . .. Married, is she? Well, well. .. "

"You're a nice pair, " said the Commander, smiling. "I came over hereexpecting to hear you both discussing the bursting area of a submarinebomb, and find you're talking scandal. "

"It's a year old at that, " said the be-ribboned one, with a laugh. "I've just come back from the White Sea, but I seem to know more aboutwhat Timmin's lady friends have been doing in the meanwhile than hedoes himself!"

He bit firmly into a sardine sandwich and laughed again. A great humof men's voices filled the room. Scraps of home gossip exchangedbetween more intimate friends, and comments on the afternoon's boxingmingled with tag-ends of narratives from distant seas and far-offshores. It was nearly all war, of course, Naval war in some guise orother, and it covered most of the navigable globe. 

A general conversation of this nature cannot be satisfactorilyreproduced. A person slowly elbowing his way from the big tea-urns atone end of the mess to the smoking-room at the other, would, in hispassage, cut off, as it were, segments of talk such as the following:

". .. Ripping little boxer, isn't he? I had his term at OsborneCollege, but he's learnt a good deal since then. .. . "

 * * * *

". .. Jess? Poor little dog: she was killed by a 4-inch shell in thatDogger Bank show. I've got an Aberdeen terrier now. "

 * * * *

". .. Bit of a change up here, isn't it, after being under doubleawnings for so long? But the Persian Gulf was getting rather boring. .. Were you invalided too?"

 * * * *

". .. Not they! They won't come out--unless their bloomin' Emperorsends them out to commit a sort of hari-kiri at the end of the war. .. . That's what makes it so boring up here. .. . "

 * * * *

"As a matter of fact we caught the Turk who laid most of the mines inthe Tigris. He conned us up the river--we put him in a basket andslung him on the bowsprit: just in case he got careless, what? . .. "

 * * * *

". .. Beer? My dear old lad, the Japs had scoffed all the beer inKiao-Chau before I got into the main street. .. . "

 * * * *

". .. I had a Midshipman up with me as observer--aged 16 and 4 monthsprecisely. .. . Those machines scared the Arabs badly. .. . "

 * * * *

". .. Just a sharpened bayonet. You slung it round your neck when youwere swimming. .. . Only had to use it once . .. Nasty sticky job. Nojoke either, crawling about naked on your belly in the dark. .. . "

 * * * *

". .. We had a fellow chipping the ice away from the conning-towerhatch all the time we were on the surface, 'case we had to close downquick. I tell you, it was Hell, that cold! . .. "

 * * * *

". .. Five seconds after we had fired our torpedo a shell hit the tubeand blew it to smithereens. A near thing, I give you my word. .. . "

 * * * *

A Lieutenant-Commander appeared at the doorway from the smoking-room. 

"There will be an exhibition bout next, " he shouted, "and then thefinal of the Light-weights!" A general move ensued on to the upperdeck. 

The raised ring was in amidships before the after superstructure. Theofficers occupied tiers of chairs round three sides of the platform. The Admirals and their staffs in front, and the Post-captains of theships that had entered competitors, just behind. On the forward side, extending the whole breadth of the ship, was the dense array of theship's company. The majority were in tiers on planks, but a number hadfound their way to other points of vantage, and were clustered aboutthe funnel casings and turrets and even astride the great gunsthemselves. A murmur of men's voices, punctuated by the splutter ofmatches as hundreds of pipes were lit and relit, went up on all sides. The judges were taking their seats at the little tables on either sideof the ring, and the referee, an athletic-looking Commander, wasleaning over from his chair talking to the Chaplain who was acting astime-keeper. 

The Physical Training Officer of the Flagship stepped into the emptyring and raised his hand for silence. The hum of voices died awayinstantly, and in the stillness the thin, querulous crying of the gullssomewhere astern alone was audible. 

"Lieutenant Adams, Welter-weight Champion of the Navy, and SeamanHands, ex-Middle-weight Champion of England, have kindly consented togive an exhibition of sparring, " he proclaimed, and withdrew. 

During the applause that greeted the announcement a youthful figure, clad in a white singlet and football shorts, with a sweater thrown overhis shoulders, ducked under the ropes and walked rather shyly to hiscorner of the ring. His appearance was the signal for a vociferousoutburst of applause. He sat down, holding the sweater about hisshoulders with his gloved hands, and thoughtfully rubbing the sole ofhis left boot in the powdered resin. 

The clapping suddenly redoubled, and a broad, bull-necked man of aboutforty vaulted lightly into the ring and took his place in the oppositecorner. He was stripped to the waist; his jaws moved mechanicallyabout a piece of chewing gum, and an expression of benign good-humourand enjoyment lit his battered, kindly countenance. 

It was not until the gong sounded and the two men rose from theirchairs that the contrast between the toughened ex-professional and thelithe, graceful amateur brought forth a little murmur of delight fromthe vast audience. 

In the sordid surroundings of the prize ring there might have been asuggestion of brutality about the older man. The great hairy chest, the knotted arms covered with barbaric tattooing, the low-crowned skulland projecting lower jaw gave him an aspect of almost savage, remorseless strength softened only by the gentleness of his eyes. Hemoved as lightly as a cat, and from shoulder to thigh the musclesstirred obedient to every motion. 

The Lieutenant was perhaps fifteen years the junior. The playingfields or racquet-courts of any university would recognise his type asnothing out of the common. Deep-chested, lean-flanked, perfectlyproportioned, and perhaps a shade "fine-drawn"--England and Americacarelessly produce and maintain the standard of this perfection ofphysical beauty as no other white race can. 

The two men met in the centre of the ring, and as they shook hands theold pugilist grinned almost affectionately. The lack of several frontteeth incidental to his late profession was momentarily apparent, andan enthralled Ordinary Seaman, perched insecurely on the lower funnelcasing, drew his breath in relief. 

"'E won't 'urt 'im, " he said in a whisper, as if to reassure himself. 

"Course 'e won't!" replied a companion, expelling a cloud of tobaccosmoke between his lips. "'S only a bit o' skylarkin'. .. . Gawd!" headded in awed tones. "That one 'ud kill a donkey if 'e started'ittin'. "

The two boxers had slipped into their habitual poses and were quietlymoving round each other. The graceful activity of the amateur wassomewhat characteristic of his school, while the ex-professionalcontented himself with almost imperceptible movements of his feet, watching with a nonchalant yet wary caution for the coming attack. With the suddenness of a flash the Lieutenant led with his left and wasback out of harm's way again. 

True and quick was the blow, but the veteran's defence was evenquicker. Without raising either glove he appeared to have swayedbackwards from the hips. His adversary's glove should have landed fullin his face; but so perfectly was his defence timed that it justreached him and no more. The battered face, with its amiable, reassuring smile and slowly moving jaws, had not winked an eyelid. 

Then for three short rounds there followed a completely enthrallingdisplay. On one side was perfectly trained orthodox, amateur boxing. On the other every clean trick and subterfuge of irreproachablering-craft. Timing, footwork, feints, guarding and ducking; eachsubtlety of the art of defence was demonstrated in turn. 

In the last few seconds of the final round, however, a little out ofbreath with his defensive display, the older man changed his tactics. With lowered head and ferocious face he advanced, a whirling bulk ofmight and action, upon the amateur. Tap--tap--tap! Left--right, overand under, through the guard and round the guard of the outfoughtyoungster the unclenched gloves totted up a score of points. There wasa careful restraint behind each blow, yet, when the gong sounded andthey smilingly shook hands amid tumults of enthusiasm, a thin redstream was trickling from the right eyebrow of the amateur champion. .. . 

As they left the ring two boyish forms slipped through the ropes andmade their way to their respective corners. They both wore theorthodox white singlet and blue shorts, and round each waist wastwisted the distinguishing coloured sash, one red and the other green. They sat down with their gloved hands resting on their thin knees andgravely surveyed the sea of expectant faces. Both bore traces ofprevious conflicts on their features, and their united ages aggregatedsomething just over thirty. 

The Physical Training Officer again advanced to the ropes. "Final ofthe Junior Officers' Light-weights!" he announced. "MidshipmanHarcourt on the left--green; Midshipman Mordaunt on my right--red, " andadded the name of their ship. He looked from one to the otherinterrogatively, and they nodded in turn. Stepping back he resumed hisseat amid a tense silence. 

"Seconds out of the ring!"

Then the gong rang, and the two wiry figures rose to their feet andstepped briskly to meet each other. The wearer of the green colourswas smiling, but his slim adversary looked grave and rather pale withcompressed lips. 

Their gloves met for an instant, and the fight started. There waslittle or no preliminary sparring. Each knew the other's tactics byheart. It was just grim, dogged, ding-dong fighting. In height andweight they were singularly evenly matched, but Harcourt soon gaveevidences of being unquestionably the better boxer. He boxed coollyand scientifically, but what his opponent lacked in style he made up indetermination. Twice his furious attacks drove Harcourt to the ropes, and twice the latter extricated himself nimbly and good-humouredly. Between the thud of gloves and the patter of their feet on thecanvas-covered boards their breathing was audible in the tense hush ofthe ring-side. 

Ding! went the gong, and the first round was over. They walked totheir corners amid a tempest of appreciative applause, and wereinstantly pounced upon by their anxious seconds. 

In one of the chairs just below the ring, Thorogood removed his pipefrom his mouth and turned his head to speak to Mouldy Jakes, who satbeside him. 

"Good fight, eh?" he said, smiling. "Harcourt ought to win, of course, but Mordaunt's fighting like a young tiger. He's no boxer, either. I'm bothered if I know how he got into the finals. "

"Guts!" said the other. "Sheer guts! He won't last, though. Harcourt'll start piling up the points in the next round. "

But when the second round started, Mordaunt developed unexpected skillin defence. Harcourt led off with an offensive, but his opponentdodged and ducked and guarded until the first fury of the onslaughtabated, and then a savage bout of in-fighting quickly equalisedmatters, until as the end of the round approached disaster very nearlyovertook the red colours. Mordaunt swung rather wildly with his rightand missed. Harcourt's watchful left landed on the side of hisopponent's head as he lost his equilibrium, and Billy Mordaunt wentdown with a thud. 

He was on his feet again the next instant, his eyes fairly alight withbattle, and his lip curled back savagely. In a whirlwind of smashingblows he drove Harcourt to the ropes again, until a straight leftbetween the eyes sobered him. 

Ding! went the gong again, and again the applause burst out. Theseconds fell upon their men with furious energy. The water in thebasins was assuming a pinkish tinge, and they sponged and massaged andflapped their towels as if striving to impart something of their ownvigour to their tired principals. The two combatants, breathing hard, were leaning back with outstretched arms and legs, every muscle intheir resting bodies relaxed. 

"Harcourt ought to win, you know, " said Thorogood again. "He's just asfit and a better boxer. But he seems to be tiring. .. . He had a prettytough time in the heats, I fancy. "

"Seconds out of the ring! Last round!" came the Chaplain's voice. Then the gong brought them to their feet. 

They shook hands unsmiling, and began to circle cautiously, sparringfor an opening. Then Harcourt led. It was a stinging blow and itlanded fair enough. Billy took it, and several more; for a moment itlooked as if he had shot his bolt. Then he seemed suddenly to gatherall his tiring strength. He feinted and hit lightly with his left. Harcourt blocked it, then unexpectedly lowered his guard; a littlemocking smile flitted over his blood-smeared face. Billy's right camein with every ounce of muscle and sinew in his body to back the jolt, and it landed fair on the point of that flaunting chin so temptinglyoffered. 

It seemed to Billy that Harcourt disappeared into a mist. There was athud and a great roar of voices and the sounds of clapping. 

"Stand back!" said a warning voice at the ring-side, and somewhere, apparently in the distance, another voice was counting the deliberateseconds:

". .. Five! Six! Seven!"

The angry mist cleared away and revealed Harcourt sprawling on theground. He was leaning over on both hands, striving gallantly to rise. 

". .. Eight! Nine!"

The white figure with the green sash was on hands and knees, swaying----

The gong rang. Down and out!

The referee glanced from one judge to the other and raised a little redflag from the table. 

"Red wins!" he shouted. 

Unconscious of the deafening applause Billy bent down and slipped anarm under his friend's shoulders. All the savage fighting blood in himhad suddenly cooled, and there was only pity and love for Harcourt inhis heart as he helped him to his feet. 

Harcourt's seconds had rushed into the ring as the gong rang, and theynow supported him to his corner. At his feeble request one unlaced theglove from his right hand, which he extended to his late adversary witha wan smile. 

"That was a good 'un, Billy, " he said faintly. "My--head's--stillsinging . .. Like a top! And--I taught it to you! . .. "

 * * * *

The distribution of prizes to the winners of the different weightsfollowed, and then the great gathering broke up. The Admirals departedwith their staffs in their respective barges, the Captains in theirgalleys, Wardroom and Gunroom officers in the picket-boats. Figurespaced up and down the quarterdeck talking together in pairs; farewellssounded at the gangways, and the hoot of the steamboats' syrens asternmingled with the ceaseless calling of the gulls overhead. 

Harcourt and Mordaunt, descending the accommodation ladder in the rearof the remainder of their party, were greeted by Morton, at the wheelof the picket-boat, with a broad grin. 

"Come on, " he ejaculated impatiently. "Hop in! We've got to get backand be hoisted in. Who won the Light-weights by the same token?"

"Billy did, " replied Harcourt. He settled himself comfortably on topof the cabin of the picket boat and pulled up the collar of hisgreatcoat about his face. 

Morton jerked the engine-room telegraph and the boat moved off. 

"Why are we in such a hurry?" queried Harcourt. "Are we going out?"

The boyish figure at the helm glanced aft to see his stern was clear, and put the wheel over, heading the boat in the direction of their ship. 

"Yes, " he said. "At least a signal has just come through ordering usto raise steam for working cables at seven p. M. "

Lettigne, perched beside Mordaunt on the other side of the cabin-top, leaned across. The crowded excitements of the afternoon had lapsedinto oblivion. 

"D'you mean the whole Fleet, or only just us?" he asked. 

"The whole Fleet, " replied Morton, staring ahead between the twinfunnels of his boat. "I suppose it's the usual weary stunt; go out andsteam about trailing the tail of our coat for a couple of days, andthen come back again. " The speaker gripped the spokes of the wheelalmost savagely. "Lord!" he added, "if only they'd come out. .. . "

Mordaunt fingered his nose gingerly. "They do come out occasionally, Ibelieve. You'd think their women 'ud boo them out. .. . They sneakabout behind their minefields and do exercises, and they cover theirBattle-cruisers when they nip out for a tip-and-run bombardment of oneof our watering-places. But we'll never catch 'em, although we canstop them from being of the smallest use to Germany by just being wherewe are. "

"We could catch them if they didn't know we were coming South, " saidanother Midshipman perched beside Mordaunt with his knees under hischin. 

"But they always do know, " said Harcourt over his shoulder. "TheirZepps always see us coming and give them the tip to nip off home!"

"Fog. .. " said Mordaunt musingly. 

"Yes, " said another who had not hitherto spoken. "That 'ud do it allright. But then you couldn't see to hit 'em. 'Sides, you can't counton a fog coming on just when you want it. "

"Well, " said Morton, with the air of one who was wearied by profitlessdiscussion. "Fog or no fog, I only hope they come out this time. "

He rang down "Slow" to the tiny engine-room underneath his feet, andspun the wheel to bring the crowded boat alongside the port gangway. 

A Fleet proceeds to sea in War-time with little or no outwardcircumstance. There was no apparent increase of activity onboard thethe great fighting "townships" even on the eve of departure. As thelate afternoon wore on the Signal Department onboard the Fleet Flagshipwas busy for a space, and the daylight signalling searchlights splashedand spluttered while hoist after hoist of flags leaped from the signalplatform to yardarm or masthead; and ever as they descended freshsuccessive tangles climbed to take their place. But after a while eventhis ceased, and the Flagships of the squadrons, who had been taking itall in, nodded sagely, as it were, and turned round to repeat for thebenefit of the ships of their individual squadrons such portions asthey required for their guidance. 

Then from their hidden anchorage the Destroyers moved past on their wayout, flotilla after flotilla in a dark, snake-like procession, swift, silent, mysterious, and a little later the Cruisers and Light Cruiserscrept out in the failing light to take up their distant positions. Oneach high forecastle the minute figures of men were visible movingabout the crawling cables, and from the funnels a slight increased hazeof smoke trembled upwards like the breath of war-horses in a frostylandscape. 

One by one the dripping anchors hove in sight. The water under thesterns of the Battleships was convulsed by whirling vortices as thegreat steel-shod bulks turned cautiously towards the entrance, likepartners revolving in some solemn gigantic minuet. The dusk was fastclosing down, but a saffron bar of light in the West still limned thedark outlines of the far-off hills. One by one the majestic fightingships moved into their allotted places in the line, and presently

 "Enormous, certain, slow. .. . "

the lines began to move in succession towards the entrance and the opensea. 

The light died out of the western sky altogether, and like great greyshadows the last of the Battle-squadrons melted into the mystery of thenight. 

CHAPTER IX

"SWEETHEARTS AND WIVES"

Betty finished her breakfast very slowly; she had dawdled over it, notbecause there was anything wrong with her appetite, but because thedays were long and meals made a sort of break in the monotony. Sherose from the table at length and walked to the open casement window; acat, curled up on the rug in front of the small wood fire, opened oneeye and blinked contemplatively at the slim figure in the silk shirt, the short brown tweed skirt above the brown-stockinged ankles, andfinally at the neat brogues, one of which was tapping meditatively onthe carpet. Then he closed his eyes again. 

"Would it be to-day?" wondered Betty for about the thousandth time inthe last eight days. She stared out across the little garden, thebroad stretch of pasture beyond the dusty road that ended in a confusedfringe of trees bordering the blue waters of the Firth. A flotilla ofDestroyers that had been lying at anchor overnight had slipped fromtheir buoys and were slowly circling towards the distant entrance tothe harbour. Beyond the Firth the hills rose again, vividly green andcrowned with trees. 

A thrush in the unseen kitchen garden round a corner of the cottagerehearsed a few bars of his spring song. 

"It might be to-day, " he sang. "It might, it might, it might--or itmightn't!" He stopped abruptly. 

Eight days had passed somehow since an enigmatic telegram from theIndia-rubber Man had brought Betty flying up to Scotland with hastilypacked trunks and a singing heart. 

Somehow she had expected him to meet her at the little station shereached about noon after an all-night journey of incrediblediscomforts. But no India-rubber Man had been there to welcome her;instead a pretty girl with hair of a rusty gold, a year or two hersenior, had come forward rather shyly and greeted her. 

"Are you Mrs. Standish?" she asked, smiling. 

Despite the six-months-old wedding ring on her hand, Betty experienceda faint jolt of surprise at hearing herself thus addressed. 

"Yes, " she said, and glanced half-expectantly up and down the platform. "I hoped my husband would be here . .. "

The stranger shook her head. "I'm afraid his squadron hasn't come inyet, " she said, and added reassuringly, "But it won't be long now. Your sister wrote and told me you were coming up. My name's EttaClavering. .. . "

"Oh, thank you, " said Betty. "You got me rooms, didn't you--and I'm sograteful to you. "

"Not at all, " said the other. "It's rather a job getting them as arule, but these just happened to be vacant. Rather nice ones: nicewoman, too. No bath, of course, but up here you get used to tubbing inyour basin, and--and little things like that. But everything's niceand clean, and that's more than some of the places are. " They hadsorted out Betty's luggage while Mrs. Clavering was talking, and leftit with the porter to bring on. "We can walk, " said Betty's guide. "It's quite close, and I expect you won't be sorry to stretch yourlegs. "

They skirted a little village of grey stone cottages straggling oneither side of a broad street towards a wooded glen, down which a riverwound brawling to join the waters of the Firth. Cottages and littleshops alternated, and half-way up the street a rather more pretentioushotel of quarried stone rose above the level of the roofs. Hillsformed a background to the whole, with clumps of dark fir clinging totheir steep slopes, and in the far distance snow-capped mountains stoodlike pale opals against the blue sky. The air was keen andinvigorating, and little clouds like a flock of sheep drifted overhead. 

Mrs. Clavering led the way past the village towards a neat row ofcottages on the brow of a little hill about a quarter of a mile behindit, and as they ascended a steep lane she turned and pointed with herashplant. A confusion of chimneys, cranes and wharves were shrouded ina haze of smoke and the kindly distance. 

"You see, " she said, "you can almost see the harbour from your house. That's where the ships lie when they come in here. This is your abode. They'll send your luggage up presently. I hope you'll be comfortable. No, I won't come in now. I expect you're tired after travelling allnight. You must come and have tea with me, and meet some of theothers. " She laughed and turned to descend the hill, stopping again afew paces down to wave a friendly stick. 

Etta Clavering occupied a low-ceilinged room above a baker's shop inthe village, and had strewn it about with books and photographs andnick-nacks until the drab surroundings seemed to reflect a little ofher dainty personality. Thither, later in the day, she took Betty offto tea and introduced her to a tall fair girl with abundant hair and agentle, rippling laugh that had in it the quality of running water. 

"We belong to the same squadron, " she said. "I'm glad we've met now, because directly our husbands' ships come in we shall never see eachother!" She turned to Etta Clavering. "It's like that up here, isn'tit? We sit in each other's laps all day till our husbands arrive, andthen we simply can't waste a minute to be civil . .. !"

She laughed her soft ripple of amusement, cut short by the entrance ofanother visitor. She was older than the other three: a sweet, rathergrave-faced woman with patient eyes that looked as if they had watchedand waited through a great many lonelinesses. There was somethingtender, almost protecting, in her smile as she greeted Betty. 

"You have only just come North, haven't you?" she asked. "The latestrecruit to our army of--waiters, I was going to say, but it soundssilly. Waitresses hardly seems right either, does it? Anyhow, I hopeyou won't have to wait for very long. "

"I hope not, " said Betty, a trifle forlornly. 

"So do I, " said the tall fair girl whose name was Eileen Cavendish. "Iam developing an actual liver out of sheer jealousy of some of thesewomen whose husbands are on leave. When Bill comes I shall hang on hisarm in my best 'clinging-ivy-and-the-oak' style, and walk him up anddown outside the hateful creatures' windows! It'll be _their_ turn tognash their teeth then!"

Betty joined in the laughter. "Are there many of--of Us up here?" sheasked. 

"There are as many as the village will hold, and every farm and byreand cow-shed for about six miles round, " replied Mrs. Gascoigne, thenew-comer. "And, of course, the little town, about four miles fromhere, near where the ships anchor, simply couldn't hold another wife ifyou tried to lever one in with a shoe-horn!"

"And then, " continued their hostess, measuring out the tea into thepot, "of course, there are some selfish brutes who stay on all thetime--I'm one of them, " she added pathetically. "But it's no use beinga hypocrite about it. I'd stay on if they all put me in Coventry and Ihad to pawn my wedding ring to pay for my rooms. One feels nearer, somehow. .. . Do sit down all of you. There's nothing to eat exceptscones and jam, but the tea is nice and hot, and considering I boughtit at that little shop near the manse, it looks and smells very likereal tea. "

"I suppose, then, all the rooms are dreadfully expensive, " said Betty. 

"Expensive!" echoed the fair girl, consuming her buttered scone withfrank enjoyment. "You could live at the Ritz or Waldorf a good dealcheaper than in some of these crofter's cottages. You see, until theWar began they never let anything in their lives. No one ever wantedto come and live here. Of course, there are nice women--like your MissMcCallum, for example--who won't take advantage of the enormous demand, and stick to reasonable prices. More honour to them! But if you couldsee some of the hovels for which they are demanding six and sevenguineas a week--and, what's more, getting it. .. . "

"I'm afraid we are giving Mrs. Standish an altogether rather gloomypicture of the place, " said Mrs. Gascoigne. She turned to Betty with areassuring smile. "You don't have to pay anything to be out of doors, "she said. "That much is free, even here; it's perfectly delightfulcountry, and when the weather improves a bit we have picnics and walksand even do a little fishing in an amateurish sort of way. It allhelps to pass the time. .. . "

"But it's not only the prices that turn one's hair grey up here, "continued Mrs. Cavendish. "That little Mrs. Thatcher--her husband isin a Destroyer or something--told me that her landlady has falseteeth. .. . " The speaker extended a slender forefinger, to which sheimparted a little wriggling motion. "They wobble . .. Like that--whenshe talks. She always talks when she brings in meals. .. . I supposeit's funny, really----" She lapsed into her liquid giggle. "But poorMrs. Thatcher nearly cried when she told me about it. Imagine! Weekin, week out. Every meal. .. . And trying not to look. .. ! She said itmade her want to scream. "

"I should certainly scream, " said Mrs. Gascoigne, who had finished hertea and was preparing to take her departure. "Now I must be off. I'vepromised to go and sit with Mrs. Daubney. She's laid up, poor thing, and it's so dull for her all alone in those stuffy rooms. " She heldout her hand to Betty. "I hope we shall see a lot more of each other, "she said prettily. "We're going to show you some of the walks roundhere, and we'll take our tea out to the woods. .. . I hope you'll behappy up here. "

The door closed behind her, and Eileen Cavendish explored the room insearch of cigarettes. "Sybil Gascoigne is a dear, " she observed. 

"On the little table, there, " said the hostess. "In that box. Do yousmoke, Mrs. Standish?" Mrs. Standish, it appeared, did not. "Throw meone, Eileen. " She caught and lit it with an almost masculine neatness. "Yes, " she continued, "she's perfectly sweet. Her husband is a seniorPost-captain, and there isn't an atom of 'side' or snobbishness in hercomposition. She is just as sweet to that hopelessly dull and drearyDaubney woman as she is to--well, to charming and well-bred attractionslike ourselves!" The speaker laughingly blew a cloud of smoke andturned to Betty. "In a sense, this war has done us good. You've neverlived in a Dockyard Port, though. You don't know the insane snobberiesand the ludicrous little castes that flourished in pre-war days. "

"I dare say you're right, " said Eileen Cavendish. She moved idly aboutthe room examining photographs and puffing her cigarette. "But eventhe War isn't going to make me fall on the neck of a woman I don'tlike. But I'm talking like a cat. It's not seeing Bill for solong. .. . "

Mrs. Clavering smiled. "No, " she said, "I agree there are limits. Butup here, what does it matter if a woman's husband is an Engineer or aPaymaster or a Commander or only an impecunious Lieutenant likemine--as long as she is nice? Yet if it weren't for people like SybilGascoigne we should all be clinging to our ridiculous little pre-warsets, and talking of branches and seniority till we died of lonelinessand boredom with our aristocratic noses in the air. .. . As it is, Idon't believe even Sybil Gascoigne could have done it if she hadn'tbeen the Honourable Mrs. Gascoigne. That carried her over some prettyrough ground, childish though it sounds. "

"Bong Song!" interposed Mrs. Cavendish flippantly. "As----" She brokeoff abruptly. "There I go again! There's no doubt about it: I havegot a liver . .. I think I'll go home and write to Bill. That alwaysdoes me good. "

That tea-party was the first of many similar informal gatherings ofgrass-widows in poky rooms and cottage parlours. They were quite youngfor the most part, and many were pretty. They drank each other's teaand talked about their husbands and the price of things, andoccasionally of happenings in an incredibly remote past when one huntedand went to dances and bought pretty frocks. 

It was Etta Clavering who conducted Betty round the village shops onthe morning after her arrival, where she was introduced to the smallScottish shopkeeper getting rich quick, and the unedifying revelationof naked greed cringing behind every tiny counter. 

Through Eileen Cavendish, moreover, she secured the goodwill of awasherwoman. 

"My dear, " said her benefactress, "money won't tempt them. They've gotbeyond that. They've got to like you before they will wring out astocking for you. But I'll take you to the Widow Twankey; I'm one ofher protégées, and she shows her affection for me by feeling for myribs with her first two fingers to punctuate her remarks with prods. It always makes me hysterical. She has only got two teeth, and theydon't meet. "

So the Widow Twankey was sought out, and Betty stood and lookedappealingly humble while Etta Cavendish suffered her ribs to be proddedin a good cause, and the Widow agreed to "wash for" Betty at rates thatwould have brought blushes to the cheeks of a Parisian _blanchisseusede fin_. 

With Mrs. Gascoigne, Betty explored the heathery moors where thedistraught pee-wits were already nesting, and the cool, clean air blewdown from the snowy Grampians, bracing the walkers like a draught oficed wine. They even climbed some of the nearer hills, forcing theirway through the tangled spruce-branches and undergrowth to the summit, from where the distant North Sea itself was visible, lying like a greymenace to their peace. 

They would return from these expeditions by the path down the glen thatwound close to the brawling river; here, in the evenings, sometimeswith an unexpectedness embarrassing to both parties, they met some ofthe reunited couples whom Eileen Cavendish found it hard to contemplateunmoved; occasionally the fingers of such couples were interlaced, andthey talked very earnestly as they walked. 

On fine days the husbandless wives organised picnics and boiled thekettle over a fire of twigs. On these occasions the arrangements weregenerally in the hands of a fat, jolly woman everyone called "Mrs. Pat. " She it was who chose the site, built the fire with gipsycunning, and cut the forked sticks on which the kettle hung. The mealover, Mrs. Pat would produce a blackened cigarette holder and sit andsmoke with reflective enjoyment while she translated the rustling, furtive sounds of life in brake and hedge-row around them for thebenefit of anyone who cared to listen. No one knew whence she hadacquired such mysterious completeness of knowledge. It was as if aninvisible side of her walked hand in hand with Nature; sap oozing froma bursting bud, laden bee or fallen feather, each was to Mrs. Pat thechapter of a vast romance: and if she bored anyone with herinterpretation of it, they had only got to get up and go for a walk. 

She had a niece staying with her, the fiancée of a Lieutenant in herhusband's ship, a slim thing with blue eyes and a hint of the Overseasin the lazy, unstudied grace of her movements. She spoke sparingly, and listened to the conversation of the others with her eyes always onthe distant grey shadow that was the sea. Thus the days passed. 

In the evenings Betty read or knitted and inveigled her stout, kindlylandlady into gossip on the threshold while she cleared away theevening meal, and so the morning of the ninth day found Betty staringout of her window, listening for the thrush to begin again itshaunting, unfinished song. 

An object moving rapidly along the top of the hedge that skirted thelane leading to the cottage caught her eye; she watched it until thehedge terminated, when it resolved itself into the top of EileenCavendish's hat. Her pretty face was pink with exertion andexcitement, and she moved at a gait suggestive of both running andwalking. 

Betty greeted her at the gateway of her little garden, and her heartquickened as she ran to meet the bearer of tidings. 

"My dear, " gasped Mrs. Cavendish, "they're coming in this morning. Mrs. Monro--that's my landlady--has a brother in the town: I forgetwhat he does there, but he always knows. "

For an instant the colour ebbed from Betty's cheeks, and then herbeating heart sent it surging back again. 

"But----" she said. "Does that mean that our squadron is coming in?"

"Of course it does, silly! Get your hat quick, and we'll climb up tothe top of the hill and see if we can get a glimpse of them coming in. You'll have plenty of time to get down again and powder your nosebefore your Bunje-man, or whatever you call him, can get ashore. Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"

Together they toiled up the hill to the high stretch of moorland fromwhich a view of the entrance to the Firth could be obtained. 

"This is where I always come, " said Eileen Cavendish. She stopped andpanted for breath. "Ouf! I'm getting fat and short-winded. How longis it since you've seen your husband?"

Betty considered. "Three months and seventeen days, " was the reply. 

Her companion nodded. 

"It's rotten, isn't it? But now--at times like this, I almost feel asif it's--worth it, I was going to say; but I suppose it's hardly that. I always vowed I'd never marry a sailor, and ever since I did I've feltsorry for all the women with other kinds of husbands. .. . Bill is sucha dear!"

They found seats in the lee of a stack of peat and sat down side byside to watch the distant entrance. A faint grey haze beyond theheadlands on either side of the mouth of the harbour held the outer seain mystery. 

"There's nothing in sight, " said Betty. 

"No, " said the other, "but there will be, presently. You wait. " Sheput her elbows on her knees and rested her face in the cup of her twohands. "You haven't got used to waiting yet, " she continued. "Itseems to have made up half my life since I met Bill. I had a littledaughter once, and it didn't matter so much then. .. . But she died, themite. .. "

No Battleships had emerged from the blue-grey curtain of the mist whenlunch-time came; nothing moved across the surface of the empty harbour, and they descended the hill to share the meal in Betty's room. 

"Perhaps they won't be in till after tea, " suggested Betty. "Perhapsthe fog has delayed them. "

"Perhaps, " said the other. 

So they put tea in a Thermos flask, and bread-and-butter and a slice ofcake apiece in a little basket, and climbed again to their vantagepoint in the lee of the peat stack. They read novels and talked indesultory snatches through the afternoon. Then they had tea and toldeach other about the books they were reading. But as their shadowslengthened across the blaeberry and heather, the silences grew longer, and Betty, striving to concentrate her interest on her book, found thepage grow suddenly blurred and incomprehensible. .. . 

"It's getting chilly, " said the elder girl at length. She rose to herfeet with a little involuntary shiver, and stood for a moment staringout towards the sea. "I wonder. .. " she began, and her voice trailedoff into silence. Betty began slowly to repack the basket. "SometimesI pray, " said Eileen Cavendish, "when I want things to happen verymuch. And sometimes I just hold my thumbs like a pagan. Sometimes Ido both. Let's do both now. "

So they sat silent side by side; one held her breath and the other heldher thumbs, but only the dusk crept in from the sea. 

CHAPTER X

THE BATTLE OF THE MIST

Thorogood, Lieutenant of the Afternoon Watch, climbed the ladder to theupper bridge as the bell struck the half-hour after noon. A blueworsted muffler, gift and handiwork of an aunt on the outbreak of war, enfolded his neck. He wore a pair of glasses in a case slung over oneshoulder and black leather gauntlet-gloves. 

The Officer of the Forenoon Watch, known among his messmates asTweedledee, was focusing the range-finder on the ship ahead of them inthe line; he looked round as the new-comer appeared, and greeted himwith a grin. 

"Hullo, James, " he said. "Your afternoon watch? Well, here you are. "He made a comprehensive gesture embracing the vast Fleet that wasspread out over the waters as far as the eye could reach. 

"Divisions in line ahead, columns disposed abeam, course S. E. Speed, 15 knots. Glass low and steady. The Cruisers are ahead there, beyondthe Destroyers, " he nodded ahead. "But you can't see them because ofthe mist. The Battle-cruisers are somewhere beyond them again, withtheir Light Cruisers and Destroyers--about thirty miles to thesouthward. The hands are at dinner and all is peace. She's keepingstation quite well now. " The speaker moved to the range-finder againand peered into it at the next ahead. "Right to a yard, James. "

Thorogood nodded. "Thank you: I hope I'll succeed in keeping herthere. Any news?"

"News?" The other laughed. "What about?"

"Well, " replied Thorogood, "the perishing Hun, let's say. "

The Navigator, thoughtfully biting the end of a pencil, came out of thechart-house with a note-book in his hand, in which he had been workingout the noon reckoning. 

"Pilot, " said the departing Officer of the Forenoon Watch, "James isthirsting for news of the enemy. "

"Optimist!" replied the Navigator composedly. "News, indeed! Thisisn't Wolff's Agency, my lad. This is a Cook's tour of the North Sea. "He sniffed the damp, salt breeze. "Bracing air, change of scenery: noundue excitement--sort of rest cure, in fact. And you come alongexhibiting a morbid craving for excitement. "

"I know, " said Thorogood meekly. "It's the effect of going to thecinematograph. All the magistrates are talking about it. They sayCharlie Chaplin's got something to do with it. I suppose, though, there's no objection to my asking what the disposition of our LightCruisers happens to be, is there? It's prompted more by a healthydesire to improve my knowledge before I take over the afternoon watchthan anything else. "

"They're out on the starboard quarter, " replied the late Officer of theWatch. "You can't see them because of this cursed mist, but they'rethere. "

"Strikes me this afternoon watch is going to be more of a faith curethan a rest cure as the Pilot suggests, " grumbled Thorogood. "Battle-cruisers somewhere ahead, Cruisers invisible in the mist, LightCruisers----"

The report of a gun, followed almost instantly by a loud explosion, came from far away on the port bow. A Destroyer that had alteredcourse was resuming her position in the Destroyer line on the outskirtsof the Fleet. A distant column of smoke and spray was slowlydissolving into the North Sea haze. 

At the report of the gun the three men raised their glasses to stare inthe direction of the sound. "Only one of the Huns' floating mines, "said the Navigator. "She exploded it with her 8-pounder. Pretty shot. "

"Well, " said Tweedledee, "I can't stay here all day. Anything else youwant to know, James? What's for lunch? I'm devilish hungry. "

"Boiled beef and carrots, " replied Thorogood. "_Mit_ apple tart andcream: the Messman can't be well. Pills says its squando-mania. No, Idon't think I want to know any more. I suppose the log's written up?"

"It is. Now for the boiled beef, and this afternoon Little Bright-eyesis going to get his head down and have a nice sleep. "

The speaker prepared to depart. 

"Hold on, " said the Navigator. "I'm coming with you. I've just got togive the noon position to the Owner on the way. "

They descended the ladder together, and left Thorogood alone on theplatform. 

The Battle-fleet was steaming in parallel lines about a mile apart, each Squadron in the wake of its Flagship. The Destroyers, strung outon either flank of the Battle-fleet, were rolling steadily in the long, smooth swell, leaving a smear of smoke in their trail. Far away in themist astern flickered a very bright light: the invisible Light Cruisersmust be there, reflected Thorogood, and presently from the FleetFlagship came a succession of answering blinks. The light stoppedflickering out of the mist. 

The speed at which the Fleet was travelling sent the wind thrummingthrough the halliards and funnel stays and past Thorogood's ears with alittle whistling noise; otherwise few sounds reached him at thealtitude at which he stood. On the signal-platform below, a number ofsignalmen were grouped round the flag-lockers with the halliards intheir hands in instant readiness to hoist a signal. The SignalBoatswain had steadied his glass against a semaphore, and was studyingsomething on the misty outskirts of the Fleet. The Quartermaster atthe wheel was watching the compass card with a silent intensity thatmade his face look as if it had been carved in bronze. Thetelegraph-men maintained a conversation that was pitched in a low, deepnote inaudible two yards away. It concerned the photograph of a mutuallady acquaintance, and has no place in this narrative. 

Thorogood moved to the rail and looked down at the familiar forecastleand teeming upper-deck, thirty feet below. Seen thus from above, thegrey, sloping shields of the turrets, each with its great twin guns, looked like gigantic mythical tortoises with two heads anddisproportionately long necks. It was the dinner hour, and men weremoving about, walking up and down, or sitting about in little groupssmoking. Some were playing cards in places sheltered from the wind andspray; near the blacksmith's forge a man was stooping patiently over asmall black object: Thorogood raised his glasses for a moment andrecognised the ship's cat, reluctantly undergoing instruction injumping through the man's hands. 

The cooks of the Messes were wending their way in procession to thechutes at the ship's sides, carrying mess-kettles containing scraps andslops from the mess-deck dinner. For an instant the Officer of theWatch, looking down from that altitude and cut off from all sounds butthat of the wind, experienced a feeling of unfamiliar detachment fromthe pulsating mass of metal beneath his feet. He had a vision of theelectric-lit interior of the great ship, deck beneath deck, with meneverywhere. Men rolled up in coats and oilskins, snatchinghalf-an-hour's sleep along the crowded gun-batteries, men writingletters to sweethearts and wives, men laughing and quarrelling, orsinging low-toned, melancholy ditties as they mended worn garments:hundreds and hundreds of reasoning human entities were crowded in thosesteel-walled spaces, each with his boundless hopes and affections, hisseparate fears and vices and conceptions of the Deity, and his small, incommunicable distresses. .. . 

Beneath all that again, far below the surface of the grey North Sea, were men, moving about purring turbines and dynamos and webs ofstupendous machinery, silently oiling, testing and adjusting a thousandmoving joints of metal. There were adjoining caverns lit by the glareof furnaces that shone red on the glistening faces of men, silentvaults and passages where the projectiles were ranged in sinisterarray, and chilly spaces in which the electric light was reflected fromthe burnished and oiled torpedoes that hung in readiness above thesubmerged tubes. 

Thorogood raised his eyes and stared out across the vast array of theBattle-fleet. Obedient to the message flashed from the Flagship a fewminutes earlier, the Light Cruisers that had been invisible on thequarter now emerged from behind the curtain of the mist and wererapidly moving up to a new position. Presently the same mysterious, soundless voice spoke again:

 YOU ARE MAKING TOO MUCH SMOKE

blinked the glittering searchlight, and anon in the stokeholds of theend ship of the lee line there was the stokehold equivalent for weepingand wailing and the gnashing of teeth. .. . 

For a couple of hours the Fleet surged onwards in silence and unchangedformation. The swift Light Cruisers had overtaken the advancingBattle-fleet, and vanished like wraiths into the haze ahead. TheCaptain and the Navigator had joined Thorogood on the bridge, and wereporing over the chart and talking in low voices. The Midshipman of theWatch stood with eyes glued to the range-finder, turning his head atintervals to report the distance of the next ahead to the Officer ofthe Watch. 

A messenger from the Coding Officer tumbled pell-mell up the ladder andhanded a piece of folded paper to the Captain, saluted, turned on hisheel and descended the ladder again. The Captain unfolded the signaland read with knitted brows. Then he turned quickly to the chart again. 

For a moment he was busy with dividers and parallel-rulers; when heraised his head his eyes were alight with a curiously restrainedexcitement. 

"Rather interesting, " he said, and passed the paper to the Navigatorwho read it in turn and grinned like a schoolboy. 

"They have probably caught a raiding party in the mist, sir, " he said, and bent over the chart. 

Thorogood picked up the message and pursed his lips up in a short, soundless whistle. 

"It's too much to hope that their main fleet's out, " he said. 

"Their main fleet's sure to be in support somewhere, " replied theCaptain. "It's a question whether they realise we're all down on topof 'em, though, and nip for home before we catch them. "

A second messenger flung himself, panting, up the ladder, and handed ina second message. 

"Intercepted wireless to Flag, sir. "

The Captain read it and took a breath that was like a sigh of relief. "At last!" he said. 

The Navigator turned from the chart. 

"_Der Tag_, sir?" he asked interrogatively with a smile. 

The Captain nodded ahead at the haze curtaining all the horizon. "Ifwe catch 'em, " he replied. 

The signal platform was awhirl with bunting; the voice of the ChiefYeoman repeating hoists rose above the stamp of feet and the flappingof flags in the wind. 

Thorogood turned to the Navigator. "Will you take on now?" he asked ina low voice. "If the balloon's really going up this time I'd betterget along to my battery. "

As he descended the ladder the upper-deck was ringing with bugle-calls, and the turrets' crews were already swarming round their guns. Fromthe hatchways leading to the lower-deck came a great roar of cheering. Men poured up on their way to their action stations in a laughing, rejoicing throng. Mouldy Jakes, with the ever-faithful Midshipman ofhis turret at his side, was hurrying to his beloved guns, and greetedThorogood as he passed with a sidelong jerk of the head and the firstwhole-souled smile of enjoyment a mess-mate had ever surprised on hisface. Further aft the Captain of Marines was standing on the roof ofhis slowly revolving turret:

"Buck up, James, " he shouted merrily. "'Johnnie, get your gun, there'sa cat in the garden'--We're going to see Life in a minute, my lad!"

He was right, but they were also destined to see Death, holding redcarnival. 

Thorogood waved his arm and shouted an inarticulate reply as he ran aftto the hatchway leading to the cabin flat. Officers were rushing paston their way to their posts, exchanging chaff and conjecture as theywent. Thorogood descended to the cabin flat, jerked back the curtainof his cabin, and hurriedly entered the familiar apartment. Opening adrawer he snatched up a gas-mask and a packet containing first-aidappliances which he thrust into the pocket of his swimming waistcoat, together with a flask and a small tin of compressed meat lozenges. Once before, earlier in the war, he had fought for life clinging to afloating spar. Then succour had come in a comparatively short time, but the experience had not been without its lesson. 

He made for the door again and then paused on the thresholdhesitatingly. "Might as well, " he said, and turning back picked up asmall photograph in a folding morocco frame and thrust ithalf-shamefacedly into an inside pocket. 

As he emerged into the flat again he met Gerrard, the AssistantPaymaster, struggling into a thick coat outside the door of his cabin. 

"Hullo!" laughed the A. P. "Having a last look at the old home, James?"

Thorogood patted his pockets. "Just taking in provisions in case Ihave to spend the week-end on a raft. What's your action station?"

"Fore-top, " was the reply. "Taking notes of the action. Now, have Igot everything? Thermos flask--watch--note-book--glasses--right! _Enavant, mon brave!_"

Thorogood reached the 6-inch battery breathless, and found the guns'crews busy tricing up their mess-tables overhead. The Gunner waspassing along the crowded deck ahead of him. He stopped opposite theafter gun:

"They're out, lads!" he said grimly. "Give 'em hell, this time. Clearaway and close up round your guns--smartly then, my hearties!"

From the other side of the deck came the voice of Tweedledee givingorders to his battery, raised above the clatter of the ammunitionhoists, the thud of projectiles as they were placed in the rear of eachgun, the snap and clang of the breech as the guns were loaded. .. . 

Fire and wreckage parties stood in little groups along the main-deck, and first-aid parties were gathered at the hatchways; two Midshipmen, pale and bright-eyed with excitement, talked in low voices by theforemost gun: gradually a tense hush closed down upon the main deck;the crews stood silent round their guns, waiting in their steel-walledcasemates for the signal that would galvanise them into death-dealingactivity against the invisible foe. 

Ultimate victory no man doubted: death might sweep, swift andshattering, along these electric-lit enclosed spaces where they stoodwaiting; the great ship was being driven head-long by unseen forcestowards an unseen foe. But of that foe, none of the hundreds of menbetween decks save the straining gunlayers with their eyes at thesighting-telescopes would ever catch a single glimpse. 

The silence was riven by a roaring concussion that seemed to shake theframework of the ship. The great turret guns on the upper deck hadopened fire with a salvo, and, as if released by the explosion, a burstof frantic cheering leaped from every throat and echoed andreverberated along the decks. Somewhere in the outside world of mistand sea, under the grey Northern sky, the Battle-Fleet action had begun. 

 * * * * *

The fore-top was a semi-circular eyrie, roofed and walled with steel, that projected from the fore topmast some distance above the gianttripod. It was reached by iron rungs let into the mast, and hereGerrard, with the din of bugles and the cheering still ringing in hisears, joined the assembled officers and men whose station it was inaction. 

From that dizzy elevation it was possible to take in the disposition ofthe vast Fleet at a single glance. It was like looking down on modelships spread out over a grey carpet preparatory to a children's game. A white flicker of foam at each blunt ram and the wind singing past thehooded top alone gave any indication of the speed at which the shipswere advancing. It was an immense monochrome of grey. Grey ships withthe White Ensign flying free on each: grey sea flecked here and thereby the diverging bow-waves breaking as they met: a grey sky along whichthe smoke trailed sullenly and gathered in a dense, low-lying cloudthat mingled with the haze astern. 

The Lieutenant in the top drew Gerrard to his side. "Put your headdown here, " he said, "out of the wind . .. Can you hear?" There was aqueer ring of exultation in his voice. "Guns!"

Gerrard bent down and strained all his faculties to listen. For amoment he heard nothing but the hum of the wind and the vibration ofthe engines transmitted by the mast. Then, faint and intermittent, like the far-off grumble of a gathering thunderstorm, his ear caught asound that sent all his pulses hammering. 

"Thank God I've lived to hear that noise!" muttered the Lieutenant. Hestraightened up, staring ahead through his glasses in the direction ofthe invisible fight. 

For a while no one spoke. The tense minutes dragged by as the soundsof firing grew momentarily more distinct. The uncertain outline of thenear horizon was punctuated by vivid flashes of flame from the guns ofthe approaching enemy. They were still hidden by the mist andapparently unconscious of the Battle-Fleet bearing down upon them likesome vast, implacable instrument of doom. The target of their gunssuddenly became visible as the Battle-cruisers appeared on thestarboard bow, moving rapidly across the limit of vision like a line ofgrey phantoms spitting fire and destruction as they went. Mistycolumns of foam that leaped up from the water all about them showedthat they were under heavy fire. 

The Battle-Fleet was deploying into Line of Battle, Squadron forming upastern of Squadron in a single line of mailed monsters extending farinto the haze that was momentarily closing in upon them. The curtainahead was again pierced by a retreating force of Cruisers beaten backon the protection of the Battle-Fleet and ringed by leaping waterspoutsas the enemy's salvos pursued them. 

As yet the enemy were invisible, but when the last ship swung intodeployment the mist cleared for a moment and disclosed them amid acloud of smoke and the furious flashes of guns. The moment had come, and all along the extended British battle-line the turret guns openedfire with a roar of angry sound that seemed to split the grey vault ofheaven. As if to mock them in that supreme instant the mist swirledacross again and hid the German Fleet wheeling round in panic flight. 

The gases belched from the muzzles of the guns, together with the smokeof hundreds of funnels caught and held by the encircling mist, reeledto and fro across the spouting water and mingled with the grey cloudsfrom bursting shell. Through it all the two Fleets, the pursuing andthe pursued, grappled in blindfold headlong fury. 

Thorogood's battery was on the disengaged side of the ship during theearlier phases of the action. Across the deck they heard the guns ofTweedledee's battery open fire with a roar, and then the cheering ofthe crews, mingled with the cordite fumes, was drowned by anear-splitting detonation in the confined spaces of the mess deck, followed by a blinding flash of light. 

Tweedledee was flung from where he was standing to pitch brokenly atthe foot of the hatchway, like a rag doll flung down by a child in apassion. He lay outstretched, face downwards, with his head resting onhis forearm as if asleep. Most of the lights had been extinguished bythe explosion, but a pile of cartridges in the rear of one of the gunshad caught fire and burned fiercely, illuminating everything with ayellow glare. 

Lettigne, Midshipman of the battery, was untouched; deafened anddeathly sick he took command of the remaining guns. He, who tenseconds before had never even seen death, was slithering about dimlylit decks, slippery with what he dared not look at, encouraging andsteadying the crews, and helping to extinguish the burning cordite. Indarkened corners, where they had been thrown by the explosion, men weregroaning and dying. .. . 

That shell had been one of several that had struck the shipsimultaneously. Mouldy Jakes opened his eyes to see a streak of lightshowing through a jagged rip in a bulkhead. The light was red and hurthis eyes: he passed his hand across his face, and it was wet with awarm stickiness. His vision cleared, however, and for a few moments hestudied the drops of water that were dripping from the gash in theplating. "Crying!" he said stupidly. The shells that pitched shorthad deluged the fore-part of the ship with water, and it was stilldripping into the interior of the turret. Mouldy Jakes raised hishead, and a yard or two away saw Morton. The breech of one of the gunswas open, and Morton was lying limply over the huge breech-block. Themachinery was smashed and twisted, and mixed up with it were dead menand bits of men. .. . 

A little while later the Fleet Surgeon, splashed with red to theelbows, glanced up from his work in the fore-distributing station andsaw a strange figure descending the hatchway. It was Mouldy Jakes: hisscalp was torn so that a red triangular patch hung rakishly over oneeye. Flung over his shoulder was the limp form of an unconsciousMidshipman. For a moment he stood swaying, steadying himself withoutstretched hand against the rail of the ladder. 

"Thought I'd better bring him along, " he gasped. "Turret's knocked tohell. .. . He's still alive, but he's broken all to little bits inside. .. I can feel him. .. Morton, snottie of my turret . .. "

Sickberth Stewards relieved him of his burden, and Mouldy Jakes satdown on the bottom rung of the ladder and began to whimper like adistraught child. "It's my hand. .. " he said plaintively, and extendeda trembling, shattered palm. "I've only just noticed it. "

With his eye glued to the periscope of his turret the India-rubber Manwas fidgeting and swearing softly under his breath at the exasperatingtreachery of the fog. The great guns under his control roared atintervals, but before the effect of the shell-burst could be observedthe enemy would be swallowed from sight. Once, at the commencement ofthe action, he thought of Betty; he thought of her tenderly andreverently, and then put her out of his mind. .. . 

Lanes of unexpected visibility opened while an eye-lid winked, anddisclosed a score of desperate fights passing and reappearing likescenes upon a screen. A German Battleship, near and quite distinct, was in sight for a moment, listing slowly over with her guns pointingupwards like the fingers of a distraught hand, and as she sank the mistclosed down again as it were a merciful curtain drawn to hide a horror. An enemy Cruiser dropped down the engaged side of the line like anexhausted participator in a Bacchanal of Furies. Her sides were rivenand gaping, with a red glare showing through the rents. Her decks werea ruined shambles of blackened, twisted metal, but she still spatdefiance from a solitary gun, and sank firing as the fight swept past. 

Hither and thither rolled the fog, blotting out the enemy at onemoment, at another disclosing swift and awful cataclysms. A BritishCruiser, dodging and zigzagging through a tempest of shells, blew up. She changed on the instant into a column of black smoke and wreckagethat leaped up into the outraged sky; it trembled there like a darkmonument to the futile hate of man for his brother man and slowlydissolved into the mist. A German Destroyer attack crumpled up in theblast of the 6-inch batteries of the British Fleet, and the BritishDestroyers dashed to meet their crippled onslaught as vultures mightswoop on blinded wolves. They fought at point-blank range, asking noquarter, expecting none; they fought over decks ravaged by shrapnel andpiled with dead. The sea was thick with floating corpses and shatteredwreckage, and darkened with patches of oil that marked the grave of arammed Submarine or sunken Destroyer. Maimed and bleeding men draggedthemselves on to rafts and cheered their comrades as they left them totheir death. 

Through that witches' cauldron of fog and shell-smoke the BritishBattle-Fleet groped for its elusive foe. One minute of perfectvisibility, one little minute of clear range beyond the fog-maskedsights, was all they asked to deal the death-blow that would end thefight--men prayed God for it and died with the prayer in their teeth. 

But the minute never came. The firing died away down the line; thedumb guns moved blindly towards the shifting sounds of strife likemonsters mouthing for the prey that was denied them, but the fog heldand the merciful dusk closed down and covered the flight of thestricken German Fleet for the shelter of its protecting mine-fields. 

It was not until night fell that the British Destroyers began theirsavage work in earnest. Flotilla after flotilla was detached from theFleet and swallowed by the short summer night, moving swiftly andrelentlessly to their appointed tasks like black panthers on the trail. 

Cut off from their base by the British Fleet the scattered Germansquadrons dodged and doubled through the darkness, striving to eludethe cordon drawn across their path. They can be pictured as toweringblack shadows rushing headlong through the night, with the woundedgroaning between their wreckage-strewn decks; and on each bridge, highabove them in the windy darkness, men talked in gutturalmono-syllables, peering through high-power glasses for the menace thatstalked them. .. . On the trigger of every gun there would be atwitching finger, and all the while the blackness round them would bepierced and rent by distant spurts of flame. .. . 

The wind and sea had risen, and over an area of several hundred squaremiles of stormy sea swept the Terror by Night. Bursting star-shell andquestioning searchlight fought with the darkness, betraying to the gunsthe sinister black hulls driving through clouds of silver spray, theloaded tubes and streaming decks, the oilskin-clad figures on eachbridge forcing the attack home against the devastating blast of theshrapnel. Death was abroad, berserk and blindfold. A fleeing GermanCruiser fell among a flotilla of Destroyers and altered her helm, withevery gun and searchlight blazing, to ram the leading boat. TheDestroyer had time to alter course sufficiently to bring the two shipsbow to bow before the impact came. Then there was a grinding crash:forecastle, bridge and foremost gun a pile of wreckage and strugglingfigures. The blast of the German guns swept the funnels, boats, cowlsand men away as a gale blows dead leaves before it. Then the Cruiserswung clear and vanished into the darkness, pursued by the remainder ofthe Flotilla, and leaving the Destroyer reeling among the waves like aman that has been struck in the face with a knuckle-duster by a runawaythief. In the direction where the Cruiser had disappeared five minuteslater a column of flame leaped skyward, and the Flotilla, vengeanceaccomplished, swung off through the darkness in search of a freshquarry. 

All night long the disabled Destroyer rolled helplessly in the troughof the sea. The dawn came slowly across the sky, as if apprehensive ofwhat it might behold on the face of the troubled waters; in the growinglight the survivors of the Destroyer's crew saw a crippled GermanCruiser trailing south at slow speed. Only one gun remained in actiononboard the Destroyer, and round that gathered the bandaged remnant ofwhat had once been a ship's company. They shook hands grimly amongthemselves and spat and girded their loins for their last fight. 

The German Cruiser turned slowly over and sank while they trained thegun. .. . 

A dismasted Destroyer, with riddled funnels and a foot of waterswilling across the floor plates in the engine-room, bore down uponthem about noon and took her crippled sister in tow. They passedslowly away to the westward, leaving the circle of grey, tumbling seato the floating wreckage of a hundred fights and the thin keening ofthe gulls. 

The afternoon wore on: five drenched, haggard men were laboriouslypropelling a life-saving raft by means of paddles in the direction ofthe English coast that lay some hundred odd miles to the west. Thewaves washed over their numbed bodies, and imparted an almost lifelikeair of animation to the corpse of a companion that lay between them, staring at the sullen sky. 

Suddenly one of the paddlers stopped and pointed ahead. A boat mannedby four men appeared on the crest of a wave and slid down a grey-backtowards them. The oarsmen were rowing with slow strokes, andeventually the two craft passed each other within hailing distance. The men on the raft stared hard. 

"'Uns!" said one. "Bloody 'Uns. .. . Strictly speakin', we did ought tofight 'em. .. . Best look t'other way, lads!"

His companions followed his example and continued their futilemechanical paddling with averted heads. 

The bow-oar of the German boat, who had a blood-stained bandage roundhis head, also stared. 

"_Engländer!_" he said. "_Verdammte Schweine!_" and added, "_Fünf!_. .. " whereupon he and his companions also averted their heads, becausethey were four. 

They passed each other thus. The waves that washed over the raftrolled the dead man's head to and fro, as if he found the situationrather preposterous. 

CHAPTER XI

THE AFTERMATH

Such was the Battle of the Mist, a triumphant assertion after nearlytwo years of vigil and waiting, of British Sea Power. It commencedwith a cloud of smoke on the horizon no larger than a man's hand. Itsconsequences and effects spread out in widening ripples through spaceand time, changing the vast policies of nations, engulfing thousands ofhumble lives and hopes and destinies. Centuries hence the ripples willstill be washing up the flotsam of that fight on the shores of humanlife. Long after the last survivor has passed to dust the echo of theBritish and German guns will rumble in ears not yet conceived. Princeswill hear it in the chimes of their marriage bells; it will accompanythe scratching of diplomatists' pens and the creaking wheels of thepioneer's ox-wagon. It will sound above the clatter of Balticship-yards and in the silence of the desert where the caravan routesstretch white beneath the moon. The Afghan, bending knife in hand overa whetstone, and the Chinese coolie knee-deep in his wet paddy-fields, will pause in their work to listen to the sound, uncomprehending, evenwhile the dust is gathering on the labours of the historian and thenovelist. .. . 

But this tale does not aspire to deal with the wide issues orsignificances of the war. It is an endeavour to trace the threads ofcertain lives a little way through a loosely-woven fabric of greatevents. At the conclusion there will be ends unfinished; the coloursof some will have changed to grey and others will have vanished intothe warp; but the design is so vast and the loom so near that we, inour day and generation, can hope to glimpse but a very little of thewhole. 

 * * * * *

The India-rubber Man sat on the edge of the Wardroom table with his captilted on the back of his head, eating bread and cold bacon. The messwas illuminated by three or four candles stuck in empty saucers andplaced along the table amid the débris of a meal. The dim light shoneon the forms of a dozen or so of officers; some were seated at thetable eating, others wandered restlessly about with food in one handand a cup in the other. The tall, thin Lieutenant known as Tweedledumwas pacing thoughtfully to and fro with a pipe in his mouth and hishands deep in his trousers pockets. 

There had been little conversation. When anyone spoke it was in thedull, emotionless tones of profound fatigue. One, just out of thecircle of candle-light, had pushed his plate from him on the completionof his meal, and had fallen asleep with his head resting on hisoutstretched arms. The remaining faces lit by the yellow candle-lightwere drawn, streaked with dirt and ornamented by a twenty-four hours'growth of stubble. All wore an air of utter weariness, as of men whohad passed through some soul-shaking experience. 

The door opened to admit the First Lieutenant. He clumped in hastily, wearing huge leather sea-boots. Beneath his cap his head was swathedin the neat folds of bandages whose whiteness contrasted with hissmoke-blackened faced and singed, begrimed uniform. 

"Hullo!" he said, "circuits gone here, too?" He peered round thetable. "My word!" he exclaimed. "Hot tea! Who made it? The galley'sa heap of wreckage. " He poured himself out a cup and drank thirstily. "A-A-ah! That's grateful and comforting. "

"I made it, " said the Paymaster. "With my own fair hands I boiled thekettle and made tea for you all. Greater love than this has no man. "

"Reminds me, " said a voice out of the shadows, "that Mouldy got ratherbadly cut about the head and lost the best part of his left hand. Hewent reeling past me during the action yesterday evening with youngMorton slung over his shoulder: he was staring in front of him like aman walking in his sleep. "

"He was, " confirmed the Paymaster. "In the execution of my office asleading hand of the first-aid party, I gave him chloroform while theP. M. O. Carved bits off him. " The speaker rested his head on his handand closed his eyes. "Next time we go into action, " he continued, asif speaking to himself, "someone else can take that job on. "

"What job?" asked the India-rubber Man, suddenly turning his head andspeaking with his mouth full. 

"Fore medical distributing station. I've done a meat-course atSmithfield market . .. Slaughter-houses before breakfast, don't youknow? I thought I could stick a good deal----" The Paymaster openedhis eyes suddenly. "I tell you, it was what the sailor calls bloody. .. Just bloody. "

"How is young Morton?" asked the First Lieutenant. 

No one appeared to know, for the enquiry went unanswered. The tallfigure pacing restlessly to and fro stopped and eyed the FirstLieutenant. 

"Tweedledee's killed, " he said dully. "Dead. .. " He resumed histhoughtful walk and a moment later repeated the last word in a lowvoice, reflectively. "Dead . .. "

"I know, " said the First Lieutenant. 

Tweedledum halted again. "I wouldn't care if we had absolutely wipedthem off the face of the earth--sunk every one of them, I mean. Weought to have, with just such a very little luck. .. . And now they'veslipped through our fingers, in the night. " Tweedledum extended athin, nervous hand, opening and clenching the fingers. "Like slimyeels. "

"Some did, " said the India-rubber Man musingly, filling a pipe. "Somedidn't. I only saw our guns actually sink one German Battleship; butthe visibility was awful, and we weren't the only pebble on the beach;our line was miles long, remember. "

"I saw one of their Battle-cruisers on fire and sinking, " said Gerrard. "I was in the top. And all night long our Destroyers were attackingthem. Two big ships blew up during the night. " He cut a hunk of breadand spread it thickly with marmalade. "We must have knockedseven-bells out of 'em. And we didn't lose a single Battleship. "

"Must have lost a Battle-cruiser or two, though, " said the EngineerLieutenant, sitting with his head between his hands and his forefingerspropping open his eyelids. "Damn it, they fought the whole GermanFleet single-handed till we arrived! Must have. .. " His voice trailedoff and his fingers released his eyelids which closed instantly. Hischin dropped on to his chest, and he slept. 

"Any other officer scuppered besides Tweedledee?" asked the Major ofMarines. "What's up with your head, Number One?"

"Only scratched by a splinter. A nearish thing. I haven't heard ofanybody else. We really got off very lightly considering they foundour range. " The First Lieutenant clumped off towards the door. "Now Imust go and see about clearing up the mess. I reckon it's all over barthe shouting. "

As he went out Thorogood entered the Wardroom. "Would anyone like anice beef lozenge?" he enquired, removing a packet from his pocket. "Owner having no further use for same. "

"Where are we going?" asked the Paymaster. "I should like to go home, I think, if it could be arranged conveniently, James?"

"Not to-day, " was the reply. "We're looking for the lame ducks on thescene of yesterday's action. It's very rough and blowing like blueblazes, so I don't suppose there are many lame ducks left afloat--poordevils. .. . With any luck we ought to get in to-morrow morning, though. "

The sleeping figure with the outstretched arms suddenly raised his headand blinked at Thorogood. "Where's the elusive Hun?" he demanded. 

"'Opped it, " was the reply. "Otherwise vamoosed----"

"Singing 'I'm afraid to go home in the dark, '" interposed theIndia-rubber Man dryly. He got down off the table and stretched hisarms. "Well, I shan't be sorry to get some sleep. "

"Sleep!" echoed Thorogood. "You ought to see the stokers' mess-deck. The watch-off have just come up from below after sixteen hours in thestokeholds. They're lying sprawling all over the deck like a lot ofblack corpses--just all-in. "

Tweedledum sat down on the corner of the table vacated by theIndia-rubber Man. 

"I wish I knew exactly how many of them we did sink before theCommander-in-Chief called off the Destroyers this morning, " he saidplaintively. 

"So would a lot of people, " replied Thorogood. "We're three hundredmiles from home, and there's every reason to suppose there are one ortwo submarines and mines on the way. Those of us who get back willprobably find out all we want to know in time. I shouldn't worry, Tweedledum. In fact, I don't see why you shouldn't get a bit of sleepwhile you can. "

"By Jove!" said Gerrard as a sudden thought struck him. "I wonder ifthey know all about it at home yet. Won't our people be bucked!"

"And the papers, " added the Captain of Marines. "Can't you hear thepaper-boys yelling, 'Speshul Edition! Great Naval Victory!' My word, I'd like to be in town when the news comes out. " He considered themental picture his imagination had conjured up. "I think I should gettight. .. !" he said. 

 * * * * *

The village street had a curiously deserted air when Betty walked up iton her way to the post office. The mail train had passed through aboutan hour before, and as a rule about this time the tenants of the roomsand cottages on the hill-side made their way to the post office at thecorner to collect their letters and chat in twos and threes round thewindows of the little shops. 

In the distance Betty saw a little group gathered in front of theboards that displayed the contents bill of the morning paper before thewindows of the village stationer's. Recognising Eileen Cavendish, Betty quickened her pace, but as she drew near the group dispersed andMrs. Cavendish entered the shop. Betty stopped for an instant as theflaring letters on the poster became visible, stared, took a couple ofpaces and stopped again opposite the boards; then she gave a littlegasp, and with a thumping heart entered the low doorway of the littleshop. The next moment she collided with Eileen Cavendish who wasblundering out, holding an open newspaper in front of her. Her facewas white under the shadow of her broad-brimmed hat, and her blue eyeslike those of a terrified child. 

"Have you heard?" she said, and thrust the sheet under Betty's eyes. "There's been a big action. .. . Our losses are published, but nodetails. "

"Names?" cried Betty. "Oh, let me see!"

"Only the ships that have gone down. Our husbands' ships aren'tmentioned. "

"Wait while I get a paper, " said Betty. "I shan't be a second. Whatare you going to do?"

The other considered a moment. "I shall go and see Mrs. Gascoigne, "she replied. "Will you come too? She may have heard something. "

Betty bought her paper and rejoined Eileen Cavendish in the street. 

"Poor Mrs. Thatcher. .. " she said. "Did you see? Her husband'sDestroyer----"

"I know. And there are others, too. There must be five or six wivesup here whose ships have gone---- Oh, it's too dreadful . .. " She wassilent a moment while her merciless imagination ran riot. "I couldn'tbear it!" she said piteously. "I couldn't bear it! I didn't whinewhen Barbara was taken. I thought I might have another baby. .. . But Icouldn't have another Bill. "

"Hush, " said Betty, as if soothing a child. "We don't know yet. Wemustn't take the worst for granted till we know. I expect we shouldhave heard by now if--if----" She couldn't finish the sentence. 

They reached the door of Mrs. Gascoigne's lodgings and the landladyopened the door. Her round, good-natured face wore an air of concern. 

"She's just awa' to Mrs. Thatcher, west yonder. Will ye no' stepinside and bide a wee? She'll no' be long, a'm thinkin'. "

She preceded them into the low-ceilinged parlour, with thehorsehair-covered sofa and the Family Bible on the little table in thewindow, that had been a haven to so many faint-hearted ones during thepast two years. 

"Ye'll have heard the news?" she asked. "There's been an action. Mrs. Thatcher's man's gone down, and Mrs. Gascoigne, she's awa' to bring hera bit comfort like. " She surveyed the visitors sympathetically. "A'venae doot there's mair than Mrs. Thatcher'll be needin' comfort themorn, puir lambs. "

"Oh, " cried Mrs. Cavendish, "don't--don't! Please don't----" Sheregained her self-control with an effort and turned to the window withher lip between her teeth. 

"Will I bring ye a cup of tea?" queried the landlady. "I have thekettle boilin'. "

"No thank you, " said Betty. "It's very kind of you, but I think we'lljust sit down and wait quietly, if we may, till Mrs. Gascoigne comesin. I don't expect she'll be long. "

The landlady departed a little reluctantly, and Eileen Cavendish turnedfrom the window. 

"I'm sorry, " she said. "I'm a coward to go to pieces like this. You're a dear. .. . And it's every bit as bad for you as it is for me, Iknow. But I'm not a coward really. Bill would just hate me to be acoward. It's only because--because. .. " She met Betty's eyes, and forthe first time the shadow of a smile hovered about her mouth. 

Betty stepped forward impulsively and kissed her. "Then you're allright--whatever happens. You won't be quite alone, " she said. Theysat down side by side on the horsehair-covered sofa and EileenCavendish half-shyly rested her hand on Betty's as it lay in her lap. 

"I'm a poor creature, " said the elder girl. "I wish I hadsomething--something in me that other women have. You have it, Mrs. Gascoigne has it, and Etta Clavering. It's a sort of--strength. Something inside you all that nothing can shake or make waver. " Tearswelled up in her eyes and trickled slowly down her cheeks. "It'sFaith, " she said, and her voice trembled. "It's just believing thatGod can't hurt you. .. " She fumbled blindly for her tiny handkerchief. 

Betty's eyes were wet too. "Ah!" she said gently. "But you believethat too--really: deep down inside. Everybody does. It's ineverything--God's mercy. .. . " Her voice was scarcely raised above awhisper. 

"I know--I know, " said the other. "But I've never thought about it. I'm hard, in some ways. Things seemed to happen much the same whetherI held my thumbs or whether I prayed. And now that I'm terrified--nowthat everything in life just seems to tremble on a thread--how _can_ Istart crying out that I believe, I believe. .. !" Her voice broke atlast, and she turned sideways and buried her face in her hands. 

"But you _do_, " said Betty with gentle insistence. 

The door opened and Mrs. Gascoigne entered. There was moisture in herfine grey eyes. "I'm so glad you two have come to keep me company, "she said. She walked to the mirror over the fireplace and turned herback on her visitors for a moment while she appeared to adjust her hat. "I've been helping poor little Mrs. Thatcher to pack. She has had atelegram, poor child, and she's off South by the afternoon train. "

She turned round, still manipulating hat-pins with raised hands, and inanswer to the unspoken question in her guests' faces, nodded sadly. "Yes, " she said. "But they've got his body. She's going to Newcastle. "

"Have you had any news yourself?" asked Betty. "We have heard nothing. "

"No, " replied their hostess. "Nothing, except that the hospital shipswent out last night. I expect the Destroyers got back some time beforethe big ships, and we shall hear later in the day. Rob will telegraphto me directly he gets into harbour, I know. "

She spoke with calm conviction, as if wars and rumours of wars held noterrors for her. "And now, " she said, smiling to them both, "let's becharwomen and drink tea in the middle of the forenoon!" She moved tothe door and opened it, and as she did so a knock sounded along thetiny passage from the door that opened into the street. 

Eileen Cavendish was busy in front of the glass, and half turned, holding a diminutive powder-box in one hand and a scrap of swans-downin the other. 

"Yes, " they heard the voice of Mrs. Gascoigne saying in the passage, "I'm here--is that for me?" There was the sound of paper tearing and alittle silence. Then they heard her voice again. "Have you any othersin your wallet--is there one for Mrs. Standish or Mrs. Cavendish?They're both here. "

"I hae ane for Mistress Cavendish, " replied a boy's clear treble. "An'there was ane for Mistress Standish a while syne; it's biding at herhoose. "

Betty jumped to her feet. "What's that?" she cried. "A telegram?"Mrs. Gascoigne entered the room holding an orange-coloured envelope andhanded it to Eileen Cavendish. "Yours is at your lodging, " she said toBetty. Her face was very pale. 

With trembling fingers Mrs. Cavendish tore open the envelope. She gavea quick glance at the contents and sat down abruptly. Then, with herhands at her side, burst into peals of hysterical laughter. 

"Oh, " she cried, "it's all right, it's all right! Bill's safe----" andher laughter turned to tears. "And I knew it all along. .. " she sobbed. 

"Oh, " said Betty, "I _am_ glad. " She slipped her arm round Mrs. Cavendish's neck and kissed her. "And now I'm just going to rush up tomy rooms to get my message. " She paused on her way to the door. "Mrs. Gascoigne, " she said, "did you get any news--is your husband all right?"

Mrs. Gascoigne was opening the window with her back to the room and itsoccupants. "He's very happy, " she replied gently. 

Betty ran out into the sunlit street and overtook the red-headed urchinwho was returning to the post office with the demeanour of a mansuddenly thrust into unaccustomed prominence in the world. Furthermore, he had found the stump of a cigarette in the gutter, andwas smoking it with an air. 

He grinned reassuringly at Betty as she hurried breathlessly past him. "Dinna fash yersel', Mistress, " he called. "Yeer man's bonny an' weel. "

Betty halted irresolutely. "How do you know?" she gasped. 

"A juist keeked inside the bit envelope, " came the unblushing reply. 

 * * * * *

The first rays of the rising sun were painting the barren hills withthe purple of grape-bloom, and laying a pathway of molten gold acrossthe waters when the Battle Squadrons returned to their bases. A fewships bore traces in blackened paintwork, shell-torn funnels andsplintered upperworks, of the ordeal by battle through which they hadpassed; but their numbers, as they filed in past the shag-hauntedcliffs and frowning headlands, were the same as when they swept out inan earlier gloaming to the making of History. 

Colliers, oilers, ammunition lighters and hospital ships were waitingin readiness to replenish bunkers and shell-rooms and to evacuate thewounded. All through the day, weary, grimy men, hollow-eyed from lackof sleep, laboured with a cheerful elation that not even wearinesscould extinguish. Shrill whistles, the creaking of purchases, therattle of winches and the clatter of shovels and barrows combined tofill the air with an indescribable air of bustle and the breath ofvictory. Even the blanched wounded exchanged jests between clenchedteeth as they were hoisted over the side in cots. 

Before the sun had set the Battle-Fleet, complete with coal, ammunitionand torpedoes, was ready for action once more. Throughout the night itrested, licking its wounds in the darkness, with vigilance stillunrelaxed and its might unimpaired. For the time being its task hadbeen accomplished; but only the enemy, counting the stricken ships thatlaboured into the shelter of the German mine-fields, knew howthoroughly. 

The succeeding dawn came sullenly, with mist and drizzle shrouding theshores and outer sea. As the day wore on a cold wind sprang up androlled the mist restlessly to and fro across the slopes of the hills. 

On a little knoll of ground overlooking a wide expanse of level turfcovered with coarse grass and stunted heather stood a man with hishands clasped behind his back. In the courage, judgment and soberself-confidence of that solitary figure had rested the destiny of anEmpire through one of the greatest crises in its history: even as hestood there, bare-headed, with kindly, tired eyes resting on the mistyoutlines of the vast Fleet under his command, responsibility such as noone man had ever known before lay upon his shoulders. 

Behind him, in the sombre dignity of blue and gold, in a silent groupstood the Admirals and Commodores of the Squadrons and Flotillas withtheir Staff Officers; further in the rear, in a large semicircle onslightly higher ground, were gathered the Captains and officers of theFleet. 

Where the turf sloped gradually towards the sea were ranged the seamenand marines chosen to represent the Fleet: rank upon rank of motionlessmen standing with their caps in their hands and their eyes on thecentre of the great hollow square where, hidden beneath the folds ofthe Flag they had served so well, lay those of their comrades who haddied of wounds since the battle. A Chaplain in cassock and whitesurplice moved across the open space and halted in the centre, officein hand:

"I am the Resurrection and the Life. .. "

The wind that fluttered the folds of his surplice caught the words andcarried them far out to sea over the heads of the living--the sea wherethe others lay who had fought their last fight in that grim battle ofthe mist. A curlew circled low down overhead, calling again and againas if striving to convey some insistent message that none wouldunderstand. From the rocky shore near-by came the low murmur of thesea, the sound that has in it all the sorrow and gladness in the world. 

At length the inaudible office for the Burial of the Dead came to anend. The Chaplain closed his book and turned away; a little movementran through the gathering of officers and men as they replaced theircaps. A loud, sharp-cut order from the gaitered officer in command ofthe firing-party was followed by the clatter of rifle-bolts as thefiring-party loaded and swung to the "Present!"

"Fire!" The first volley rang out sharply, and the Marine buglers sentthe long, sweet notes of the "Last Post" echoing among the hills. Twice more the volleys sounded, and twice more the bugles sang theirheart-breaking, triumphant "_Ave atque Vale!_" to the fighting dead. 

In the ensuing silence the cry of the curlew again became audible, thistime out of the peace of the misty hills, gently persistent. Faint andfar-off was the sound, but at the last the meaning came clear andstrong to all who cared to listen. 

"There is no Death!" ran the message, and again and again, "There is noDeath, no Death. .. No Death. .. !"

The firing-party unloaded, and the empty cartridge cases fell to theearth with a little tinkling sound. 

CHAPTER XII

"GOOD HUNTING"

Oberleutnant Otto von Sperrgebiet, of the Imperial German Navy, sat onthe edge of a Submarine's conning-tower with a chart open on his knees, and smoked a cigarette. It was not a brand he cared aboutparticularly, but it had been looted from the Captain's cabin of aneutral cargo steamer on the previous afternoon. A man who relies uponsuch methods to replenish his cigarette case cannot, of course, expecteverybody's tastes to coincide with his own. 

As he smoked, the German Lieutenant's eyes strayed restlessly round thecircle of the horizon. They were small eyes of a pale blue, ratherclose together and reddened round the rims, with light eyelashes. 

The Submarine lay motionless on the surface with the waves breakingover the hog-backed hull. Every now and again a few drops of spraysplashed over the surface of the chart, and the Naval man wiped themoff with a scrap of lace and cambric that had once been a lady'shandkerchief. He had a way with women, that German Oberleutnant. 

Nothing was in sight: not a tendril of smoke showed above the arc oftumbling waves that ringed the limit of his vision; the sun was warmand pleasant, and the figure on the conning-tower crossed his legs, encased in heavy thigh boots, and gave himself over to retrospectivethought. 

There had been a time when Oberleutnant von Sperrgebiet possessed therudiments of a conscience. It could never have been described asacutely sensitive, and it never developed much beyond the rudimentarystage. Nevertheless, it had existed once: and in the early days of thewar it was still sufficiently active to record certain protests andobjections in his mind. 

The mysterious forces that were at work in Germany, industriouslyremoulding, brutalising and distorting the mind of Oberleutnant vonSperrgebiet, together with millions of others, had not been blind tothe prejudicial effects of conscience to an evil cause. Imperialrodomontade and the inflammatory German Admiralty War Orders haddeliberately rejected, one by one, the deep-seated principles ofhumanity and chivalry in war. It had been done gradually andsystematically--scientifically, in fact, and in the majority of casesit succeeded in producing a state of atrophy of the moral sense thatwas altogether admirable--from a German point of view. 

In the case of Oberleutnant von Sperrgebiet, however, these earlyqualms had a trick of recurring. They pricked his consciousness atunexpected moments, like a grass-seed in a walker's stocking. .. . Andnow, as he sat swinging his legs in the warm June sunlight, a wholeprocession of such reflections trooped through his mind. 

For instance, there arose in his intelligence an obstinate doubt as towhether the torpedoing without warning of a liner carrying women andchildren at the commencement of the war had been quite within the paleof legitimate Naval warfare. He had met the man who boasted such anachievement, and for a long time he carried with him the recollectionof that man's eyes as they met his above a beer mug. They had drunkuproariously together, and von Sperrgebiet heard all about it firsthand, and even fingered enviously the Iron Cross upon the breast of theteller of the tale. But somehow those eyes had told quite a differentstory: and it was that which von Sperrgebiet remembered long after thewearer of the Iron Cross had gone out into the North Sea mists andreturned no more. 

Then there had been the rather unpleasant business of the boat. .. . 

It was in mid-winter a long way North during one of the few calm daysto be expected at that period of the year. The Submarine was runningon the surface when the Second-in-Command (of whom more anon) reporteda boat on the starboard bow. They altered course a little and, slowingdown, passed within a few yards of it. It was a ship's life-boat, halffull of water; lying in the water, rolling slowly from side to side asthe boat rocked in their wash, were five dead men. A sixth sat huddledat the tiller, staring over the quarter with unseeing eyes, frozenstiff. .. . 

Von Sperrgebiet caught a glimpse of the ship's name on the bows of theboat: it happened to be that of a neutral ship he had torpedoed at thebeginning of the previous week during a gale. 

The German Admiralty Orders of that period contained a clause to theeffect that ships were not to be torpedoed without ensuring theadequate safety of the crew. Which meant that those who had not beenkilled by the explosion of the torpedo could be allowed to launch aboat (weather permitting) and get into it if they had time before theship sank. .. . 

Von Sperrgebiet had given orders for the boat to be sunk by gunfire, but somehow the memory of that stark figure at the helm persisted. Tryas he would, he failed to banish from his mind the staring, sightlesseyes and grey, famished face. .. . 

Altogether it was an unpleasant business. Other memories of thisnature came and went with the smoke from his cigarette. For somereason or other he found himself wondering whether, after all, aBelgian Relief Steamer could have been considered fair game. But hedid so hate the word "Belgium, " and there was always the theory of amine to account for the incident. .. . He torpedoed her by moonlight: avery creditable shot, all things considered. 

Another moonlight picture presented itself. A boat-load of terrorisedFinns rising and falling on the swell alongside the Submarine, and, half a mile away, an abandoned sailing ship with every rope and sparstanding out black against the moonlight. In the stern of the boatstood a mighty Norwegian with a red beard and a voice like a bull. Oneof his arms rested protectingly round a woman's shoulders, and he shooka knotted fist in von Sperrgebiet's face as his ship blew up and sank. 

The woman seen thus in the pale moonlight was young and pretty, and thered-bearded man bellowed that she was his wife. The announcement wasnot an unfamiliar one to Oberleutnant von Sperrgebiet: they usuallywere young and pretty when he heard that hot rage in a man's voice. Oberleutnant von Sperrgebiet made himself scarce forthwith, it might bealmost said, from force of habit. .. . 

The glass was falling, and it was in mid-Atlantic that they left thatboat. It blew a gale next day, and the Oberleutnant, who had an eyefor a pretty woman, sometimes wondered if the boat was picked up. 

His mind revolved for a moment round certain incidents in connectionwith that affair. A German sailor from the Submarine had been sentonboard to place the bombs; he returned with cigars, a ham, and apretty silver clock. Also a box of sugar plums, half finished. 

Von Sperrgebiet took the clock and the sugar plums. The cigars and theham (the labourer being worthy of his hire) he allowed the sailor tokeep. 

But even Submarine warfare against unarmed shipping has its risks. There was the ever-memorable incident of the British tug, and even nowvon Sperrgebiet winced at the recollection. They had sighted a sailingship in tow of a tug at the entrance to the Channel; von Sperrgebietwas proud of his mastery of the English tongue, and it was this smallvanity that led him to adopt tactics which differed somewhat from hisnormal caution. He submerged until within a couple of hundred yards ofthe approaching tow and then rose to the surface, dripping, like someuncouth sea-monster. Armed with a revolver and a megaphone, and withpleasurable anticipation in his heart, the Oberleutnant emerged fromthe conning-tower with a view to a little preliminary banter with thesedetested and unarmed English before administering a coup de grace. Hewas just in time to see a stout, ungainly man tumbling aft along thedeck from the wheel-house of the tug. Raising a booted leg withsurprising agility, the stout man kicked off the shackle of the towrope, and as he did so over went the helm; the blunt-nosed tug, released from her 3, 000-ton burden, came straight for him like an angrybuffalo. 

They were not forty yards apart when the tug turned, and quick as theGerman coxswain was, the Submarine failed to avoid the stunning impactof the bows. A revolver bullet crashed through the glass window of thewheel-house; von Sperrgebiet had an instant's vision of a round face, purple with rage, above the spokes of the wheel, and then the conningtower's automatic hatchway closed. The Submarine was in diving trim, and she submerged in the shortest time on record. They remained on thebottom four hours while the sweating mechanics repaired the damagedhydroplane gear and effected some temporary caulking round certainplates that bulged ominously. 

But von Sperrgebiet's hatred of England was real enough before thisincident. He had always hated the English, even in his youth when fora year he occupied an inconspicuous niche in one of the less fastidiousPublic Schools. He hated them for the qualities he despised and foundso utterly inexplicable. He despised their lazy contempt for detail, their quixotic sense of fairness and justice in a losing game, theirpersistent refusal to be impressed by the seriousness of anything onearth. He despised their whole-hearted passion for sports at an agewhen he was beginning to be interested in less wholesome and far morecomplex absorptions. .. . He despised their straight, clean affectionsand quarrels and their tortuous sense of humour; the affectation thatled them to take cold baths instead of hot ones: their shy, ratherknightly mental attitude towards their sisters and one another'ssisters. .. . 

All these things von Sperrgebiet despised in the English. But he alsohated them for something he had never even admitted to himself. Crudely put, it was because he knew that he could never beat anEnglishman. There was nothing in his spirit that could outlast theterrible, emotionless determination in the English character to win. 

Von Sperrgebiet's reflections came to an end with his cigarette. Hetossed the stump overboard, and raising a pair of glasses he focusedthem intently on the horizon to the eastward. 

For the space of nearly a minute he sat thus staring. From theinterior of the Submarine came the strains of a gramophone playing aGerman patriotic air, and with it the smell of coffee. The crew wereat dinner, and a man's deep laugh floated up the shaft of theconning-tower as if coming from the bowels of the sea. 

The Oberleutnant lowered the glasses abruptly. Rolling up the chart hehoisted himself on to his feet and bent over the tiny binnacle to takethe bearing of a faint smudge of smoke barely visible on the horizon. This obtained, he lowered himself through the narrow hatchway andclimbed down the steel rungs into the interior of the compartment. 

"Close down!" he said curtly. The gramophone stopped with a click, andinstantly all was bustle and activity within the narrow confines of thesteel shell. 

The Second-in-Command, who was lying on his bunk reading a novel, satup and lifted his legs over the edge. He was a spectacled youth with acropped bullet-head and what had been in infancy a hare-lip. His beardof about ten days' maturity grew in patches about his lips and cheeks. 

"A ship, Herr Kapitan?" he asked in a thin, reedy voice, and reachedfor a pair of long-toed, elastic-sided boots that he had kicked off, and which lay at the foot of his bunk. 

His superior officer nodded and snapped out a string of gutturalorders. The sing-song voices of men at their stations amid the leversand dials repeated the words mechanically, like men talking in theirsleep. With a whizzing, purring sound the motors started, and theballast tanks filled with a succession of sucking gurgles. 

Von Sperrgebiet glanced at the compass and moved to the eye-piece ofthe periscope. For a while there was silence, broken only by the humof the motors. 

The Second-in-Command hung about the elbow of the motionless figure atthe periscope like a morbid-minded urchin on the outskirts of a crowdthat gathers round a street accident, but can see nothing. His stolidface was working and moist with excitement. 

"Is it an English ship, Herr Kapitan?"

The Oberleutnant made no answer, but reached out a hand to the wheelthat adjusted the height of the periscope above the water and twistedit rapidly. For twenty minutes he remained thus, motionless save forthe arm that controlled the periscope. Once or twice he gave alow-voiced direction to the helmsman, but his Second-in-Command heignored completely. 

That officer moved restlessly about the Submarine, glancing from dialto dial and from one gauge to another; for a few minutes he stopped totalk to the torpedo-man standing by the closed tube. Finally hereturned to his Captain's elbow, moistening his marred lip with the tipof his tongue; his face wore an unhealthy pallor and glistened in theglow of the electric lights. 

"Is it an English ship, Herr Kapitan?" he asked again in his high, unnatural voice. 

"Yes, " snapped von Sperrgebiet. "Why?"

"I have a request to make, " replied the Second-in-Command. "A favour, Herr Kapitan. It concerns a promise"--he lowered his voice till it wasbarely audible above the noise of the machinery--"to my betrothed. "

For the first time von Sperrgebiet turned his face from the rubbereye-piece and regarded the youth with a little mocking smile thatshowed only a sharp dog-tooth. 

"Don't say you promised to introduce her to me, Ludwig!" he sneered. 

"No, no, " said the other hastily. "But she made me promise not toreturn to her unless I had sunk with my own hands a merchant shipflying the cursed English flag. "

"She is easily pleased, your betrothed, " retorted the Oberleutnant, andmoved back from the periscope. "Your request is granted. But rememberI shall demand an introduction when we return. .. . It is a long shot. Fire when the foremast comes on, and do not show the periscope morethan a few seconds at a time. I will give the orders after you havefired. "

The Second-in-Command took up his position in the spot vacated by theOberleutnant. His tongue worked ceaselessly about his lips and hishand trembled on the elevating wheel. 

"There is smoke astern, " he said presently. And a moment later. "Theapproaching ship looks like a liner, Herr Kapitan!"

"What of that?" said von Sperrgebiet gruffly. 

The Second-in-Command looked back over his shoulder at his CommandingOfficer: his face was livid with excitement. "It means women, HerrKapitan, " he said. "Children perhaps. .. . "

Von Sperrgebiet shrugged his shoulders. "They are English, " hereplied. "Swine, sow or sucking-pig--what is the difference? Theylearn their lessons slowly, these English. We will drive yet anothernail into their wooden heads. .. . You will drive it, Ludwig, " he addedthoughtfully: and then, as an afterthought, "for the honour of theFatherland. "

"Thank you, Herr Kapitan, " replied the youth, and turned again to theperiscope mirror. Silence fell upon the waiting men: the minutespassed while the elevating wheel of the periscope revolved first in onedirection and then in another. At last the form of theSecond-in-Command stiffened. 

"Fire!" he cried: his uncertain voice cracked into a falsetto note. 

The stern of the Submarine dipped and righted itself again: theOberleutnant's harsh voice rang out in a succession of orders. TheSecond-in-Command leaned against a stanchion and wiped his face withhis handkerchief. 

A minute passed, and a dull concussion shook the boat from stem tostern. Von Sperrgebiet showed his dog-tooth in that terrible mirthlesssmile of his. "A hit, my little Ludwig!" he said. 

The Second-in-Command clicked his heels together. "For the honour ofthe Fatherland, " he said. "Gott strafe England!"

"Amen!" said Oberleutnant Otto von Sperrgebiet. 

The boat had been travelling in a wide circle after the torpedo leftthe tube, and ten minutes later the Oberleutnant cautiously raised theperiscope. The next moment he swung the wheel round again in theopposite direction. 

"Another ship?" asked Ludwig. 

"Yes, " replied von Sperrgebiet. "One of their cursed Armed MerchantCruisers. " He bent over the chart table for a minute and gave an orderto the helmsman. 

"A fresh attack?" queried the Second-in-Command eagerly. 

Von Sperrgebiet returned to the periscope. "When you have been at thiswork as long as I have, " he replied, "you will find it healthier not tomeddle with Armed Merchant Cruisers. They are all eyes and they shootstraight. No, for the time being our glorious work is done, and weshall now depart from a locality that is quickly becoming unhealthy. "He glanced at the depth gauge and thence to the faces of the crew whostood waiting for orders. 

"The gramophone, " he called out harshly. "Switch on the gramophone, you glum-faced swine. .. . Look sharp! Something lively. .. !"

 * * * * *

At seven minutes past three in the afternoon, Cecily Thorogood, thatvery self-possessed and prettily-clad young woman, was seated in adeck-chair on the saloon-deck of a 6, 000-ton liner; an Americanmagazine was open in front of her, under cover of which she wasexploring the contents of a box of chocolates with the practised eye ofthe expert, in quest of a particular species which containedcrystallised ginger and found favour in her sight. 

At nineteen minutes past three Cecily Thorogood, still self-possessed, but no longer very prettily clad, was submerged in the chilly Atlanticup to her shoulders and clinging to the life-line of an upturnedjolly-boat. To the very young Fourth Officer who clung to the boatbeside her with one arm and manoeuvred for a position from which hecould encircle Cecily's waist protectingly with the other, sheannounced as well as her chattering teeth would allow that she

(a) was in no immediate danger of drowning;

(b) was not in the least frightened;

(c) was perfectly capable of holding on without anybody's support aslong as was necessary. 

The chain of occurrences that connected situation No. 1 with situationNo. 2 was short enough in point of actual time, but so crowded withunexpected and momentous happenings that it had already assumed theproportions of a confused epoch in Cecily's mind. There were gaps inthe sequence of events that remained blanks in her memory. Faces, insignificant incidents, thumbnail sketches and broad, bustlingpanorama of activity alternated with the blank spaces. The heroic andthe preposterous were indistinguishable. .. . 

At the first sound of the explosion of the torpedo Cecily jumped to herfeet, scattering the chocolates broadcast over the deck. The shipseemed to lift bodily out of the water and then heeled over a little toport. There were very few people on the saloon deck and there was noexcitement or rushing about. The shrill call of the boatswain's mate'spipe clove the silence that followed that stupendous upheaval of sound. 

A clean-shaven, middle-aged American, wearing a collar reminiscent ofthe late Mr. Gladstone's and a pair of pince-nez hanging from his neckon a broad black ribbon, had been walking up and down with his handsbehind his back; he paused uncertainly for a moment and then beganlaboriously collecting the scattered chocolates. That was the onlymoment when hysteria brushed Cecily with its wings. She wanted tolaugh or cry--she wasn't sure which. 

"It doesn't matter! It doesn't matter!" she cried with a catch in herbreath. "Don't stop now--we've been torpedoed!"

The American stared at the handful he had gathered. 

"Folks'll tread on 'em, I guess, " he replied, and suddenly raised hishead with a whimsical smile. "A man likes to do something useful attimes like this--it's just our instinct, " he added as if explainingsomething more for his own satisfaction than hers. "I'm not aseaman--I'd only get in peoples' way messing round the boats beforethey were ready--so I reckoned I'd pick up your candies. "

There were very few women onboard, and Cecily found herself the onlywoman allotted to the jolly-boat. She climbed in with the assistanceof the very young and distressingly susceptible Fourth Officer. For amoment she found herself reflecting that his life must be one longmartyrdom of unrequited affections. The stout American followed herwith a number of other passengers. The Fourth Officer gave an orderand the boat began to descend towards the waves in a succession ofuneven jolts. The crew were getting their oars ready, and one washammering the plug of the boat home with the butt of an enormousjack-knife. The stout American surveyed the tumbling sea beneath themdistastefully. 

"When I get to Washington, " he said, "I guess I'll fly round that li'llold town till some of our precious 'too-proud-to-fight' party justgnash their teeth and shriek aloud 'How can we bear it?'"

He suddenly remembered that his pneumatic life-saving waistcoat was notinflated. Seizing the piece of rubber tubing that projected from hispocket he thrust it into his mouth and proceeded to blow with distendedcheeks and his serious brown eyes fixed solemnly on Cecily's face. 

He was still blowing when they capsized. How the accident happenedCecily never knew: principally because she was concentrating her mindon the bottom of the boat and wondering how soon the pangs of_mal-de-mer_ might be expected to encompass her. But the fact remainsthat one moment the boat was rising and falling dizzily on the wavesand the next, with a confused shouting of orders and a crash, they wereall struggling in the water. 

Cecily's life-saving jacket brought her to the surface like a cork, anda couple of strokes took her to the side of the capsized boat andsituation No. 2 already described. Here she was presently joined bythe American, puffing and blowing like a grampus, who was placed inpossession of statement (c) referred to above. He appeared either notto hear, however, or to incline to the view that it was a mere theorybased upon a fallacy. .. . 

The remaining late occupants of the boat attached themselves along thesides and awaited succour with what patience they could. Then amuffled sound like an internal explosion came from within the strickenhull as a bulkhead went. The great ship lurched sickeningly above themas a wall totters to its fall. Cecily looked up and saw for a momentthe figure of the Captain standing on the end of the bridge; true tohis grand traditions he was staying by his ship to the last. Shelisted over further and began to settle rapidly. Then, and only then, the Captain climbed slowly over the rail and dived. 

The stern of the ship rose slowly into the air, then swiftly slidforward with a sound like a great sob and vanished beneath the surface. One of the life-boats approached the capsized jolly-boat, and thefigures that clung to her were hauled, dripping, one by one into thestern. 

Then they picked up the Captain, clinging to a grating, an angry man. He scowled round at the long green slopes of the sea and shook his fist. 

"The curs!" he said. "The dirty scum. .. . Women on board. .. . Nowarning. .. . " Anger and salt water choked him. 

"They wouldn't even give me a gun because I was a passenger ship. Unarmed, carrying women, torpedoed without warning. .. . I'll spit inthe face of every German I meet from here to Kingdom Come!"

A little elderly lady with a bonnet perched awry on her thin grey hairsuddenly began a hymn in a high quavering soprano. 

"That's right, ma'am, " said the Captain approvingly, as he wrung thewater out of his clothes. "There's nothing like singing to curesea-sickness. And we shan't be here very long. " He pointed to thehigh bows of a rapidly approaching ship. "One of our Armed MerchantCruisers, I fancy. " He waved to the other boats to close nearer. 

He was no mere optimist; before a quarter of an hour had elapsed theboats were strung out in a line towing from a rope that led from thebows of the Cruiser. A hastily improvised boatswain's stool waslowered from a davit, and one by one the passengers, then the crew, andfinally the officers of the torpedoed liner were swung into the air andhoisted inboard while the Armed Merchant Cruiser continued her course. 

The sea-sick Cecily, swaying dizzily for the second time that daybetween sky and water, looked down at the tumbling boats beneath herand for a moment had a glimpse of the stout American and the FourthOfficer. They were both standing gazing up after her as she waswhisked skyward. Their mouths were open, and the expression on theirfaces gave Cecily a feeling of being wafted out of a world she wasaltogether too good for. 

The sensation was a momentary one, however. The davit swung inboard asshe arrived at the level of the rail and deposited her, a limp bundleof damp rags--in fact what Mr. Mantalini would have described as "ademmed moist unpleasant body"--on the upper deck of the Armed MerchantCruiser. With the assistance of two attentive sailors Cecily rosegiddily to her feet; most of her hair-pins had come out, and her hairstreamed in wet ringlets over her shoulders. She raised her eyes totake in her new surroundings, and there, standing before her with hiseyes and mouth three round O's, was Armitage. 

Now Cecily had gone through a good deal since seven minutes past threethat afternoon. But to be confronted, as she swayed, with her wetclothes clinging to her body like a sculptor's model, deathly sea-sick, red-nosed for aught she knew or cared, with the man who but for herfirmness and mental agility would have kept on proposing to her atintervals during the past eighteen months, was a climax thatoverwhelmed even Cecily's self-possession. 

She chose the only course left open to her, and fainted promptly. Armitage caught her in his arms, and as he did so was probably thefirst and last Englishman who has ever blessed a German Submarine. 

She recovered consciousness in Armitage's cabin, with the elderly ladywho had sung hymns in the boat in attendance; she lay wrapped inblankets in the bunk, with hot-water bottles in great profusion allround her, and felt deliciously drowsy and comfortable. But withreturning consciousness some corner of discomfort obtruded itself intoher mind. It grew more definite and uncomfortable. With her eyesstill closed Cecily wriggled faintly and plucked at an unfamiliargarment. 

Then, slowly, she opened her eyes very wide. "What have I got on?" sheasked in severe tones. 

"My dear, " said the elderly lady, "pyjamas! There was nothing else. They belong to the officer who owns this cabin. I think the name wasArmitage. And the doctor said----"

Cecily groaned. A knock sounded, and the ship's doctor enteredcarrying something in a medicine glass. 

"Well, " he asked brusquely, "how are we?"

"Better, thanks, " said Cecily faintly. 

"That's right. Drink this and close your eyes again. "

Cecily drank obediently and fell asleep. Twenty-four hours later theCruiser was moving slowly up a river to her berth alongside a wharf. Cecily, clothed and in her right mind, stood aft in a deserted spot bythe ensign-staff and stared at the dingy warehouses and quaysidesashore as they slid past. 

Armitage came across the deck towards her; Cecily saw him coming andtook a long breath. Then, woman-like, she spoke first:

"I haven't had an opportunity to thank you yet, " she said prettily, "for giving up your cabin to me--and--and all your kindness. "

Armitage stood squarely in front of her, a big, kindly man who wasgoing to be badly hurt and more than half expected it. 

"There is a curious fatality about all this, " he said. "It was nokindness of either yours or mine. " He glanced over her head at therapidly approaching wharf ahead and then at her face. 

"For eighteen months, " he said, speaking rather quickly, "I've beenlike the prophet Jonah--looking for a sign. I looked to you for it, Miss Cecily, " he said, "and I can't truthfully say it showed itself ina single word or look or gesture. " He took a deep breath. "I'm notgoing to let you tell me I'm labouring under any misapprehensions. Butthis"--he made a little comprehensive gesture--"this is too much likethe hand of Fate to disregard. Miss Cecily, " he said, "little MissCecily, you've just twisted your fingers round my heart and I can'tloose them. "

"Please, " said Cecily, "ah, no, please don't. .. . " Some irresponsibleimp in her intelligence made her want to tell him that it wasn't Jonahwho looked for a sign. 

"Listen, " said Armitage. He was literally holding her before him bythe sheer strength of his kindly, compelling personality. "When thisracket started--this war--I told them at the Admiralty my age wasforty-five. It was a lie--I am fifty-two. I've knocked about theworld; I know men and cities and the places where there are neither. But I've lived clean all my life and I was never gladder of it than Iam at this moment. .. . "

Cecily had a conviction that unless she could stop him she would haveto start crying very soon. But there were no words somehow that seemedadequate to the situation. 

"I know, dear, " he went on in his grave quiet voice, "that at your agemoney, and all the things it buys, seem just empty folly. But, believeme, there comes a time when being rich counts a lot towards happiness. I'm not trying to dazzle you, but you know all mine is yours--you shalllive in Park Lane if you care to--or I'll turn all wide Scotland into adeer forest for you to play in. .. . "

He paused. "But there is one thing, of course, that might make allthis sound vulgar and sordid. " He considered her with his clear blueeyes. "Are you in love with anyone else?" he asked. 

Cecily clutched recklessly at the alternative to absurd tears. 

"Yes, " she said. 

Armitage stood quite still for a moment. His calm, direct gaze neverleft her face, and after a moment he squared his big shoulders with anabrupt, characteristic movement. 

"Then he is the luckiest man, " he said quietly, "that ever won God'smost perfect gift. "

He gave her a funny stiff little inclination of the head and walkedaway. 

 * * * * *

Otto von Sperrgebiet did not raise the periscope above the surfaceagain for some hours. The Submarine, entirely submerged, drove throughthe water until night. After nightfall they travelled on the surfaceuntil the first pale bars of dawn appeared in the eastern sky. VonSperrgebiet was on the conning-tower as soon as it was light, searchingthe horizon with his glasses. 

"It is strange, " he said to his Second-in-Command. "We ought to havesighted that light vessel before now. " At his bidding a sailor fetchedthe lead line and took a sounding. Together they examined the tallowat the bottom of the lead, and von Sperrgebiet made a prolongedscrutiny of the chart. "H'm'm!" he said. "I don't understand. "Submerging again, they progressed at slow speed for some hours and hetook another sounding. The sky was overcast and no sights could betaken. 

This time von Sperrgebiet returned from comparing the sounding with thechart, wearing a distinctly worried expression. 

The hawk-eyed seaman beside him on the bridge gave an ejaculation andpointed ahead. 

"Land, Herr Kapitan!" he said. 

"Fool!" replied his Captain. "Idiot! How can there be land thereunless"--he glanced inside the binnacle half contemptuously--"unlessthe compasses are mad--or I am. "

He raised his glasses to stare at the horizon. "You are right, " hesaid. "You are right. .. . It is land. " He gnawed his thumbnail as washis habit when in perplexity. 

The next moment the seaman pointed again. "The Hunters, " he said. 

Von Sperrgebiet gave one glance ahead and kicked the man down throughthe open hatchway of the conning-tower. He himself followed, and thehatch closed. The helmsman was standing, staring at the compass like aman in a trance. 

"Herr Kapitan, " he said, as von Sperrgebiet approached, "it isbewitched. " Indeed, he had grounds for consternation. The compasscard was spinning round like a kitten chasing its tail, first in onedirection, then in another. 

"Damn the compass!" said von Sperrgebiet. "Flood ballast tanks--depththirty metres--full speed ahead!"

He thrust the helmsman aside and took the useless wheel himself. 

"Ludwig, " he said, "to the periscope with you and tell me what you see. "

The Second-in-Command waited for no second bidding; he pressed his faceagainst the eye-pieces. "There are small vessels approaching veryswiftly from all sides, " he said. And a moment later, "They are firingat the periscope. .. "

"Down with it, " said von Sperrgebiet. "We must go blind if we are toget through. " His face was white and his lip curled back in aperpetual snarl like a wolf at bay. As he spoke there was a splutterand the lights went out. 

The voice of the Engineer sounded through the low doorway from theengine-room. "There is something fouling our propeller, Herr Kapitan, "he shouted. "The engines are labouring at full speed, but we arescarcely making any headway. The cut-outs have fused. "

Von Sperrgebiet cursed under his breath. "Stop the engines, " he said. "If we can't swim we must sink. " He gave the necessary orders and theboat dropped gradually through the water till she rested on the bottom. 

"Now, " said von Sperrgebiet. "Turn on the gramophone, one of you, ifyou can find it. "

There was a pause while someone fumbled in the darkness, and a click. Then a metallic tune blared forth bravely from the unseen instrument. 

"That's right, " said von Sperrgebiet in a low voice, speaking for thelast time. "'_Deutschland unter Alles!_'" His laugh was like the barkof a sick dog. 

Twenty fathoms over their heads, under the grey sky, and blown upon bythe strong salt wind, a large man in the uniform of a Lieutenant of theNaval Reserve was standing in the bows of an Armed Trawler; his gazewas fixed on something floating upon the surface of the water ahead;but presently he raised his eyes to the circle of Armed Trawlers aroundhim riding lazily on the swell. In the rear of the gun in the bows ofeach craft stood a little group of men all staring intently at thefloating object. The Lieutenant waved an arm to the nearest consort. 

"They reckon they'll take it lying down, " he said grimly. "Well, Idon't blame 'em!" He nodded at the figure in the wheel-house. 

"Full speed, skipper!" The telegraph clinked, and they moved ahead, slowly gathering way. Then the Reserve-man turned, facing aft. 

"Let her go, George, " he said, raising his voice. The trawler fussedahead like a self-important hen that has laid an egg. There was aviolent upheaval in the water astern, and a column of foam and wreckageleaped into the air with a deafening roar. 

The Reserve Lieutenant pulled a knife out of his pocket, and, bendingdown, thoughtfully added another nick to a long row of notches in thewooden beam of the trawler's fore hatch. 

CHAPTER XIII

SPELL-O!

Lettigne sat on the edge of his sea-chest contemplating a largefragment of a German shell which he held on his knees. 

"Will someone tell me where I am going to pack this interesting relicof my blood-stained past?" he enquired of the flat at large. 

The after cabin-flat had all the appearances of the interior of ahomestead in imminent danger of occupation by an enemy. In front ofeach open chest stood a Midshipman feverishly cramming boots andgarments into already bulging portmanteaux and kit-bags. The deck waslittered with rejected collars, pyjamas and underwear; golf-clubs, cricket-bats and fishing-rods lay about in chaotic confusion. 

"Will someone tell me where I'm going to pack anything?" repliedMalison, delving into the inmost recesses of his chest. "Fancy beingtold to pack and get away on leave and given an hour to do it in! Itisn't decent. It always takes me a week to find my gear. "

"Well, you'd better buck up, " interposed the Senior Midshipman. "Theboat leaves in ten minutes. "

"Help!" ejaculated Lettigne. "I don't care, " he added. "I'm not goingwithout my blinking trophy. " He removed a pair of boots from theinterior of an apoplectic-looking kit-bag and substituted the jaggedpiece of metal. "It weighs about half a ton, but it very nearly baggedLittle Willie, and I want my people to see it. " He tugged and strainedat the straps. "Make 'em appreciate their little hopeful. .. . Ouf!There! I only hope this yarn about there being no porters anywhereisn't true. "

Harcourt, who had reduced the contents of his suit-case in volume bythe simple expedient of stamping on them, had finally succeeded inclosing the lid. 

"Never mind, " he shouted. "What does anything matter so long's we're'appy!" He brandished a cricket-bat and sang in his high, crackedtenor:

 "Keep the home fires burning, Oh, keep the home fires burning, Keep the home fires burning. .. . "

"I dunno how it goes on, " he concluded, lapsing into speech again. 

"_'Cos we're all going on leave!_" roared Matthews. "That's how itends. That's how everything ends. Ain't it all right?" He closed hischest with a bang and sat on the top with his hands in his pockets, drumming his heels against the sides. "Snooks!" he ejaculated, "Ihaven't felt like this since I was a mere lad. "

"What are you going to do on leave?" queried the tall sandy-hairedMidshipman popularly known as "Wonk. "

"Do?" echoed Matthews. "Do?" He allowed his imagination full rein fora moment. "Well, " he said, "by way of a start I shall make my soldierbrother take me to dinner somewhere where there's a band and fairies inlow-necked dresses with diamond ta-rarras on their heads. "

"That sounds pretty dull, " objected Mordaunt, affectionately burnishingthe head of a cleek with a bit of emery paper. "Is that all you'regoing to do?"

"Not 't all. After dinner I shall smoke a cigar--a mild one, youknow--and then we'll go to a 'Revoo' with more fairies. Lots of 'em, "he added ruminatingly, "skipping about like young stag-beetles--youknow the kind of thing----" The visionary got down off his chest, and, plucking the sides of his monkey-jacket between finger and thumb, pirouetted gracefully amid the scattered suit-cases and litter ofclothes. "Comme ça!" he concluded. 

"What then?" demanded Lettigne, growing interested. 

"Then, " continued Matthews, "then we'll go and have suppersomewhere--oysters and things like that. Mushrooms, p'raps. .. . "

"With an actress, Matt?" asked a small Midshipman, known as "the WhiteRabbit, " in half-awed, half-incredulous tones of admiration. 

"P'raps, " admitted the prospective man-about-town. "My brother knowstons of 'em. "

Harcourt burst into shouts of delight. "Can't you see Matt?" he criedhilariously. "Having supper with a massive actress!" He slapped histhighs delightedly. "Matt swilling ginger ale and saying, 'You're 's'dev'lish fine womansh. ' . .. No, don't start scrapping, Matt; I've justput on a clean collar . .. And it's got to last. .. . All right--_pax_, then. "

"Well, " said Matthews, when peace was restored. "What's everyone elsegoing to do? What are you going to do, Harcourt?"

"Me and Mordy are going to attrapay the wily trout, " was the reply. "He's going to spend part of the leave with me, and I'm going to spendpart with him. We're going to clean out the pond at his place. Topping rag. "

"And you, Wonk?"

"Cricket, " was the reply. "And strawberries. Chiefly strawberries. "

"What about you, Bosh?"

"I shall lie in a hammock, and tell lies about the Navy to my sisters agood deal of the time. And when I'm tired of that I shall just lie--inthe hammock. Sorry, I didn't mean to be funny----Ow! I swear it wasunintentional. Matt, I swear----"

The furious jarring of an electric gong somewhere overhead drowned allother sounds. 

"Boat's called away!" shouted the Senior Midshipman. "Up on deck, everyone. Knock off scrapping, Bosh and Matt, or you'll be all adrift. "

There was a general scramble for bags and suit-cases, and, burdenedwith their impedimenta, the Midshipmen made their way up on to thequarterdeck. 

Thorogood, Officer of the Watch, was walking up and down with anexpression of bored resignation to the inevitable. Forward of theafter superstructure the liberty-men were falling-in in all the gloryof white cap-covers and brand-new suits, carrying little bundles intheir hands. There was on each man's countenance that curious blend ofsolemnity and ecstatic anticipation only to be read in the face of abluejacket or marine about to start on long leave. 

A group of officers gathering near the after gangway stood waiting forthe boat and exchanging chaff customary to such an occasion. 

"Here come the Snotties, " said the Staff Surgeon. "Lord, I wish I hada gramophone to record their conversation outside my cabin while theywere packing. " He raised his voice. "Now, then, James, what aboutthis boat? We shall miss the train if you keep us all hanging abouthere much longer. Some of us have got appointments in town we don'twant to miss--haven't we, Matthews?"

The Midshipman thus suddenly addressed flushed and was instantly thetarget for his companions' humour. "That's right, sir, " confirmedLettigne maliciously. "Matthews is taking a real live actress out tosupper to-morrow night. "

"Smoking a mild cigar, " added another. "And eating oysters andmushrooms, " chimed in a third. 

Thorogood walked towards the group of laughing, chaffing boys and men. 

"She won't be long, now, " he said. "You'll all catch the train; I canpromise you that. "

He smiled wanly. 

"James, " said the India-rubber Man, "don't look so miserable! I knowhow sorry you are for us all. But we're going through with it, oldman, like Britons. "

"That's right, " agreed the Paymaster. "We shall think of you, James, and the Commander, and the P. M. O. , and all our happy messmates who arestaying onboard for the refit. It makes going on leave easier to bearwhen we think of your smiling faces. "

Thorogood turned away. "You're funny little fellows, aren't you?" hesaid dourly. 

The Young Doctor caught the ball and sent it rolling on. 

"We shall think of the pneumatic riveter at work over your heads; weshall think of the blithe chatter of the dockyard maties all over theship, and the smell of the stuff they stick the corticene down with . .. And we shall face the sad days ahead of us with renewed courage, James, old man. "

"Thank you all, " replied Thorogood gravely. "Thank you for yourbeautiful words. Give my love to Mouldy if any of you see him"--thespeaker glanced over the side. "And now I have much pleasure ininforming you that the boat is alongside, and the sooner you all getinto it the sooner to sleep, as the song says. "

The Midshipmen were already scrambling down the ladder, carrying theirbags and coats, and the Wardroom Officers followed. Farewells andparting shafts of humour floated up from the sternsheets; Thorogoodstood at the top of the gangway and waved adieu with his telescope asthe boat shoved off and circled round the stern towards thelanding-place. For a moment he stood looking after the smiling facesand waving caps and then turned inboard with a sigh. 

"Liberty men present, sir!" The Master-at-Arms and Sergeant-Major madetheir reports and Thorogood moved forward, passing briskly down thelanes of motionless figures and shiny, cheerful countenances. 

"Carry on, " he said, and acknowledged the salute of the Chief of Policeand the Sergeant of Marines. 

The men filed over the side and took their places in the boats waitingalongside, and as they sheered off from the ship in tow of the launchand followed in the wake of the distant picket-boat, the closely packedmen suddenly broke into a tempest of cheering. 

The Captain was walking up and down the quarterdeck talking to theCommander. He smiled as the tumult of sound floated across the water. 

"I wonder they managed to bottle it up as long as they have, " he said. "Bless 'em! They've earned their drop of leave if ever men did. " Theytook a few turns in silence. "I hope to get away to-night, " continuedthe Captain, "if they put us in dock this afternoon. When are yougoing for your leave, Hornby?"

The Commander ran his eye over the superstructure and rigging of theforemast. "Oh, I don't know, sir, " he said. "I hadn't thought aboutit much. .. . I think I'll get that new purchase for the fore-derrickrove to-morrow. .. . "

The colour had gone out of the sunset, and in the pale green sky at thehead of the valley a single star appeared. 

With the approach of dusk the noises of the river multiplied; a scoreof liquid voices seemed to blend into the sleepy murmur of sounds thatbabbled drowsily among the rocks and boulders, and was swallowedbeneath the overhanging branches of the trees. 

The India-rubber Man moved quietly down stream, scarcelydistinguishable from the gathering shadows by the riverside; he carrieda light fly-rod, and once or twice he stopped, puffing the briar pipebetween his teeth, to stare intently at the olive-hued water eddyingpast. 

"Coo-ee!"

A faint call floated up the valley, clear and musical above the voicesof the stream. The India-rubber Man raised his head abruptly and alittle smile flitted across his face. Then he raised his hand to hismouth and sent the answer ringing down-stream:

"Coo-oo-ee-e!"

He stood motionless in an attitude of listening and the hail wasrepeated. 

 "Sunset and evening star, "

he quoted in an undertone, "And one clear call for me. .. . "

There had been a period in his life some years earlier when theIndia-rubber Man discovered poetry. For months he read greedily andindiscriminately, and then, abruptly as it came, the fit passed; buttags of favourite lines remained in his memory, and the rhythm ofrunning water invariably set them drumming in his ears. 

He turned his back on the whispering river and, scrambling up the bank, made his way down-stream through the myriad scents and signs of anothersummer evening returning to its peace. The path wound through aplantation of young firs which grew fewer as he advanced, and presentlygave glimpses beyond the tree-trunks of a wide stretch of open turf. The river, meeting a high wall of rock, swung round noiselessly almostat right angles to its former course; in the centre of the ground thusenclosed stood a weather-beaten tent, and close by lay a smalltwo-wheeled cart with its shafts in the air. 

The India-rubber Man paused for a moment on the fringe of theplantation and stood taking in the quiet scene. The shadowy outline ofa grazing donkey moved slowly across the turf which narrowed to asingle spit of sand, and here, standing upright with her hands at hersides, was the motionless figure of a girl, staring up the river. Something in her attitude stirred a poignant little memory in the mindof the India-rubber Man. In spite of his nearness he still remainedinvisible to her against the background of the darkling wood. 

"Betty!" he called. 

For an instant she stared and then came towards him, moving swiftlywith her lithe, ineffable grace. 

"Oh, " she cried, "there you are!" She slid her fingers into hisdisengaged hand and fell into step beside him. "Bunje, " she said witha little laugh that was half a sigh, "I'm like an old hen with onechick--I can hardly bear you out of my sight! Have you had goodhunting? What was the evening rise like?"

"It was good, " replied the India-rubber Man. "But it was better stillto hear you call. "

They came to a tall bush where the blossoms of a wild rose glimmered inthe dusk like moths. The India-rubber Man stabbed the butt of his rodin the turf, took off his cast-entwined deerstalker and hung it on abramble; then he slipped the strap of his creel over his head andemptied the contents on to the grass. 

"Five, " he said, counting. They knelt beside the golden trout and laidthem in a row. "I could have taken more, " he added, "but that's all wewant for breakfast. Besides, it was too nice an evening to go onkilling things. .. . Sort of peaceful. That's a nice one, though, thatpounder. He fancied a coachman. .. " The India-rubber Man straightenedup and sniffed the evening air aromatic with the scent of burning wood. "And I've got a sort of feeling I could fancy something, Bet----"

Betty rose too. "It's ready, " she said. "I've put the table in thehollow behind the bush. I've got a surprise for you--'will you walkinto my parlour? said the spider to the fly. '"

She led the way into the hollow. A brazier of burning logs stood onthe side nearest the river, with a saucepan simmering upon it. Closeunder the wild-rose bush was a folding table covered with ablue-and-white cloth laid in readiness for a meal, with a camp stool oneither side. From an overhanging branch dangled a paper Japaneselantern, glowing in the blue dusk like a jewel. 

"You're a witch, Betty, " said the India-rubber Man. "Where did you getthe lantern?"

"At that village we passed through yesterday. It was a surprise foryou!" She made a little obeisance on the threshold of their star-litdining-room. "Will it please my lord to be seated?" she askedprettily, and bending down busied herself amid the ashes underneath thebrazier. "There's grilled trout and stewed bunny-rabbit, " she added, speaking over her shoulder. 

"Good enough, " said her lord. "Sit down, Bet, I'm going to do thewaiting. " Betty laughed. "I don't mind this sort of waiting, " shereplied. "It's the other kind that grew so wearisome. "

They made their meal while a bat, attracted by the white cloth, flickered overhead, and the shadows closed in round them, deepeninginto night. When the last morsel of food had vanished the India-rubberMan turned sideways on his stool to light a pipe, and by the light ofthe match they stared at one another with a sudden fresh realisation oftheir present happiness and the fullness thereof. 

"Isn't it good?" said Betty. "Isn't it worth almost anything to havethis peace?" She made a little gesture, embracing the scented quiet. "And just us two . .. Alone. "

The India-rubber Man tossed the match on to the turf where it burnedsteadily in a little circle of warm light. 

"Yes, " he said. "Just us two . .. Hark, Betty!" He held up his finger. 

For a moment they listened to the infinitesimal noises of the night, straining their ears in the stillness. The river wound past them witha faint, sibilant sound like a child chuckling in its sleep; an owlhooted somewhere in the far-off sanctuary of the trees. Betty drew herbreath with a little sigh that was no louder than the rustle of thebat's wings overhead. The match burning on the grass beside themflared suddenly and went out. 

"You know, " said the India-rubber Man presently, "I was thinkingto-night--up there, along the river--how good it all is, this littleold England of ours. I sat on a big boulder and watched a child in thedistance driving some cows across a meadow to be milked. .. . Therewasn't a leaf stirring, and the only sounds were the sleepy noises ofthe river. .. . It was all just too utterly peaceful and good. " TheIndia-rubber Man puffed his pipe in silence for a moment. "It struckme then, " he went on in his slow, even tones, "that any price we canpay--any amount of sacrifice, hardship, discomfort--is nothing as longas we keep this quiet peace undisturbed. .. . " Again he lapsed intosilence, as if following some deep train of thought; the sound of thedonkey cropping the grass came from the other side of the bush. 

"One doesn't think about it in that way--up there, " he jerked his headtowards the North. "You just do your job for the job's sake, as onedoes in peace-time. Even the fellows who die, die as if it all came inthe day's work. " His mind reverted to its original line of thought. "But even dying is a little thing as long as all this is undefiled. "He smoked in silence for a minute. 

"Death!" he continued jerkily, as if feeling for his ideas at anunaccustomed depth. "I've seen so much of Death, Betty: in every sortof guise and disguise, and I'm not sure that he isn't only the biggestimpostor, really. A bogie to frighten happiness. .. . A turnip-maskwith a candle inside, stuck up just round some corner along the road oflife. "

"You never know which corner it is, though, " said Betty. She noddedher head like a wise child. "That's why it's frightening--sometimes. "

For a while longer they talked with their elbows on the table and theirfaces very close, exchanging those commonplace yet intimate scraps ofphilosophy which only two can share. Then the India-rubber Man fetcheda pail of water from the river, and together they washed up. 

"I met Clavering away up the river this evening, " he said presently. "He said they'd come down after supper and bring the banjo, " and as hespoke they heard the murmur of voices along the river bank. Twofigures loomed up out of the darkness and entered the circle of lightfrom the brazier. 

"Good hunting!" said a girl's clear voice. "Garry was feelingmusically inclined, and so we brought the Joe with us. "

The India-rubber Man returned from the direction of the tent, carryingrugs and coats which he proceeded to spread on the ground. 

"We're pushing on to-morrow, " continued Clavering's deep voice. "Thereare some lakes in the hills we want to reach while this fine weatherlasts. What are your movements, Standish? Keep somewhere near us, sothat we can have our sing-songs of an evening sometimes. "

"We'll follow, " replied the India-rubber Man. "Nebuchadnezzar ought tohave a day's rest to-morrow, and then we'll pick up the trail. Yourold caravan oughtn't to be difficult to trace. Did you do any good onthe river this evening. .. ?"

They settled down among the rugs, and for a while the conversation ranon the day's doings. Then Etta Clavering drew her banjo from its case. "What shall we have?" she asked, fingering the strings: and withoutfurther pause she struck a few opening chords and began in her musicalcontralto:

 "Under the wide and starry sky. .. "

The slow, haunting melody floated out into the night, and Betty, seatedbeside her husband, felt his hand close firmly over hers as it restedamong the folds of the rug. The warm glow of the fire lit the faces ofthe quartette and the white throat of the singer. 

 "Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill. .. "

The last notes died away, and before anyone could speak the banjo brokeout into a gay jingle, succeeded in turn by an old familiar ballad inwhich they all joined. Then Clavering cleared his throat and in hisdeep baritone sang:

 "Sing me a song of a lad that is gone Over the hills to Skye, "

A few coon songs followed, with the four voices, contralto andbaritone, tenor and soprano, blending in harmony. Then Etta Claveringdrew her fingers across the strings and declared it was time for bed. 

"One more, " pleaded Betty. "Just one more. You two sing. "

Etta Clavering turned her head and eyed her husband; her eyes glitteredin the starlight and there was a gleam of white teeth as she smiled. She tentatively thrummed a few chords. 

"Shall we, Garry?"

Her husband nodded. "Yes, " he said, "that one. " He took his pipe fromhis mouth. "Go ahead. .. . "

So together they sang "Friendship, " that perfection of old-worldromance which is beyond all art in its utter simplicity. 

The banjo was restored to its case at length, and the singers rose todepart. Farewells were exchanged and plans for the future, while thefour strolled together to the edge of the woods. 

"Well, " said Clavering, "we shall see you again the day afterto-morrow, with any luck. "

Etta Clavering turned towards Betty. "Isn't it nice to dare to lookahead as far as that?" she asked with a little smile. "Fancy! The dayafter to-morrow! Good night--good night!"

Betty and the India-rubber Man stood looking after them until they wereswallowed by the darkness. Then he placed his arm round his wife'sshoulders, and together they retraced their steps across the clearingtowards the tent. 

 * * * * *

"This is the place, " said the Young Doctor. He piloted his companionaside from the throng of Regent Street traffic and turned in at anarrow doorway. Pushing open a swing door that bore on its glasspanels the inscription "MEMBERS ONLY, " he motioned the First Lieutenantup a flight of stairs. "You wait till you get to the top, Number One, "he said, "you'll forget you're ashore. "

"Thank you, " said the First Lieutenant as they ascended, "but I don'tknow that I altogether want to forget it. "

They had reached the threshold of a small ante-room hung about withwar-trophies and crowded with Naval officers. The majority werestanding about chatting eagerly in twos and threes, while a girl with atray of glasses steered a devious course through the crush and took orfulfilled orders. Through an open doorway beyond they caught a glimpseof more uniformed figures, and the tobacco-laden air hummed withNavy-talk and laughter. 

The Young Doctor hung his cap and stick on the end of the banisters andelbowed his way to the doorway, exchanging greetings with acquaintances. 

"Come in here, " he said over his shoulder to the First Lieutenant, "andlet's see if there's anyone from the ship--hullo! I didn't expect tosee this----" He made a gesture towards the empty fireplace. There, seated upon the club-fender, with his right hand in his trousers pocketand his expression of habitual gloom upon his countenance, sat MouldyJakes. His left sleeve hung empty at his side, and from the breast ofa conspicuously new-looking monkey-jacket protruded a splint swathedabout in bandages. A newly-healed scar showed pink across his scalp. 

A laughing semi-circle sat round apparently in the enjoyment of someanecdote just concluded. A Submarine Commander of almost legendaryfame stood by the fender examining something in a little morocco case. Mouldy Jakes turned a melancholy eye upon the newcomers. 

"More of 'em, " he said in tones of dull despair. "What d'youwant--Martini or Manhattan?"

"Martini, " replied the Young Doctor, advancing, "both of us; but whythis reckless hospitality, Mouldy? Are you celebrating an escape fromthe nursing home?"

The Submarine man closed the case with a little snap and handed it backto Mouldy Jakes. 

"We're just celebrating Mouldy's acquisition of that bauble, " heexplained. "He's been having the time of his life at Buckingham Palaceall the morning. "

"Not 'arf, " confirmed the hero modestly. "Proper day-off, I've beenhaving!" He raised his voice. "Two more Martinis an' another plainsoda, please, Bobby. "

The First Lieutenant laughed. 

"Who's the soda water for--me?"

Mouldy shook his head lugubriously. 

"No, " he replied, "me. There was another bird there this morning beinglushed up to a bar to his D. S. O. --an R. N. R. Lieutenant called Gedge. What you'd call a broth of a boy. We had lunch together afterwards. "The speaker sighed heavily and passed his hand across his forehead. "Ithink we must have had tea too, " he added meditatively. 

The Young Doctor looked round the laughing circle of faces. "Where ishe? Did you bring him along with you?"

Mouldy Jakes shook his head and reached out for his soda water. "No. .. He went to sleep. .. . "

The Young Doctor sat down on the fender beside the speaker. "How's thehand getting on, old lad?"

"Nicely, what's left of it. They let me out without a keeper now. Hada good leave? When d'you go back?"

"To-morrow, " replied the First Lieutenant with a sigh. "Buck up andget well again, Mouldy, and come back to us. We're all going Northto-morrow night, Gerrard and Tweedledum, and Pills here . .. And all therest of 'em. You'd better join up with the party!" He spoke in gentlychaffing, affectionate tones. "I don't think we can spare you, oldSunny Jim. "

"No, " said Mouldy Jakes dryly; "but unfortunately that's what therotten doctors say. " He rose to his feet and extended his uninjuredhand, "S'long, Number One! I've got to get back to my old nursing homeor I'll find myself on the mat. .. . S'long, Pills. Give 'em all mylove, and tell 'em I'm coming back all right when the plumbers havefinished with me. " He stopped at the doorway and turned, facing thegroup round the fireplace. 

"I guess you couldn't do without your Little Ray of Sunshine!" His wrysmile flitted across his solemn countenance and the next moment he wasgone. 

CHAPTER XIV

INTO THE WAY OF PEACE

The King's Messenger thrust a bundle of sealed envelopes into his blackleather despatch-case and closed the lock with a snap. 

"Any orders?" he asked. "I go North at eleven to-night. "

The civilian clerk seated at the desk in the dusty Whitehall officeleaned back in his chair and passed his hand over his face. He lookedtired and pallid with overwork and lack of exercise. 

"Yes, " he said, and searched among the papers with which the desk waslittered. "There was a telephone message just now----" He found andconsulted some pencilled memoranda. "You are to call at Sir WilliamThorogood's house at nine o'clock. There may be a letter or a messagefor you to take up to the Commander-in-Chief. " The speaker picked up apaper-knife and examined it with the air of one who saw a paper-knifefor the first time and found it on the whole disappointing. "The SeaLords are dining there, " he added after a pause. 

The King's Messenger was staring through the window into the well of adingy courtyard. He received his instructions with a rather absent nodof the head. 

"The house, " continued the civilian in his colourless tones, "is inQueen Anne's Gate, number----"

"I know the house, " said the King's Messenger quietly. He turned andlooked at the clock. "Is that all?" he asked. "If so, I'll go alongthere now. "

"That's all, " replied the other, and busied himself with his papers. "Good night. "

Despatch-case in hand, d'Auvergne, the King's Messenger, emerged fromthe Admiralty by one of the small doors opening on to the Mall. Hepaused on the step for a moment, meditating. The policeman on dutytouched his helmet. 

"Taxi, sir?"

"No, thanks, " replied d'Auvergne. "I think I'll walk; I've not far togo. "

Dusk was settling down over the city as he turned off into St. James'sPark, but the afterglow of the sunset still lingered above the Palaceand in the soft half-light the trees and lawns held to their vividgreen. A few early lamps shone with steady brilliance beyond thefoliage. 

On one of the benches sat a khaki-clad soldier and a girl, hand-in-hand; they stared before them unsmiling, in ineffablespeechless contentment. The King's Messenger glanced at the pair as helimped past, and for an instant the girl's eyes met hisdisinterestedly; they were large round eyes of china blue, limpid withhappiness. 

The passer-by smiled a trifle grimly. "Bless 'em!" he said to himselfin an undertone. "They don't care if it snows ink. .. . And all theworld's their garden. .. . "

Podgie d'Auvergne had fallen into a habit of talking aloud to himself. It is a peculiarity of men given to introspective thought who spendmuch time alone. Since the wound early in the war that cost him theloss of a foot he had found himself very much alone, though the role of"Cat that walked by Itself" was of his own choosing. It is perhaps theinevitable working of the fighting male's instinct, once maimedirrevocably, to walk thenceforward a little apart from hisfellows--that gay company of two-eyed, two-legged, two-armed favouritesof Fate for whom the world was made. 

For a while he pursued the train of thought started by the lovers onthe bench. The distant noises of the huge city filled his ears with amurmur like a far-off sea, and abruptly, all unbidden, Hope theInextinguishable flamed up within him. Winged fancy soared and flittedabove the conflagration. 

"But supposing, " said Podgie d'Auvergne to the pebbles underfoot, returning to his hurt like a sow to her wallow, "supposing I wassitting there with her on that seat and some fellow came along andinsulted her!" He considered unhinging possibilities with a brow ofthunder. "Damn it!" said the King's Messenger, "I couldn't even thrashthe blighter. "

He made a fierce pass in the air with his walking-stick, dispellingimaginary Apaches, and brought himself under the observation of apoliceman in Birdcage Walk. 

"Any way, I'm not likely to find myself sitting on a bench with her inSt. James's Park, or anywhere else, " concluded the soliloquist. HighFancy, with scorched wings, fluttered down to mundane levels. 

He turned into Queen Anne's Gate, but on the steps leading up to theonce familiar door he paused and looked up at the front of the oldhouse. 

"That's her window, " said the King's Messenger, and added sternly, "butI'm here on duty, and even if she----" He rang the bell and stoodlistening to the preposterous thumping of his heart. 

The door opened while he was framing an imaginary sentence that hadnothing to do with the duty in hand. 

"Hullo, Haines!" he said. "Where's Sir William?"

The old butler peered at the visitor irresolutely for an instant. 

"Why, " he said, "Mr. D'Auvergne, sir, you're a stranger! For a momentI didn't recognise you standing out on the doorstep----"

The visitor crossed the threshold and was relieved of cap and stick. 

"Sir William said an officer from the Admiralty would call at nine, sir; but he didn't mention no name, and I was to show you into thelibrary. Sir William is still up in the laboratory, sir"--the butlerlowered his voice to a confidential undertone--"with all the Navalgentlemen that was dining here--their Lordships, sir. " He turned as hespoke and led the way across the hall. "It's a long time since you waslast here, sir, if I may say so----" There was the faintest tone ofreproach in the old servitor's tones. "I dare say you'll be forgettingyour way about the house. " The butler stopped at a door. "This way, sir--Miss Cecily's in here----"

The King's Messenger halted abruptly, as panic-stricken a younggentleman as ever wore the King's uniform. 

"Haines!" he said. "No! Not--not that room. I'll wait--I----" Butthe old man had opened the door and stood aside to allow the visitor toenter. 

D'Auvergne drew a deep breath and stepped forward. As he did so, thebutler spoke again. 

"Lieutenant d'Auvergne, Miss, " he said, and quietly closed the door. 

Save for the light from a shaded electric reading-lamp by the fireplacethe big room was in shadow. A handful of peat smouldered on the widebrick hearth and mingled its faint aroma with the scent of roses. 

An instant's silence was followed by the rustle of silk, and awhite-clad form rose from a low arm-chair beside the reading-lamp. 

"I seem to remember the name, " said Cecily in her clear, sweet tones, "but you're in the shadow. Can you find the switch . .. By the door. .. "An odd, breathless note had caught up in her voice. 

The King's Messenger laid the black despatch bag he still carried on achair by the door and limped towards her across the carpet. 

"I don't think the light would help matters much, " he said quietly. "I'm generally grateful for the dark. "

"Ah, Tony . .. " said the girl, as if he had countered with a weaponthat somehow wasn't quite fair. "Come and sit down. We'll leave thelights for a bit, and then we needn't draw the curtains: it's such aperfect evening. " She spoke quite naturally now, standing by the sideof the wide fireplace with one hand resting on the mantel. The softevening air strayed in at the open windows, and the little pile ofaromatic embers on the hearth glowed suddenly. 

The King's Messenger sat down on the arm of the vacant chair, andlooked up at her as she stood in all her fair loveliness against thedark panelling. He opened his lips as if to speak, and then apparentlythought better of it. The girl met his gaze a little curiously, as ifwaiting for some explanation; none apparently being forthcoming sheshouldered the responsibility for the conversation. 

"I'm all alone, " she explained, "because Uncle Bill is up in thelaboratory. The air's full of mystery, too; there are five Admirals upthere, and one's a perfect dear. .. " Cecily paused for breath. "Hiseyes go all crinkley when he smiles, " she continued. 

"Lots of people's do, " conceded the visitor. 

Cecily shot him a swift glance and looked away again. 

"He smiled a good deal, " she continued musingly. "And Uncle Bill'sawfully thrilled about something. He was up all night fussing in thelaboratory, and when he came down to breakfast this morning he hit hisegg on the head as if it had been a German and said, '_Got_ it!'"

The King's Messenger nodded sapiently, as if these unusual occurrencesheld no mystery for him. Silence fell upon the room again: from aclock tower in Westminster came the clear notes of a bell striking thehour. The sound seemed to remind the visitor of something. 

"I was told to come here, " he announced suddenly, as if answering aquestion that the silence held. 

The white-clad figure stiffened. 

"_Told_ to!" echoed Cecily. "May I ask----"

"They told me at the Admiralty, " explained Simple Simon, the King'sMessenger, "I was to call for despatches. "

"Oh. .. " said Cecily, nodding her fair head, "I _see_. I confess I wasa little puzzled . .. But that explains . .. And it was War-time, and youcouldn't very well refuse, could you?" She surveyed him mercilessly. "They shoot people who refuse to obey orders in War-time, don'tthey--however distasteful or unpleasant the orders may be? You justhad to come, in fact, or be shot . .. Was that it?"

The victim winced. 

"You don't understand, " he began miserably. "There's a veryimportant----"

Cecily interrupted with a little laugh. 

"Oh, dear, oh, dear! Tony, if you're going to begin to talk aboutimportant matters"--the white hands made a little gesture in thegloom--"why, of course, I couldn't understand. And I'm quite sure theywouldn't ask you to do anything that wasn't really important. .. . Oh, Tony, you must have had a lot of _terribly_ important things to doduring the last two years: so many that you haven't had time to look upyour old friends, or--or answer their silly letters even . .. At least, "added Cecily, "so I've heard from people who--knew you well once upon atime. "

The King's Messenger rose to his feet and began to walk slowly to andfro with his hands behind his back. Cecily watched the halting step ofthe man who three years before had been the hero of the NavalRugby-football world, and found his outline grow suddenly misty. 

"Listen, " he said quietly. "I've got to tell you something. It'ssomething I'd have rather not had to talk about. .. . And I don't knowwhether you'll altogether understand, because you're a woman, andwomen----"

"I know, " said Cecily quickly. "They're just a pack of silly geese, aren't they, Tony? They've no intuition or sympathy or power ofunderstanding. .. . They only want to be left in peace and not botheredor have their feelings harrowed. .. . They're incapable of sharinganother's disappointment or sorrow, or of easing a burden or--oranything. .. . "

The speaker broke off and crossed swiftly to the vacated chair. For amoment she searched for something among the cushions and, having foundit, stepped to the window and stood with her back to the visitor, apparently contemplating the blue dusk deepening into night. 

The King's Messenger stopped and stared at her graceful form outlinedagainst the window. Then he took one step towards her and haltedagain. Cecily continued to be absorbed in the row of lights gleaminglike fireflies beyond the Park. 

"Cecily, " he began, and let his mind return to an earlier train ofthought. "Supposing that I--that you were going for a walk with me. "

"We'll suppose it, " said Cecily. "I've an idea it has happened before. But we'll suppose it actually happened again. "

"I walk very slowly nowadays, " added the King's Messenger. 

Cecily amended the hypothesis. 

"We'll suppose we were going for a slow walk, " she said. 

"I can't walk very far, either. "

"A short, slow walk. "

"And supposing, " continued the theorist in sepulchral tones, with hishands still behind his back, "supposing some fellow came alongand--well, and said 'Yah! Boo!' to you--or--or something like that. Cecily--would you despise me if I couldn't--er--run after him and kickhim?"

Cecily turned swiftly. "Yah! Boo!" she ejaculated. "_Yah_! _Boo_!Oh, Tony, how thrilling! I'd say 'Pip! Pip!'"

She, too, had her hands behind her, and stood with her head a little onone side regarding him. Her face was in shadow, and he saw none of thetender mirth in her eyes. "Would you let me say 'Pip! Pip!' to aperfect stranger, Tony?--and me walking-out with you!"

"_Let_ you!" he said with a sort of laugh like a gasp and steppedtowards her. 

For an instant Fear peeped out of the two windows of her soul, and sheswiftly raised her hands as if to fend off the inevitable. But theKing's Messenger was swifter still and had them imprisoned, crumpled inhis somewhere between their galloping hearts. 

"My dear, " he said, "my dear, I love you!"

Her head dropped back in the shelter of his arm, and she searched hisface with eyes like a Madonna on the Judgment Seat. 

"I know, " she said softly, and surrendered lips and soul as a childgives itself to Sleep. 

Through the closed door came the muffled sound of voices in the hall. Uncle Bill was talking in tones that were, for him, unusually loud. Someone fumbling at the handle of the door appeared to be experiencingsome difficulty in opening it. 

Cecily, released, turned to the window like a white flash and buriedher hot face among the roses. The King's Messenger remained where hestood, motionless. 

Slowly the door opened, letting in the murmur of voices. Uncle Billhad his hand on the knob and stood with his shoulder turned to theinterior of the room, apparently listening to something one of hisguests was saying. 

In the lighted hall beyond, d'Auvergne caught a glimpse of Navaluniforms and white shirt-fronts. 

". .. It ought to go a little way towards 'confounding their knavishtricks, '" a man's deep voice was saying. 

"Yes, " said Sir William. He turned as he spoke and took in theoccupants of the room with a swift, keen glance. "'And to guide ourfeet into the way of peace!'"