a, NoM. 
 
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h 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
Books by the Same Author 
 
 The Edge of Circumstance 
 
 Waves of Fate 
 
 The Lady Navigators 
 
 Fisherman's Gat 
 
 The Grain Carriers 
 
 Lords of the Sea 
 
 Chains 
 
 The Vicar of Normanton 
 
 Lifted Curtains 
 
 Dust from the Loom 
 
 The Bottle-Fillers 
 
 Outposts of the Fleet 
 
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TO 
 
 Admiral the Rt. Hon. Viscount Jellicoj: of Scapa, 
 G.C.B., O.M., G.C.V.O. 
 
 To WHOSE PRESCIENCE AND SPLENDID LEADING 
 
 We, who PERFORCE REMAINED AT HOME, 
 
 Owe DEBTS WE CAN NEVER REPAY 
 
 And 
 
 Were enabled 
 
 to pursue our activities 
 
 With tongue and pen while he led and fought. 
 
3^? 
 /V6 
 
 NOTE 
 
 In sending these pages to the press I should like 
 to be allowed to record my thanks to the Navy and 
 to all those officers, non-commissioned officers and 
 men with whom I came in contact during the all 
 too brief months occupied by my visits to the various 
 sections of the Fleet and to the great Naval Centres. 
 
 From first to last, from sunny Osborne to the 
 mists of the North, no hitch occurred, nor was there 
 any prompting. I moved as I listed under the sign 
 manual of the Admiralty. What I saw I saw with 
 the eyes of a sailor who has dabbled also in paint 
 and in engineering, and if I have read stress in the 
 eyes of men engaged in this great battle for freedom, 
 it has been the stress of an age living cheek by jowl 
 with machines, the stress of enduring sacrifice — a 
 sacrifice so long and rigorous in its process that one 
 is amazed at the living force remaining to the actors. 
 
 Theirs is a drama of life and death, staged with 
 marvellous precision, a mise en scene which is of 
 iron and steel and H.E. shells, a stage which is the 
 world . . . and the players are sailors. 
 
 They are men of a vast complexity, keen on all 
 the games of life, from diplomacy to the methods by 
 which a messroom sing-song can be made a success. 
 I talked with men ranking from admiral to the lads 
 at Shotley and Whale Island ; with men who had 
 fought at the Falklands, at Heligoland, at Jutland ; 
 I took notes and lived on ships which had passed 
 through these great engagements, others which had 
 
 MlX-t 'V^ ^A 
 
vi NOTE 
 
 failed to climb the rock and boulder-strewn sides of 
 the Peninsula . . . and I have written but this. 
 
 The measure of my gratitude to the Navy is 
 burdened alone by my inability to set out in cold 
 print a tithe of what was there, waiting for my pen. 
 
 EDWARD NOBLE. 
 
 Ore, 
 March, 1918. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 • 
 
 Waiting . . » 
 
 . 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 I. 
 
 August, 1914 
 
 . 
 
 3 
 
 II. 
 
 894—1914 
 
 . 
 
 15 
 
 III. 
 
 The Ladder . 
 
 . 
 
 32 
 
 IV. 
 
 His Majesty's Bluej 
 
 ACKETS . 
 
 53 
 
 
 The Men of the Dark Red Crown . 
 
 71 
 
 V. 
 
 NooRD Hinder 
 
 
 . 75 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Escort . 
 
 
 . 99 
 
 VII. 
 
 SURSUM CORDA 
 
 
 . 117 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Pro Patria • 
 
 
 132 
 
 
 On the Fleet . 
 
 
 179 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Red Ensign . 
 
 
 . 182 
 
 X. 
 
 Transport 
 
 
 202 
 
 XI. 
 
 Jutland and After 
 
 
 . 226 
 
 XII. 
 
 Those who Fight . 
 
 
 . 250 
 
 
 Gathering the DeviVs 
 
 Grapes . 
 
 . 276 
 
F I RST 
 EDITION 
 
 19 18 
 Copyright 
 
THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 WAITING 
 
 Down by the edge of Soundings 
 
 Is where the sailors lie, 
 Flat on the floor like groundlings 
 
 To see the ships go by , . . 
 Lift their heads to hear us, 
 
 Wave their arms awhile ; 
 There the dead men cheer us. 
 There the dead men smile. 
 
 For round about in Soundings 
 
 Is where the sleuth-hounds ply, 
 Nosing their way like groundlings, 
 
 There where the mine-fields lie . 
 North to the floes they wallow, 
 
 South to the Line they glide 
 Sure as the laws they follow, 
 
 Keen as the seas are wide. 
 
 They come from English counties, 
 
 From Scot and Irish clans. 
 Men who receive no bounties, 
 
 Yet aglow with hopes and plans 
 To add to England's glory 
 
 New deeds for England's fame, 
 To build anew her story, 
 
 To pulse and throb and flame. 
 
THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 They come with jest and laughter 
 
 To lay the guns and sing, 
 Ready for dance or slaughter, 
 
 Instant to watch and spring ; 
 These are the men who guard us 
 
 While thousands here still sleep, 
 Keeping the seas that ward us. 
 
 Smiling at those who weep. 
 
 Trust to your sons, O England, 
 
 Faith for the unseen Fleet ! 
 Your brother, son and husband 
 
 Are moving on their beat : 
 Trailing skii:ts in the " Angle," 
 
 In gale and sleet and mist. 
 Sweeping the mine-field tangle 
 
 Laid by the Mailed Fist. 
 
 Down by the Edge of Soundings 
 
 Is where the sailors lie, 
 Flat on the floor like groundlings 
 
 To see the ships go by , . . 
 Lift their heads to hear its, 
 
 Wave their arms awhile ; 
 There the dead men cheer us, 
 
 There the dead men smile. 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 AUGUST, 1914 
 
 The Naval Tradition — Its Heroic Spirit — The Genesis 
 of its Manhood. 
 
 " Let England maintain her Empire of the Seas, and 
 she may send her Ambassadors to the Courts of Europe 
 and demand what she pleases." — Napoleon. 
 
 Night had shut down upon the solitudes which lie 
 between our eastern coast and the sand-dunes which 
 fringe the flats of Belgium and Holland. The North 
 Sea lay under it, screened by clouds and restless^ — 
 churning white in the shallows, sullen, heaving where 
 the chart showed greater depth. 
 
 East and west of it lightships and stations pricked 
 the dark with warning signals, reiterating the night 
 through in white and red flashes or occulting stare 
 their message to those who moved. Ships came out 
 of the distance as on all nights during past years — 
 lighted in some cases, unlighted in others. They 
 pushed on to their ports, as always, carrying the 
 food and merchandise of an island people — a nation 
 grown so large that import had become a necessity, 
 
 " I am the Kentish Knock ! " laughed one, " and 
 I the Outer Gabbard " ; "Spurn Point, am I"; 
 "St. Abbs, Rattray, Stronsay, Skerries," they cried ; 
 with stabs of light—" British all ! " And on the 
 other hand, deep in eastern haze, came answering 
 gleams from Ostende, Maas, Texel ; answering 
 shouts from Nordeney, Heligoland, Horn's Reef and 
 distant, questioning Naze. " What of the night ? " 
 
4 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 they seemed to say. "Is it peace or is it war for 
 England ? " " Is it the gloom and blood of Arma- 
 geddon, or the joy of peaceful penetration, cozenry, 
 and sweating ? " " Dare she fight who has no men 
 aligned to guard her, or does she again take risks, 
 challenge the War-Lord and set her Fleet upon the 
 seas to bring him low ? " 
 
 The nations jeered or cheered. Some, remembering 
 Napoleon, looked out with hope to stir them ; others 
 frowned. Peace or war ; war or peace ?• — who among 
 them knew which of the twain would stand with 
 to-morrow's noon. 
 
 Through the grey night grey ships pushed onward. 
 Sometimes the stars lay over them, sometimes the setting 
 moon, white, unveiled by fleeting clouds. They moved 
 with the British answer. 
 
 With open throttles they slid on foam to take up 
 stations out there across the gates of the North. 
 Giants some of them, pigmies others ; but all alert, 
 ready, by God's grace and man's untiring effort, to 
 accept the German challenge. 
 
 Here came mammoths of the first line ; there 
 battle-cruisers, speedy as the yards of Britain could 
 build them ; here the scouts and whippets ; there, 
 awash in the dawdling sea, their conning-towers 
 lifted against the farther blackness, those dim shapes 
 which were for the first time to be proved in battle — 
 the submarines of fact and fancy. 
 
 They came from festival, a pageant spread for 
 their King to appraise ; from the softly looming hills 
 which form the background of Spithead and South- 
 ampton Water. Here they had lain with flags to 
 deck their grimness in the sun, the lamps of fairy- 
 land to pick them out at night. Here they had seen 
 the glittering convoy of their Sovereign Chief as he 
 passed them in review, helped with the roar of guns 
 
AUGUST, 1914 5 
 
 and cheering, and looked for leave when the show 
 was ended. 
 
 Instead of leave came war ; instead of the brief 
 hand-grasp, a word which brought them into action 
 and constituted them the nation's saviours. 
 
 Far off, in the Halls which house our lawgivers, 
 the choice between peace and war had been made. 
 Through death only could the British people live. 
 Through sacrifice and danger, alarms from air and 
 under sea, perils on land and water, weariness, 
 agitation, travail, only was it possible to lift the 
 head and smile. In those first dim hours the thing 
 fronted the nation like a nightmare. Some there 
 were who openly shouted for peace at the price of 
 the nation's word, some- — and they are clamant 
 always^ — announced that no cause justified war, and 
 quoted Christ and the prophets in proof. 
 
 But the Fleet recked nothing of these. Jar and 
 wrangle are not to its mind. The arguments of 
 sophists leave it cold. It is drilled and learned in 
 the arbitrament of Force ; versed in qualities gained 
 at Osborne and Dartmouth, Shotley, Portsmouth 
 and Whale Island, in gunnery schools and classrooms 
 • — qualities known as tradition, and is steeped in it 
 to the eyes. It is manned and commanded by men 
 descended from the throned heroes of the sea^ — 
 Nelson, Drake, Collingwood, Duncan, and a scoi-e 
 now in Valhalla. Shades of the Great stand over 
 it, urging " There is nothing the Navy cannot do " 
 — reminding it of Nelson's phrase : " . . . Now, had 
 we taken ten sail, and allowed the eleventh to escape, 
 when it had been possible to get her, I could never 
 have called it well done." 
 
 The fatuous benevolence of a nation occupied 
 since the war of 1870 in cutting down expenditure 
 on an army, which, in all conscience, was small 
 
6 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 enough and might presently be needed, produced 
 a shrug of despair. It seemed that England was 
 busy improving herself off the face of the earth. At 
 moments it seemed that those who watched her were 
 careless of their heritage, content that they, at all 
 events, were safe from want, and were more concerned 
 with nostrums than with the honest physic of pre- 
 paration. 
 
 An overburdened Merchant Service groaned under 
 the task of feeding England — bene ; it is ordained 
 that those who carry burdens shall groan. The 
 merchant sailor refused to carry his burden, refused 
 longer to be exploited, cajoled and kicked, and took 
 himself by driblets into other hells, into the service 
 of other nations, gave up the sea and sat down to 
 die in the almshouses or gutter — bene ; by a merciful 
 Providence there was a glut of foreign sailors, persons 
 with sheath-knives and ringlets, and no English, 
 aching for employment in the ships of England. Let 
 them forthwith carry the food great England demands. 
 
 There were no granaries in the kingdom — bene ; 
 but there were granaries in the Kingdom of Heaven. 
 " In My Father's house are many mansions." We, 
 who had dared to draw a picture of what would occur 
 if the world-lust of Germany made head, were told 
 to keep that in mind ; others reiterated the advice 
 culled at some platform that we might sleep com- 
 fortably in our beds. Granaries ! Were not the 
 ships we had manned with stilettoed Levanters and 
 plaintive " Dutchmen " * competent to bring home 
 the grain we required ; or was it suggested " our 
 sailors were cowards " ? 
 
 . Those who wielded the Press whips smiled and 
 stung. Was not a "Dutchman" as good a sailor 
 
 * A "Dutchman," as all the world knows, is merely a euphemism 
 for those who say Ja for Yes, 
 
AUGUST, 1914 7 
 
 as a Britisher ? — so they phrased it, pandering to 
 the lords who held them chained. 
 
 Only in a lazy and fluctuating fashion did we 
 recognise the necessity of keeping the Navy supreme. 
 And that we accomplished in spasms and jerks after 
 soul-stirring speeches had been made by those who 
 ruled us whenever the German ogre chose to stand 
 forth clad in shining armour, or to clang the sword 
 he wore always on his hip. Panic legislation the 
 critics called it, and promptly were dubbed " scare- 
 mongers " by those who knew it was true. These 
 self-appointed arbiters of the nation's destiny derided 
 openly each phrase pronounced by a scaremonger. 
 Another quip blossomed when scaremonger became 
 worn. " Amateur ! " they said, and smiled from 
 their deathless pose. " Amateur strategists ! Beware, 
 or you will bring about a European war." They 
 forgot the old Latin tag Si vis pacem, para helium, or 
 perhaps they chose to keep it hid. 
 
 Yet, despite all these bickerings, the Navy managed 
 to exist and to maintain a certain degree of supremacy. 
 But thousands in that peaceful period, 1870 — 1914, 
 shook their shackles even as the men of the Merchant 
 Service shook theirs, and found new fields for their 
 energies, new flags beneath which it was permissible 
 to stand at the salute, new promise where all had 
 been anathema, and the very name of Englishman 
 was provocative of the sneers of half the world. 
 
 Had it not been for Osborne and the Britannia, 
 Dartmouth, Portsmouth, and Chatham in those days, 
 the Navy would have been depleted even as the 
 Merchant Service. They conspired to fill the gaps, 
 beckoned to more distant centres, and bid men 
 remember. The memory of Nelson, Drake, and the 
 wondrous '' wooden walls " was not to be eradicated 
 from the nation's thoughts by the action of loud- 
 
8 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 voiced tub-thumpers either of ParHament or the 
 Press. The very air of these islands is tuned and 
 whetted to remind boys that beyond it is the sea. 
 All our stupidly-strung facts are facts gleaned from 
 great memories of the past. The naval legend is 
 written large on the boyish mind ; it throbs and 
 burns in spite of our wise saws. We are conscious, 
 despite the Little Navy school and the Little Eng- 
 landers, of a certain heritage which is ours ; of giants 
 among the lesser men ; of ships which fought at 
 great odds and won ; of admirals who sought each 
 other in battle and engaged, broad pennant to broad 
 pennant, fought, changed^ into less battered craft, 
 and fought again, until one of them died.* 
 
 We are conscious of great men who refused to 
 obey. Of Howard of Effingham who refused to obey 
 his Queen's order to dismantle a part of the fleet 
 he had prepared to meet the Armada ; chose to keep 
 it in being at his own expense rather than trust to 
 stupid rumours- — born, perhaps, in Spain. Of Nelson, 
 with telescope lifted to his blind eye, telling his 
 flag-captain he could not see the signal of his chief 
 which ordered him to break off battle. We are 
 conscious, too, that Nelson's blindness on that day 
 meant victory instead of disaster . . . and we 
 visualise ourselves as Nelsons of the future, forgetting 
 altogether his wounds in the glory of his magnificent 
 end. 
 
 So we perceive that in one way or another the Navy 
 managed to keep manned and armed^ — managed, 
 indeed, to maintain some preponderance over our 
 most potent enemy. 
 
 It knew, as those others did not or would not know, 
 that upon it would fall the burden of defence when 
 war came, and that it would be tied more or less 
 
 * Van Trompe and Spraggc. 
 
AUGUST, 1914 9 
 
 to the British apron-strings. It remembered quite 
 calmly, and with some sarcasm, what that would 
 mean. It had seen it happen elsewhere. The South 
 African war was a wonderful object-lesson for those 
 who would read how the nation could treat its soldiers 
 and sailors when peace was won. It remembered that 
 small army at the Cape, left to face the menace of a 
 State which intended to push the rooineks into the 
 sea ; how the pacifists bit and slanged and rendered 
 it impossible to send it aid ; how it would all happen 
 again, in precisely the same dreary, tub-thumping 
 fashion when the German menace broke upon Europe. 
 
 We had a small but incomparably splendid force 
 ready, but nothing to back it. It would be sent to 
 hold up the German machine, to scotch his wheels, 
 while we and our Allies prepared. It would be beaten, 
 bruised, perhaps wiped out in that ordeal ; but it 
 would stand as the men in South Africa stood while 
 pacifists raved of the atrocities it committed and 
 harangued of the nobility of our enemy. And to the 
 Navy would be assigned the task of holding the seas, 
 feeding, clothing, and safeguarding the convoys 
 which found it in materials of war ; precisely as in 
 the old, old days of South African travail. 
 
 It would hold the seas while some one prepared 
 an army, forged guns, made rifles, shells, and all the 
 countless instruments which did not then exist. It 
 would hold the seas in spite of all the three P's * could 
 say or do. It would hold it in spite of those tangling 
 apron-strings ; in spite of Germany and her vaunted 
 preparations to swoop ; in spite of Heligoland, Nor- 
 deney, and the island bases across the sea ; in spite 
 of coalition, if that came, of North-land nations and 
 North-land navies to swell the German Fleet. It 
 would hold or it would die. 
 
 * Professors, Pacifists, Politicians. 
 
10 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 That is the Navy's idiom. 
 
 Through the grey night grey ships picshed onward. 
 Sometimes the stars shone down on them, sometimes the 
 setting moon, white, unveiled a space by the sailing 
 clouds. 
 
 Was' it p(eace or was it war ? In spite of handicaps 
 the British Fleet moved out to give the British answer. 
 
 The Lord who ruled it had spoken words it under- 
 stood, and now it fretted the North Sea grey with 
 paths of white ; set miniature whirlpools frothing 
 and left them echoing to the clang of picks and 
 shovels. Sometimes the steam roared brazen-tongued 
 upon the ships ; sometimes the flick of shroud or 
 stay made the only sound. Sometimes funnels flared, 
 as it were, in unison, glow beyond glow ; sometimes 
 smoke curtained them. With bulkheads closed, 
 crews at stations, shells at hand, the grey ships 
 strung through the night, came to the gates of the 
 North and shut them. 
 
 No longer now was a question of how the war would 
 end ; but when. No longer now the tantalising ques- 
 tion of what German}^ would do with her fleet, but 
 how soon would she do it. 
 
 England was decadent — well, who knows ? She 
 was fat, smug, steeped in luxury, too lazy and 
 indifferent to move — perhaps. She was the prey of 
 puritan and crank, of persons in the pay of kultured 
 Deutschland ; she was troubled, tumbled, sore . . . yet 
 her Fleet had slammed the door on North Sea exits. 
 
 Scouts were out to find opposition, some semblance 
 of the bombast which had rung ; but annihilation 
 scarcely appealed to an enemy accustomed to pray 
 for the day which should be for her a dies non. There- 
 fore Germany set back her time-table, laid mines, 
 and retired behind her forts and bastions at Heligo- 
 land and Kaiser Wilhelm Canal. 
 
AUGUST, 1914 11 
 
 The bid she had made for world-power, the boasting 
 weltmacht oder neidergang, and bumpers to der Tag 
 were pushed away before what was. The whole plot 
 and edifice of her War-Lord's dream was crushed 
 before a gun had fired or a man had fallen. It was 
 as though two great chess-players had fenced and 
 parried until one of them called^ check. No other 
 move appeared but to sacrifice the queen — and that 
 Germany refused. Behind her mine-fields and her 
 forts she clung jealously to her queen and seemed to 
 smile, while we tied knots and passed chains of 
 verbiage about our Fleet which only the law could 
 explain. 
 
 And these men who closed the northern gate on 
 the Kaiser's raiders — what of them ? 
 
 They are of those who know their mind, are trained 
 in deeds, not words ; who go out at the bidding of 
 an aerial message, unquestioning, instant for obedi- 
 ence ; who talk together by means of flags, wig-wags, 
 and lights that flash out at an immense speed meaning- 
 less words which, in the hands of an expert, become 
 orders ; who are ready at a moment's notice to say 
 good-bye to the women who are their kin and start 
 for the ice-bound north or south, for the deadly gulf 
 which lies to the east of Baghdad's vaunted railway, 
 for the jungle or mountain-top, river or sea service, 
 and call the thing upon which they are engaged a 
 " stunt." 
 
 They are the men who have come unscathed through 
 the furnace of a modern sea fight and write to their 
 homes of the " topping " time they experienced, of 
 the heroism of a pal, but are silent on the heroism 
 which was theirs ; who stand alert amidst the din 
 of bursting shells, a cigarette between their lips, or 
 dive without hesitance into the black sea to rescue 
 a drowning shipmate. 
 
12 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 They are the lineal descendants of that glorious 
 blend of the Naval and Merchant Service sailor who 
 fought and knew how to die in Elizabethan times ; 
 who pushed across sea in ships of no greater tonnage 
 than a Thames barge, bristled on meeting a Spaniard 
 and compelled the Dutch to strike topsails when 
 saluting on the seas which ring our land. 
 
 They are the descendants of Howard, Lord of 
 Effingham, of Drake, Anson, Rodney, St. Vincent, 
 CoUingwood, Nelson ^nd the queued, crimped, press- 
 ganged sailormen who fought and won our battles 
 in ships called galleys, caravels, corvettes, frigates, 
 and line- of -battle ships ; when the Cinque Ports 
 found our Navy for us and Napoleon dreamed of 
 invading England in boats propelled by oars. And 
 there, it seems, the likeness ends. 
 
 A sailor in these ships of ours is a composite blend 
 of the sailor as we knew him and an engineer. He 
 is the R.E. of the sea. A man of infinite capacity, 
 long service, and the endurance of a stoic without 
 the stoic's pabulum. 
 
 You may account yourself lucky if you score off 
 a sailor, for, by long association with all sorts and 
 conditions of men, cities and environments, he is 
 passed master in the art both of defence and attack. 
 He knows the world as few others can hope to know 
 it. He has been behind the scenes in many a European 
 and Eastern " raffle," and has learned precisely why 
 it is so difficult to walk on stilts. 
 
 He uses strange words, the gift of many lands, 
 and interlards his conversation, if you can pin him 
 down, with phrases which would have captured 
 Horace and held him bound. Curiosa felicitas ! 
 True ; but with it often a condemnatory pat which 
 takes the sting from pedantry. 
 
 In the days of wooden walls, if we are to credit 
 
AUGUST, 1914 13 
 
 those who have chronicled them, a sailor's language 
 consisted largely of such phrases as " shiver my 
 timbers " and the like. He made as much use of 
 these as he made of the twitch with which he rescued 
 his breeches from downfall and himself from disaster. 
 But to-day one misses this stage-craft and finds in 
 its place a curious kinship with the Army. 
 
 Both speak in clipped sentences, very much to 
 the point ; talk of " duds " when they mean, some- 
 times, shells which did not explode, and " scraps "when 
 they refer to the Battle of Jutland or the Heligoland 
 Bight; " juice " when they wish to infer motive power ; 
 and for no apparent reason, almost against their judg- 
 ment, speak of submarines as " the trade." 
 
 You feel at once on coming among these folk that 
 they are products of an age which has taken to wings 
 and can fly^ — or can, at a pinch, sink down to sit on 
 the bed of the sea while they think things out. You 
 will see that they live sometimes in need of Boynton 
 suits, sometimes in a stewpan where they may not 
 stand upright ; that sometimes they have no air and 
 sometimes sufficient to blow them sky high ; that 
 it is necessary to scrape the paint off their cabins 
 before going into action lest the steel should take fire. 
 
 You know that he is a blend of soldier and sailor 
 as once was the prerogative of the Jollies alone ; 
 that in addition he is blacksmith, moulder, gunner, 
 doctor, electrician, and can run a torpedo with the 
 next ; that he can play the piano or fiddle as often 
 as his forebears played the accordion, that he wears 
 his hair short where they wore it long ; that he can 
 sail or row with the best ; build a boat if need be, 
 or a pontoon, fit her with sails, masts, or an oil engine 
 as readily as he will put a new point to a marline 
 spike. And you will discover that the one calling 
 of which he knows nothing is what he terms lawyering. 
 
14 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 Then, when you have assimilated all this, you will 
 find that he may take you into his confidence and 
 explain the parts of a thing he calls a " mouldy," 
 why it is wise to wear list slippers in the magazine, 
 and perhaps, if you are very painstaking and seduc- 
 tive and flaunt the right order, what he thinks of 
 Fritz ; or, as you sit together smoking like chimneys, 
 his opinion of Marschall von Bieberstein, especially 
 with regard to his speech at the Hague Peace Con- 
 ference in 1907. 
 
 He will read it in extenso with his pipe for pointer. 
 " Military acts," said this prophet, " are not ruled 
 exclusively by the stipulations of an international 
 law. There are other factors. Conscience "■ — he will 
 emphasise this — " good sense, and the sentiment of 
 duties imposed by the principles of humanity, will 
 be the surest guide for the conduct of seamen, and 
 will constitute the most efficacious guarantee against 
 abuse. The officers of the German Navy — I say it 
 with a high voice^ — will always fulfil in the strictest 
 manner the duties which flow from the unwritten 
 law of humanity and civilisation ... As to the 
 sentiments of humanity and civilisation, I cannot 
 admit that any Government or country is superior 
 to that which I have the honour to represent." * 
 
 And when he has finished reading he will tell j^ou 
 how the German squares that gem with the action 
 of a Government which ordered the torpedoing of 
 Lusitania. 
 
 He may, indeed, so far relax as to tell you that the 
 speech was eye-wash, and the sinking a bit of " the 
 real thing " for which the Crown Prince sighed in 
 1911, and explain in his airy way, while the boilers 
 throb and hum beneath his cabin, " that's why we're 
 up against 'em." 
 
 * " Sea Law and Sea Power" (Gibson Bowles). 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 894—1914 
 
 The Birth of the Fleet — Shipbuilding and Arsenals — 
 Forging the Weapon. 
 
 The dawn of history shows Great Britain struggUng 
 with Northland raiders, striving sometimes with 
 success, sometimes with disaster, to keep free the 
 seas which wash her shores. 
 
 It was against the depredation of the Danes, 
 Swedes, and Norwegians^ — Norsemen as we termed 
 them — and the use they made of sea-power that 
 England rather more than one thousand years ago 
 built her first navy. It was a navy of small vessels, 
 boats, propelled by oars and sail, carrying soldiers, 
 who, it appears from records, always stood erect 
 and were armed with bows and arrows, spears, 
 battle-axes. 
 
 For about one hundred and eleven years prior to 
 that time the British Islands, France, and even 
 Italy, had been perpetually raided by the confederacy 
 of pirates known as the Danes. We had seen our 
 lands laid waste, our cities burned, men, women, 
 and children slaughtered, our country desolate or 
 in the hands of imen of the winged helm. These 
 sea-folk swept our coasts as the Huns had swept 
 Europe. They came upon us with torch and rapine, 
 singing heroically of their gods and their Valhalla, 
 and carried our women into captivity. 
 
 At that time Alfred the Great had been defeated 
 by them and driven into hiding at Athelney. For 
 
16 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 more than a hundred years the country had suffered 
 and paid tribute ; but now he emerged from the 
 silences and broke upon the conquerors with plans 
 which should make the kingdom his, the nation 
 strong as never before. 
 
 With the army he had organised during those 
 months of hiding he drove the Danes into the sea 
 and built the first English Navy. Three hundred 
 ships were his new fighting force, divided into three 
 squadrons. One he placed 'on the east coast, one on 
 the west, and one on the north ; then for a period 
 England had peace. 
 
 These little ships of a thousand years ago were 
 but the infant attempt of an infant nation^ — a nation 
 striving to retain what it had of civilisation, its homes, 
 and fields for the ploughing. They had their captains 
 and their admirals — obeyed a primitive discipline. 
 They had their flags, their buglers, those who sung 
 their praises and their plaints. They had, too, their 
 armaments — their bows and arrows for distant 
 fighting, their spears and knives and battle-axes 
 for the deadly melee. They had their serried rows 
 of shields, all burnished and shining in the sun, 
 stow.ed in a line where in later years we stowed 
 hammocks. 
 
 They had their rowers too, and over them the men 
 who drove with staves those who failed to put full 
 weight on the oars. The line between those who 
 propelled and those who fought was marked as now ; 
 but they moved alike to sacrifice in order that people 
 who lived at ease in towns, who knew nothing of the 
 sea and ships, should remain safe from invasion even 
 as in the days of Armageddon. 
 
 Then came the reign of a king who was unready 
 or indifferent to the question whether England were 
 better ruled by this nation or another. It seemed 
 
894—1914 17 
 
 perhaps, easier to call to the Northmen, bring them 
 together at a feast and slay them when they were 
 drunk with wine, than to fight them with the arrows 
 and swords of shipmen in a navy which would not 
 keep the seas without great difficulty and a vast 
 business of preparation. 
 
 And when the massacre was complete the English 
 people sat down to taste the vengeance of its Danish 
 overlord, who exacted an eye for an eye, and for a 
 period of seventy years continued to harry the land 
 with those means of repression in which he put 
 faith. 
 
 England's kings were driven afield, her warriors 
 slain, her churches wrecked or given to Northmen 
 priests and monks, and all that fair land which was 
 her heritage parted among the Danes. Not until the 
 Norman Conqueror bribed them finally in 1074 to 
 leave England in peace did they surrender their hold 
 and take in place of it the reinstituted tribute known 
 as Danegeld. 
 
 Then Norman Wilham, himself of Danish origin 
 and descendant of Rollo, who in 911 had overrun 
 Neustria, Normandy, set about girdling our coasts 
 with the little ships which alone could give us peace. 
 And again, for a space, the nation breathed, went 
 about its affairs, and was able to sleep comfortably 
 in its bed at night. 
 
 The ships, indeed, were still of infant building, 
 but they were staunch, and now had a new enemy, 
 another king, to fight. History shows us a ding-dong 
 picture. When our fleet was supreme, peace and 
 prosperity followed. When we were less than supreme, 
 the nation suffered. 
 
 As an island people we learned our lesson early 
 and forgot it with equal ease. As an island people 
 we no doubt thrilled to the news which filtered slowly 
 
18 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 on ears attuned to hope when Sluys was won. " Thirty 
 thousand Frenchmen slain and drowned, two admirals 
 killed"; "Two hundred and thirty French ships 
 captured . . . Loss on the British side inconsider- 
 able . . . ": it sounds like the reports to which of late 
 we have become accustomed. And on the morrow, 
 or the morrow beyond that, weary weeks and months 
 after the slain were at rest, little peeps behind the 
 scene appeared. " The Enghsh attacked. They 
 came on in invincible array, with the wind and sun 
 behind them so that the French could not see. And 
 the English archers galled the French at the out- 
 set. ..." So, paraphrased from Hume, stands the 
 record of what was whispered and shouted in the 
 villages and towns of our fathers. " The French 
 could not see ! " As with our ships at Coronel, and 
 later at Jutland, so with the French at Sluys in 1340 — 
 for to-day the sun no longer stands still at the prayer 
 of man while nations fight to the death for victory. 
 
 All those little ships with castles on stem and 
 stern, carrying two and three masts equipped with 
 fighting tops, open as a hfeboat and crowded with 
 men who rowed and fought, were the ships upon 
 which we relied. Without them, we had learned, 
 was no peace, no security, for a people whose coasts 
 were washed by the sea. The sea had come to be 
 dreaded as the road over which in a few days armies 
 could be transported ; we had learned to understand 
 that it was the road whence slaughter, rapine, and 
 destruction issued ; that if we would remain iVee 
 we must be strong upon it — stronger than those who 
 otherwise would assail us. 
 
 When the two Papal Bulls were promulgated in 
 1493 dividing the New World between Portugal and 
 Spain, and those two Powers claimed also the 
 sovereignty of the seas, by which alone the two 
 
894—1914 19 
 
 Americas could be approached, the way was paved 
 for the Ehzabethan wars, for greater sea strength, 
 for the fihbustering expeditions, as they have been 
 called, of Drake, Raleigh, Frobisher, Hawkins and 
 a host of others, and for the immense effort of a 
 Spanish Armada which, nearly one hundred years 
 later, attempted to curb the liberties of Englishmen. 
 
 The story of Howard, Drake, Frobisher, Wynter, 
 and Seymour is but one more chapter of the heroic 
 struggle of an island nation to maintain its freedom 
 on the seas and of its slowly growing Navy. So, 
 too, the fights with Van Tromp and de Ruyter, with 
 Tourville, Villeneuve — all the massed force of Spain 
 and France, culminating at Trafalgar — were but inci- 
 dents, ever increasing in scientific precision, strength 
 of ships and armaments, by which the British people 
 have survived and built the power to fight to-day. 
 
 Those little ships of our infant Navy, open to the 
 seas, propelled by rowers, carried men with like 
 desires to those who worked on shore. It was not 
 for fun the ships were built and the men took service, 
 but because for an island people the sea is the highway 
 by which it carries to other countries the fruits of its 
 labour in field and shop and factory. Because 
 without that highway, the greater the nation becomes 
 the sooner will it starve. In the days of Sluys and 
 the Norsemen raiders the land was self-supporting ; 
 but now statisticians tell us that without our highway 
 in six weeks the nation would starve. 
 
 So we come from infant doings through adolescence 
 to a manhood of strenuous and heroic life ; thence 
 again, after one of those long pauses during which 
 the nation was urged to beat its swords into plough- 
 shares and the lion who was our guardian seemed 
 to sleep, we came to the verge of that moment for 
 which our enemies prayed. 
 
20 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 We slept. We dreamed. We fought. We were 
 decadent. The first six months of 1914 found us 
 couched ; the last would see us flayed und Deutschland 
 uber alles. 
 
 In all soberness those early days of 1914 found us 
 holding out palm leaves when we should have been 
 preparing guns. A man-o'-war was looked upon and 
 called a devil's symbol by those who knew that without 
 such symbols we had little use for symbolism. 
 
 So there was but small stir in the British shipyards 
 in those months of doubt and loud-voiced argument 
 immediately preceding the war. We were busy 
 indeed as never before since the days of Cromwell's 
 ikon smashers, but without a Cromwell to lead us. 
 Words were heard, words, words^ — some fine, and 
 some merely stupid. Bricks were in the air, churches 
 reduced to cinders, not because they held ikons, but 
 because in some weird fashion they hindered the 
 advance of the sex we worship, love, and sometimes 
 dare to chide. A Government of all the talents was 
 looking on and seeking to find such hen-roosts as 
 chanced to have been passed by in earlier robbings. 
 
 England was busy improving herself off the face 
 of the earth, as certain cynics averred. She was 
 busy compelling the unorganised to part with the 
 plunder they had acquired and handing it in driblets 
 to the organised, who, like the Romans, clamoured 
 always for more. She saw clearly enough, as others 
 saw, that things were not as they should be ; that 
 when we pulled down slums it was not wise to build 
 up barracks — yet she built them so that they shut 
 out all light and air from those who must dwell in 
 them. 
 
 She was -at the close of a period which had been 
 noisy with aspiration, and already she was bemused. 
 The nation had been talked to, scolded, wept over. 
 
894—1914 21 
 
 and had turned a deaf ear uppermost and gone to 
 sleep. It had been promised the moon or the mil- 
 lennium^ — it does not matter which^ — and it refused 
 all substitutes even as the hucksters prayed. 
 
 As in the days of Ethelred, but with less excuse, 
 when the Navy had swept the seas clear of enemies 
 and made it possible to live in peace, it had taken 
 peace to its bosom, shut its eyes and tied bandages 
 about its ears lest by chance it should see or hear 
 some ghost of the truth. 
 
 Amidst these alarms Capital, the bugbear of those 
 who talk most of peace, became uneasy. It was 
 being deflected, going overseas, but not to the 
 Dominions. And to counter-balance these filterings 
 the British banks were being made to carry the 
 burden of the debts of Germany. Perhaps it paid 
 them better than to encourage industry in a country 
 where industry and thrift were assailed. Perhaps 
 in a world of speculation it was easier to work with 
 steel that was malleable than with steel that might 
 fly. Bills of exchange on an institution so vigorous 
 as the Dresdener Bank might be safely handled ; 
 but in a world where chaos seemed imminent, to 
 promote new industries, or to bolster up those which 
 required further capital, was to indulge in speculation. 
 
 Nevertheless, there existed in the land of mists 
 and grey stone far in the north certain leaders of 
 industry who still had faith in the ultimate necessity 
 of ships and guns. One could not blame them for 
 this when it is remembered that to become pessimist 
 is to court disaster. Your pessimist cannot rule a 
 shipyard, nor an arsenal, nor any of the allied trades. 
 He must be an optimist as well as an organiser ; 
 a believer in self if not in Government — a martinet 
 if you will, a man not subject to spasms. 
 
 Stability, endurance, and to this end faith, are 
 
22 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 essential if ships and guns are to be built and forged 
 by a people who have forsworn war and taken to 
 promiscuous fisticuffing joci causa. 
 
 Therefore, if for no other reason than to keep 
 together their staff, shipyards of the Tyne, the Clyde, 
 and elsewhere had continued to build ships of war, 
 which, perhaps, certain nations over sea would pay 
 for and hail to their flags. It was the prerogative 
 of men behind the scenes in European adventure 
 to believe that a time was coming when the Mother 
 Country would require these ships. They might not 
 trust to the millennium which had been spoken of 
 while afar off, perhaps by telepathy, and drummed 
 into the arena of polemical strife. They were con- 
 versant with the jodelings of Bismarck's Boswell,* 
 had heard of the telegram of Ems and other tintin- 
 nabulations of the man of blood and iron. For that 
 reason, if for no other, it is conceivable they thought 
 it wise to have ships on the stocks which His Majesty 
 might require when " the day " dawned. 
 
 Newcastle held some of them, the Clyde held 
 others, and at the end of July, 1914, a few strokes 
 of the pen moved them from the control of friend 
 and enemy alike and brought them under the white 
 ensign. 
 
 I came upon Newcastle in black darkness, when 
 the city looked like a smudged canvas of the Day 
 of Judgment, and the rain pattering from glum 
 heavens strove to extinguish the fires that still 
 burned. Central Station echoed to the fall of shot, 
 and now and then to a dull crash, as of a shell. But 
 rain and trucks made that bombardment, while jets 
 of steam hissed straight at the glazed roof, as though 
 it strove to still the clatter. 
 
 Then a porter of the North British service, a 
 * Busch. 
 
894—1914 23 
 
 bright-faced girl, bifurcated, smiling as no man ever 
 yet smiled on man, came to carry my luggage, laughed 
 when I objected to women hiking loads, found a 
 little truck and trundled it to the lift, where a magic 
 key unlocked all doors in an hotel already declared 
 full. 
 
 So, too, on the next morning, when a thin drizzle 
 curtained the city as with steam, I came upon the 
 Armstrong naval yard, found it open, ready to 
 display its wonders. 
 
 Five years ago this birthplace of ships did not 
 exist ; but, like Alfred at Athelney, the Els wick 
 firm had faith in British manhood, faith in British 
 sea-power, and set to work to prepare a yard where 
 they might build great ships which presently the 
 nation would require. 
 
 The site they chose took in that bend of the Tyne 
 at Walker, which gave a greater stretch of river 
 surface for launching. The foreshore was high, steep- 
 to, as the phrase goes — Armstrong's decided to 
 level the hills. The river was too shallow at this 
 bend to permit giant ships alongside — Armstrong's 
 arranged to deepen it. So, while palms and olive 
 branches were being extended, waved, proffered, 
 great navvies got to work on the hills, as in Culebra 
 Cut at Panama, sliced away the land in terraces, 
 blasted and tore at mother earth until a plain lay 
 where once the hills had smiled, a plain whereon 
 presently it would be possible to erect *' shops," 
 building slips and the offices of a giant industry. 
 
 The place became at once an anthill for energy- — 
 a space dotted with men and machines which never 
 were still, who by day and by night worked in the 
 light of flares which threw long tongues of fire upon 
 the dark. Dun-coloured earth, boulders, bedrock, 
 were torn away, swung on long-armed cranes to the 
 
24 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 lines of clay-coated trucks, and carried by them 
 snorting, with gusts of steam and shrill screams, to 
 the waiting hoppers which lay ready at the jetties. 
 Then again the redundant earth moved on. Far off 
 to the mouth of the river these hoppers steamed, 
 past Wallsend, Jarrow, North and South Shields, 
 until at Tynemouth they escaped the sheltering 
 piers and plunged in North Sea rollers. Far, far out 
 they carried their cargoes of rock and stone and clay, 
 paused, released the chains which held the doors, 
 hove taut, and returned hungry for more. 
 
 Beside the river frontage, too, giant dredgers 
 worked, groaning, tearing at the ooze and shingle of 
 its bed. The clang and jar of steel buckets vied 
 with thud and rattle of excavators on land. The 
 men were clad in oilskins on the river front, in yellow 
 fustian on the terraced shore. The noise they made 
 was that of a race of giants, the roar of it as though 
 the scarred earth groaned ; yet when one looked 
 from the shipping a race of marionettes seemed 
 slowly to wrestle with the hills^ — ^the blows of pick 
 and maul, the crunch of iron claws, the jar of trucks 
 winding downward, backing up, tilting, slobbering, 
 seemed small, indefinite as the march of clay-coJoured 
 atoms wheeling barrows of clay-coloured earth down 
 planks which looked like wires strung taut against 
 the shrinking land. 
 
 Yet the hills grew less and less in height, the 
 terraces moved always further back ; the jar of the 
 excavators, the wailings of labouring locomotives, 
 the hiss and drift of steam, ever became less strident 
 from the widening wharf; even as the men on tug 
 and dredger, striving to make deep the channel, 
 became ever smaller from the land. 
 
 Later the foreshore aped a giant pin-cushion. A 
 line of monster pins were set to buttress back the 
 
894—1914 25 
 
 wharf, to plug and stencil, as it seemed, the whole 
 vast frontage as with a"pattern. Stays these ; ties 
 and girders set in mother earth to render it more 
 stable, more competent to carry without sagging 
 the weights which presently would lie upon it^ — the 
 great ships which presently would lean against its 
 wall ; and amidst these struts and pins other clay- 
 daubed men climbed and walked like their marionette 
 brothers upon the succulent clay of the hills. 
 ♦ And in the midst of this striving, with no more 
 warning than had been heard by workers in other 
 fields, came war. 
 
 One week of indecision, questioning pause, fear 
 lest England should still remain blind, sunk as the 
 sophists appeared to desire^ — then decision, instant, 
 overwhelming, and the knowledge to that great firm 
 of Novocastrians that they had not ridden for a fall. 
 The nation, suddenly alive to facts long scoffed at, 
 would need that yard and others. It was not yet 
 ready, but it shot into being when war had come. 
 It leaped to the call, glowing by night, a cloud of 
 steam and dust by day. The Tyne ran seaward, 
 laden still with swept-up garbage ; it shimmered at 
 night to the red fires it saw, drew pictures when it 
 was placid, planned phantasm when it was wild. 
 Ever the land became more packed with workers, 
 ever the jar and turmoil grew — even as in other 
 centres, far off, where moribund works became 
 warrens and the ways which led to them dark, heavy 
 with the passing of men. 
 
 When I came upon the yard it hummed in the 
 heyday of its exuberant youth with a noise which 
 grew in spite of the fact that it seemed it could not 
 grow. Newcastle in the throes of a world war throbs 
 as do the waves upon the iron cliffs which screen her 
 from the sea, and has no ghost of the Merrie England 
 
26 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 of our fathers. It is stern. It moves as the Clyde 
 moves, with the irresistible swing of an immense and 
 unyielding power. It gives off something of the 
 attitude of Cromwell's Ironsides, something of the 
 solemnity of the Covenanter. It is cold to all other 
 workers, uncertain whether they mean well or ill — 
 until it has proved them. In five years, perhaps, it 
 will have decided this, and in either case you will 
 be quite certain of its view. 
 
 Newcastle, when I left it, had the lid on. A thin 
 drizzle conspired to make the grey town greyer. 
 Trams charged clanging bells through a city which 
 seemed not to have slept all night. Thousands were 
 afoot hurrying one way or another to workshops 
 which now are national. The crowds of clay-daubed 
 men who had dug and sliced to level the Armstrong 
 yard were now red-brown and of a trade which did 
 no navvying. 
 
 Ten thousand of them were in the shops to-day, 
 on the jetties and on the ships which lined the fire- 
 shore. Women stood to their tasks clad in the weird 
 dress which only war could force upon them, the 
 desire to help their brothers, fathers, husbands, 
 induce them to wear. They leaned over tending 
 machines and tools which seemed to need no guidance, 
 even as the men who worked at kindred benches. 
 It looked so easy, so simple to switch on and off the 
 power which ran above their heads all through the 
 shops. One said, in a heyday of exultation, " A child 
 could do it," so facile is the controUing touch of lever, 
 switch and brake. 
 
 Then suddenly one realised the hum as of a thousand 
 looms, looked into the women's eyes, and saw the 
 thing expressed in terms of weariness which no one 
 can recognise without a thrill of pity. Weariness ? 
 They appeared to belie it. Consciously they stood 
 
894—1914 27 
 
 to hide it. Indeed, they smiled as women will when 
 a stranger comes upon them at tasks which are 
 unusual. They seemed to say, with swift discrimi- 
 nating glances, " iVnother of those newspaper men 
 come to size us up and write' about us — cheer-o ! " 
 then turned to prove how deftly they could tend the 
 lathes. 
 
 Brasses grew round under their hands, burnished, 
 smooth to the touch ; steel threw long shavings 
 which were not soft nor pliable, but curled and of 
 a knife-edged keenness ; bars took new shapes, 
 patterns became firm, ready for the metal ; and 
 through all the shops ran the drone of machinery 
 at high speed, which grew and waned with the shop. 
 In some it was a hum, in others a throb of power, in 
 others a clang and throb and hum blended, upon 
 which impinged the jar of things outside, which 
 volleyed like machine guns letting off drum upon 
 drum for fun. 
 
 But it was not fun. It was work. The ceaseless 
 work which comes of modern war. Nation arrayed 
 against nation even to the women whose energies 
 once were given over entirely to the making of lint 
 and bandages. It came from the pneumatic riveters 
 which were perched at the end of snaked tubing, and 
 chattered like Maxims, sometimes on a turret or the 
 sides of a battleship, sometimes high up on frames 
 which presently would roam the seas as patrols, or 
 submarines, or destroyers of a particular breed, lean, 
 long and very swift, the very antithesis of the ice- 
 breaker over there which was their brother. 
 
 Ships were building no longer singly, but in groups 
 which should satisfy the ravenous maw of war. 
 Whippets and greyhounds in all stages of completion ; 
 under-sea craft and icebreaker ; a battleship enjoying 
 the pandemonium of an overhaul more noisy than 
 
28 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 all the rest put together. It seemed impossible to 
 believe that this vast turmoil had grown out of that 
 slicing of clay and earth in the early days of war, 
 this precision and concentration of aim, this wonderful 
 adaptation of power, until one passed into the vast 
 offices and rooms, where, hidden away in some degree 
 from the clang of it, you saw the tight-lipped wielders 
 of capital at the benches which were theirs. 
 
 These men, like their brothers of the Clyde, Mersey, 
 Sheffield, Barrow, and other centres, do not give you 
 the impression that they are hustlers ; yet elsewhere 
 the term would be applied. They convey rather that 
 sense of power which comes of an acquaintance with 
 the means by which power is produced — a sense of 
 aim, a steadiness — and are as keenly interested in 
 a good bit of colour, or a piece of literature which 
 has stood the three-year test, as the omadhaun who 
 created it. 
 
 Have you at any time watched the processes by 
 which a gun is made, considered why it is made, or 
 more than casually acknowledged the energy of 
 man when shaping the by-products of force to his 
 ends ? 
 
 From what cavernous pit the ore is wrenched, 
 whether from our midst or from the mines which 
 lie behind Bilboa and Santander, is immaterial. From 
 the heart of the mountains it comes, from the bowels 
 of the earth where heat and cold have fashioned it, 
 deep in the ages ; where for centuries it has lain 
 compressed and slowly hardening through the spew- 
 ings and gyrations of a planet in the throes of cooling. 
 Water without, fire within, and a war between the 
 twain ; fissures appearing as earth and sea roll 
 
894—1914 29 
 
 together for a fall ; molten streams squeezed from 
 the one to be met by arms of the other ; water which 
 produces explosions, squeezings, groanings . . . So, 
 in a mist of steam and earth sweat, the ore was 
 formed. 
 
 Then followed centuries when the land, too weary 
 to struggle longer, slept as to-day a volcano is said 
 to sleep, when for a space it garners energy for a new 
 spring, encourages green things to clothe its sides, 
 trees and flowers to hide its nakedness ... looks 
 mystical, beautiful, all in a breath ; beckons and 
 persuades until it is clad and is very perfectly an 
 impostor, then breaks out and slays with the hand 
 of a giant all the soft things it has enthralled. 
 
 And having rounded off a phase, produced a lake 
 or an island, again the land sleeps. 
 
 Then followed centuries during which strange men 
 appeared clambering about the hills. They picked 
 up the knobs they found, and, having enemies, pro- 
 ceeded to stud their clubs with the ore so that they 
 might slay more certainly those who still fought with 
 clubs of wood. Thus only was it possible to weave 
 sagas of Pale Death, sing at the camp fires, strut and 
 appear magnificent in the eyes of their women. 
 
 So force was born of force, and for a space clubs 
 sufficed. Then man became civilised, cut away the 
 struts which held him trammelled, denied his gods, 
 harnessed the lightnings, studded the sea with floating 
 castles, laughed at Gethsemane, and busied himself 
 in the pursuit of world-power. 
 
 To this end guns were made, and ever greater 
 guns. On the Tyne rose the answer which was to 
 slake that insensate Deutschland, Deutschland ilber 
 alles which presently would bring Armageddon to our 
 midst. 
 
 It was a lawyer who first ' gave us the modern 
 
30 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 breech-loading gun, even as it was a parson who gave 
 us that chained lightning the Brennan torpedo ; 
 a lawyer who became what nature had intended, an 
 engineer, the creator of hydraulic machinery and 
 the founder of Elswick Works^ — Lord Armstrong. 
 Two names stand very high to-day in Newcastle — 
 they are those of Lord Armstrong and Sir Andrew 
 Noble. To them, more than to others, may be attri- 
 buted the persistence and long vision which has pro- 
 vided us with the vast engineering plant and indus- 
 tries of the TynC' — the shipbuilding and the ramifica- 
 tions of a co-ordinated industry which, with its allied 
 centres in the Midlands, the North and West, is 
 helping us in our struggle for humanity. 
 
 They appear to have used their opportunities with 
 skill and foresight, and, by the application of breech- 
 loading mechanism, to be the fathers of all those vast 
 weapons which now do duty on the various fronts. 
 
 It was here, too, they built ships and planned the 
 defensive armour which was to circumvent the 
 piercing quality of the guns they forged ; here, in a 
 long-drawn fight of guns and armament, that British 
 sea-power was upheld. The cost of it was heavy, 
 but less ruinous than war ; the knowledge that it^ 
 was essential a standing sop to those who urged 
 disarming. 
 
 They had their critics, their traducers — ^those who 
 cried out that wars were made by the armament 
 firms in order to test their handiwork. But the 
 nation which, in a half-hearted way and by its inaction, 
 acknowledged these witticisms would have done well 
 to accept the burden without whimpering^ — to have 
 prepared even greater armaments, looking upon them 
 merely as an assurance against national peril. It 
 would have done well had it listened in later years 
 to our heroic chief Lord Roberts and got itself honestly 
 
894—1914 31 
 
 prepared against the war which now has swept us 
 with half the world into the madness which is desolat- 
 ing Europe. It would have done well to duck those 
 prophets who prated of the intimidation of prepara- 
 tion, and so left the Navy free to act when action 
 became inevitable. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE LADDER 
 
 Ahna Mater — From Midshipman to Admiral of the 
 
 Fleet. 
 
 The Navy has been described as a fine machine 
 for taking all the originality out of a man ; but the 
 quip is no more applicable to the Navy than it is to 
 Sandhurst, Eton, Rugby, or any other great public 
 school. 
 
 To be quite honest, there is very little originality 
 in the average man to-day ; in a boy there is less. 
 To be quite free of all ambiguity, there is very little 
 doubt but that the majority of boys and men are fools. 
 Now the only way to guard against the action of 
 fools is to make the machine they tend fool-proof. 
 To that end we have discipline, which is, perhaps, 
 the greatest safeguard against the foolishness of fools 
 man can supply. 
 
 The only alternative to this would seem to be the 
 recasting of humanity ; in other words, we should 
 have to begin again, dig deep in the strata and plan, 
 so that in future instead of copyists we should produce 
 originals, instead of mere echoes a multitude of voices. 
 Now that would take time, and it would be very 
 disconcerting. It might be essential to begin in the 
 Garden of Eden . . . and the site of that cradle is 
 a swamp. 
 
 For these reasons, if not for others, it has seemed 
 wise for those who administer the Navy and our 
 pubhc schools to take mankind as they find it. They 
 
THE LADDER 33 
 
 prepare, therefore, certain troughs and mangers at 
 which the youth of the nation may browse, and they 
 supplement the scheme with a thing called discipline. 
 From time to time, too, they multiply the troughs. 
 How far the browsing should be pushed and fostered, 
 whether sugar and jam should be introduced to make 
 the mess still more palatable, or the appetite alone 
 should provide the essential desire to cram, whether 
 additional troughs are necessary is one matter ; but 
 without the abiding grace of discipline the human 
 atom would be of small value to the manicured and 
 complex world we find to-day on the hither side of 
 Fiddlers' Green. 
 
 Even in that stirring and individualistic period 
 known as the hundred years war but one Nelson and 
 one Wellington appeared. There were others, of 
 course, but none who were competent to mould either 
 Navy or Army and persuade the nation to bear the 
 shock of victory. Collingwood, Troubridge, Howe, 
 St. Vincent were there, but only one Nelson ; Picton, 
 Byng, Ponsonby, Maitland, but only one Iron Duke. 
 How much less, then, is it possible now to produce 
 genius ? 
 
 I confess to a certain prejudice in favour of what 
 is known as slacking. Some develop early ; others 
 late. I think the effort to force boys through an 
 extremely difficult course in a given time is a mistake. 
 I take it we are not all mentally competent to absorb, 
 even by rote, so large a dose of knowledge as appears 
 to be necessary at Osborne — if you are to qualify 
 for Dartmouth two years later. Here is the list. 
 I confess it left me breathless : — 
 
 Mathematics, with Geometrical Drawing ; Physics ; 
 Chemistry ; Mechanics ; Applied Mechanics ; Labo- 
 ratory Work ; Engineering. Workshop Practice ; 
 Mechanical Drawing ; Seamanship ; Gunnery ; Navi- 
 
34 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 gation ; French or German ; English Grammar and 
 Composition ; English Literature ; History ; Naval 
 History ; Geography ; Bible Study. Add to this 
 drill and physical training, time for games, meals 
 and recreation, and I think it will be admitted that 
 the cadets at Osborne earn their rations. 
 
 A blazing day lay over the island, cloudless, 
 sparkling, still. The woods which fringe the yachting 
 ground of England wxre standing spiked and motion- 
 less against the haze. 
 
 It was June ; but no yachts appeared either on 
 the Solent or on Southampton Water. Instead, a 
 few rusty mine-sweepers, a tramp or two, and a 
 destroyer lay in Cowes Roads. Farther out, w^here 
 the great waterways meet, a greyhound of the 
 Atlantic leaned somnolent upon the tide. It was 
 Aquita7iia, wearing the white dress of the Hospital 
 Service, the broad green riband* and red crosses 
 which marked her as non-belligerent ; yet she no 
 longer passed between France and England on her 
 errand of mercy. 
 
 The Hohenzollern and those maritime fencers of 
 Bremen who had interests in common had decreed 
 that she, with other hospital-ships, was fair game for 
 U-boat marksmen. They were obsessed by the 
 necessity of providing spectacular events for the 
 German nation, and Hamburg had no mind to find 
 mammoth British liners still upon the sea to challenge 
 Germany when peace came. Therefore Aquiiania 
 lay idle upon Southampton Water, swinging to the 
 tide. 
 
 Nor were yachtsmen to be seen in the streets of 
 Cowes, the winding old-world street which usually 
 
THE LADDER 35 
 
 is full of them. Young men wearing badges of exemp- 
 tion were plainly visible. They walked strung out 
 across the roads and pavements, chafFmg, smoking 
 cigarettes, indulging in horse-play ; but the yachts- 
 men, it appeared, were at work — pace Mr. Smillie and 
 all those who rave of inequality of service to-day. 
 
 The Medina, shimmering in a heat wave of unusual 
 intensity, provided the first touch of war discoverable 
 so far since leaving the mainland. Pneumatic riveters 
 chattered on plates which looked hot as the rivets. 
 Steering machines, bending, rolling, jobbling machines 
 added their quota to the general din, and again one 
 looked for yachts in this home of theirs and found them 
 gone. The breath of the great war had driven them 
 afield with their owners, the yachtsmen, taken them 
 out into North Sea and Mediterranean, while East 
 Cowes had reverted to the work which makes for 
 " barbarism " and was a miniature Glasgow in full 
 swing. Only the heat remained, the badged young 
 men, the wondrous blues and greens of the Channels ; 
 the old time town we had left, drowsing away the 
 hours which yet must pass ere peace is declared. 
 
 Elsewhere a raid was in progress. Bombs were 
 falling upon London roofs from Gothas which looked 
 like silver gnats against the sky. In the still serenity 
 of that day streets were emptying, windows were 
 being blown in, and here and there a direct hit was 
 registered on some small home of the people to 
 provide for were-wolf paeans and a flag-fluttering, 
 off-day in Berlin. 
 
 Osborne, when I reached it, knew nothing of these 
 things. It moved in another world, and in a moment 
 I moved with it. 
 
 Between three and four hundred boys were in 
 the playing-fields and its approaches, engaged in 
 one of the pastimes by the practice of which we are 
 
 D 2 
 
36 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 said to have won the battle of Waterloo. Here it 
 looked like a battle of flowers. All those boys clad 
 in flannels silhouetted against the green. Fourteen 
 matches were being played off directly under my 
 eye. Three to four hundred boys all working like 
 slaves to win a game played with sticks and a ball. 
 It was kaleidoscopic — dazzling. It was Homeric, too, 
 in that sun. It made one hot to watch them. Boys 
 were there who scampered and cheered ; boys who 
 cut and drove as A. G. Steel once could ; boys who 
 had the trick of standing as W. G. once stood, toe 
 raised, bat raised, ready to smite ; boys w^ho had not 
 quite mastered the trick of elbows up, and some who 
 looked like Spofforths, some who looked like Wad- 
 dington in the West ; others who sent down curly 
 ones — even as in the fields of men. 
 
 Sharp, staccato cries rose from amidst that crowd. 
 From time to time a cheer rang out, a batsman 
 marched back unbuttoning his gloves, very alert to 
 break into a run just when the cheers became dis- 
 concerting, aware that he had scored. Others who 
 made great haste to reach the pavilion, to get a 
 sweater and hide behind its folds, aware of the thing 
 ^^ we call a " duck." 
 
 A very human crowd, my masters, developing 
 muscle, alertness, character, even as on the playing- 
 fields of Eton, Rugby, Winchester, learning to give 
 and take and quite unharassed by the noise of guns 
 which boomed out there in France with a low mutter- 
 ing menace that shook the hills in the nearer counties. 
 
 In some inexplicable fashion the scene reminded 
 me of other fields — of a land brown and sun-scorched, 
 hedged on the east by Cordillera, on the west by 
 the Pacific, where boys never play and men are 
 wholly occupied in gathering sufficient gold to escape 
 it, coming down to its townlets, spending their money 
 
THE LADDER 37 
 
 in riotous living and returning again to pile up gold : 
 a dun land of reds and yellows and browns, of rock 
 and sand and spewed-up igneous strata where no 
 vegetation grows and the foothills resound to the 
 roar of a surf which is never still. A land of richness 
 and sterility, of trackless distance where snake and 
 scorpion thrive amid the stones, where the earth 
 quakes often, and I pray no cadet from Osborne 
 may go. 
 
 The orderly who accompanied me and waited while 
 I sat had spoken of the Good Hope and Monmouth — 
 I scarcely know why — and of Coronel, Lota, and the 
 island which lies beyond. Perhaps that set my 
 memory delving, for I saw the dim shadows of that 
 mountain barrier which hedged von Spec and in 
 the offing showed the silhouetted shapes which 
 belched fire and steel upon an enemy they could 
 not see. On the one hand the eternal sea, a gale 
 tearing it ; on the other the shadowed breakers 
 thrown back upon the eternal ranges, the hills veiled, 
 retiring before advancing night amidst the roar of 
 wind and guns. 
 
 Then eight bells sounded, and I glanced up, perhaps 
 to look for the watch which should muster^ and saw 
 instead the playing-fields, the radiant light, the boys 
 who struggled still with bats and balls preparing for 
 the game of life which thunders as we watch the ebb 
 and flow of battles. 
 
 The bell stood near, some old ship's bell, poised 
 nicely on gimbals. Above it was a mast with rigging, 
 an ensign hanging, still, the twin- wheels which once 
 steered a man-o'-war. There, too, at the edge of 
 the green a lifeboat stood incongruous on stocks, 
 and the mast threw shadow lines across it, lines 
 delicate as a spider's web. 
 
 Eight bells — the signal at which a watch is called, 
 
38 THE naval; SIDE 
 
 when hoarse voices shout " Tumble up, there ! " 
 " Show a leg 1 " and a drowsy crowd of men and 
 boys moves aft to meet a watch quite ready to drowse. 
 
 The bell at Osborne shines and is very still on its 
 perch. The mast which towers above it is white and 
 tapering, the rigging in splendid order, the rathnes 
 taut. There is a net spread to catch those who chmb 
 and may fall. The truck towers high overhead and 
 shines like the bell. The white ensign floats proudly 
 lazy against sheltering trees and bungalows ; but 
 out there where one day, the boys will go the bell is 
 often curtained in spray, often waist deep in seas 
 which roll upon it out of a horizon bleak and threaten- 
 ing disaster. The rigging is scantier, there are no 
 nets to catch those who trip, the truck draws arcs 
 across the sky and beneath it often is a tripod thing 
 like the legs of the floating crane which lifts the 
 ship's great guns and boilers. Up one of these legs 
 is a steel-railed ladder by which men reach the 
 fighting-top. Only the ensign is the same. That 
 droops and flutters, or stands out, stark against the 
 sky, precisely as at Osborne. The same flag, the 
 same symbol of Faith and Truth and Quality as 
 that before which, as boys, you stood at the salute 
 when it rose beside your playing-fields to kiss the 
 breeze. 
 
 And with eight bells came an officer and a proffered 
 cup of tea. I rose and took him at his word, and 
 when next I looked upon the fields the boys had 
 vanished and were ensconced in ColUngwood at tea. 
 
 Collingwood, named after the famous Admiral and 
 friend of Nelson, is, you will gather, the College mess, 
 and here in the long rectangular room some 530 cadets 
 were seated. Tea is the last meal of the day, and is 
 what a sailor would describe as a good, square meal. 
 I saw none who appeared unable to enjoy it. After 
 
THE LADDER 89 
 
 tea came half an hour devoted to " study," then 
 half an hour given over to " recreation," then 
 " prayers," and at 8.30 " retire." 
 
 Close upon that the commander goes his rounds, 
 the bugle sounds " lights out," and the Nelsons of 
 the future are at rest after a day which has been 
 passed, as the German Staff would say, " according 
 to plan." To one who is not of the German War 
 Staff, nor of the College staff, it seemed rather over- 
 planned. From reveille, when the boys ti;rn out at 
 seven o'clock, rush through the plunge-bath, a sort 
 of follow-my-leader, helter-skelter of naked infantry, 
 and double back, dry, scrub teeth, dress, wriggle 
 into jackets, say prayers and stand ready for the 
 " advance," is thirty minutes, and from that moment 
 until " lights out " every second has been accounted 
 for. It seems rather like water-tight compartments 
 to one accustomed less to rule than to be ruled by 
 opportunism, but on the other hand the result cannot 
 be overlooked. 
 
 I confess, however, to a predilection for rather 
 less plan with boys so young as these at Osborne — 
 to rather less of what I can only term strenuosity in 
 the curriculum. I confess, too, I liked better to 
 watch them winning runs for their side than on 
 those days when I passed through classrooms and 
 laboratories, hot and airless under the blue sky, to 
 see them win marks ; yet, in spite of these criticisms, 
 had I my life to begin again, I could pray for no 
 greater happiness than to start at Osborne. 
 
 If Osborne be the cradle of the British naval officer, 
 then is Dartmouth the concomitant nursery^ — the 
 additional space which follows when feet have learned 
 
40 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 the trick of balance. But to reach it is not easy. 
 Some fall by the way, as in other spheres. So, too, 
 when one emerges from Dartmouth to take his place 
 in the training cruiser all is not easy. It is complex. 
 Even now he may fall, as indeed he may any day 
 all through his life of service. But the environment 
 is fine, the atmosphere all that a boy may need if 
 he is to win the coveted white patch which con- 
 stitutes him at once an officer and, that curious 
 sobriquet, a snotty. 
 
 His life hitherto has been one of never-ending 
 enthusiasms, friendships, and stirring interest. He 
 has hobnobbed with his peers, perhaps with the son 
 of his King. Always before him have been enkindling 
 trophies and the deeds of our heroic dead. Always 
 the old customs, shibboleths if you will, the old 
 nomenclature. Thus the officers' rooms become 
 cabins, the recreation-hall the quarter-deck, the 
 gunrooms and dormitories all named individually, 
 as at Osborne, after the admirals and navigators 
 who, more than any others, made Great Britain 
 greater, searched out countries which to-day rank 
 as Dominions, and enabled us to fight a world-war 
 in company of our brothers from over-seas. 
 
 I have yet to njieet the naval officer who has a 
 harsh word either for Osborne or Dartmouth. Most 
 of them love the old life of the colleges, the memories 
 fostered by their terms, terms which remain theirs 
 through the years, as those who have faith in astrology 
 cling to the star whose influence is upon their lives. 
 Drake, Blake, Hawke, Nelson, Collingwood, Benbow, 
 Duncan are some of the honoured names that face 
 daily and hourly the plastic minds of those who 
 presently will be called upon to carry out the will 
 of our Sovereign Lord the King. The atmosphere 
 of Marryat is upon the boys as they work and play 
 
THE LADDER 41 
 
 within these classic halls. " Peter Simple," " Mid- 
 shipman Easy " are their friends ; they are acquainted 
 with the ships in which they served, frigates they 
 know were the eyes of the Fleet, precisely as to-day 
 cruisers and scouts are the vessels which go out 
 before the slower battleships and find the weight 
 of opposing squadrons. The two-decker and three- 
 decker have a certain fascination even in these days 
 of steam and turbine. The stay of their masts, the 
 hang of their sails, the sit of the towering hull as the 
 ship glides to her anchorage, all are beautiful and 
 in the highest sense uplifting to those who love the 
 sea, the smell of tar, and the stately passage of a 
 vessel under sail. 
 
 We do well to encourage tradition ; we do well 
 to encourage hero-worship- — for, to put it at its last 
 least influence, these are the factors that man our 
 Navy for us, make it safe for us to sleep peacefully 
 in our beds at night and permit us to forget with 
 a whole-souled blindness that either ships or sailors 
 are of our cosmos. 
 
 We do lip service occasionally to these men as 
 we did in Nelson's day, but think of them as strange, 
 amorphous beings whose modes are not ours. We 
 cheer to the echo when we are asked to help save 
 the souls of this queer tribe, and forget that they 
 have bodies as w^ell as souls — that in a world of 
 competition it is necessary to keep them clothed as 
 well as saved. 
 
 Nor do I think it is understood that these officers 
 who order events in " scraps " and fleet actions 
 which pin the Germans back behind their mine-fields 
 are not all endowed v/ith the wealth of Croesus. 
 Many of them live on their pay^ — which is micro- 
 scopic. A lieutenant must discharge his mess bifl, 
 his wine bill, and meet his share in the entertainment 
 
42 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 of guests, find himself in the costly uniforms and 
 equipage of his calling. He must do it, too, on lis. 
 a day. And he may be married. After four years' 
 service his pay leaps to 12^. — £219 a year. 
 
 Not much change there to rattle. One has heard 
 of artisans who earn more and still pay no income 
 tax. But the lieutenant who fights our battles for 
 us rarely considers these factors. He has his tradi- 
 tions. Beyond his two stripes are three and four ; 
 beyond that again is the broad band of an admiral 
 with other bands above it. There was a day when 
 Nelson was lieutenant, but he died C. in C. of the 
 Mediterranean Fleet and died a man. I would add 
 to the beatitudes one to cover tradition, hero-worship, 
 whatsoever you will of unpracticality, so that it 
 covered the headiness which carries men smiling to 
 their ultimate heaven. 
 
 Joss, you know* is a great power at sea even in 
 the days of mammoth battleships. The lower deck 
 calls it luck, sometimes with an adjective prefix ; 
 the ward-room and gunroom speak of Joss. 
 
 The commander of a certain Dreadnought as \ye 
 came back from battle practice in the North Sea 
 put it in this way — Joss evidently in a balancing 
 mood :• — 
 
 '' I came out of the Twirler, shall we say, at the 
 beginning of 1915, just when things were shaping 
 for liveliness. They gave me the other half -stripe 
 and presently I came here. She was building then. 
 I helped to get a bit more head-room for the mat'loes 
 on the lower deck. I would like to put some of those 
 draftsmen down there for a month and then examine 
 them for dyspepsia, curvature and the sins of their 
 
THE LADDER 43 
 
 fathers. It would have res^lts ! " (He was wan- 
 dering, but so were we. He slashed an unoffending 
 fist.) ''They call that Joss. But it isn't. It's 
 stupidity. They seem to consider that the mat'loes 
 glide about on their bellies like snakes ; but they 
 don't . . . and it isn't Joss when they have to. 
 It's draftsmen . . . some people call them designers 
 — ^well, it depends on how you read that term. But 
 take my word for it, it isn't Joss." 
 
 I looked into the grey mist which hemmed us so 
 that our next astern was a shadowy wraith with a 
 white moustache moving in our wake. 
 
 " But it was Joss when I got promotion and came 
 out of the Twirler,^^ he added and paused. 
 
 " How ? " I questioned. 
 
 " Well — she went out and three days later touched 
 a mine and went up. Only two came in from her 
 and the commander was not one of them." 
 
 " If it was Joss for you," I said at this, " it was 
 not for him." 
 
 He halted and stared into the driving mist. 
 
 " Who knows ? " he asked. "It is a clean death. 
 One may do worse than die in the defence of one's 
 country. It may have been his relief — end of the 
 watch, you know. Somebody controls these things 
 ... not a sparrow falleth to the ground but our 
 Father Who is in Heaven seeth it." (He looked at 
 me, grave eyes beneath the oak-leaf gold of his peak.) 
 " I like to think there is something behind, some 
 force somewhere which regulates events, don't you ? 
 It was not my turn — it was his ; and he was a fjood 
 boy." 
 
 Then with a swift twinkle he went on : " But this 
 is Joss, if you like. It happened long ago — before 
 the war, when I was stationed at Gib. You remember 
 when that P. & O. got ashore on the Morocco coast 
 
44 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 with the Duke [of [Fife on board j? Well, I 
 was in one of the ships that raced out to do Hfeboat 
 work, and had the kick to be one of the first two to 
 pick up the wreck. We were going all out, you may 
 be sure, a beast of a sea running, and I saw myself 
 mentioned in dispatches for having saved some of 
 the Royal party at the very least . . . for I was 
 the leading boat, you see. It might have meant 
 anything to me . . . anything under the sun — but 
 it didn't." 
 
 " Why ? " I questioned, seeing he paused. 
 
 " That's where Joss comes in," he tossed out. 
 " Something happened to my boat, so No. 2 cut in 
 and took my place before I could make up lost ground. 
 There was an admiral in her stern sheets too, and 
 of course it was his day." 
 
 '' Hard luck," I suggested, not quite sure which 
 term to use. 
 
 " Rather. But he was a good sort . . . saw he 
 had wiped my eye and sent to tell me to call on him. 
 I went, you may be sure. ... He had the Nelson 
 trick of sympathy, which means so much to a 
 junior ..." 
 
 The commander sucked at his pipe ; I sucked at 
 mine. It seemed absurd to say anything when 
 obviously he held all the trumps. " He was a good 
 sort," he reiterated, " and would have done the 
 square thing for me. He said he had botched my 
 hand, that the kudos ought to be mine as I had been 
 the man to spot the wreck. He said he would put 
 the matter right for me when he reached home . . . 
 it would be a great thing for a young officer to get 
 in touch with the Duke ; but for him — ' an old fogey ' 
 he called himself — nothing mattered. He would do 
 his best to see I got the pull. ..." 
 
 And here again my friend became engrossed with 
 
THE LADDER 45 
 
 his pipe. I refused to let him off. " Jove ! " I said, 
 " he was a white man. Well — what happened ? " 
 He still fumbled with his pipe ; but he answered : 
 " That's where Joss comes in. He started for 
 
 home ; but he didn't fetch^ You see — er — as a 
 
 matter of fact he pegged out on his way up Channel." 
 
 But there is no Joss about promotion. That comes 
 of seniority alone. 
 
 Under the existing regulation, known as Fisher's 
 Scheme, all officers pass through Osborne and Dart- 
 mouth on a common footing as cadets. They work 
 in the same classes, whether for navigation and 
 general education or at the bench in the engineering 
 workshops. This system is continued, too, when at 
 the end of four years they go to sea in the training 
 cruiser. Indeed, it is not until the cadet has become 
 a lieutenant that he must choose which branch of 
 the Service is to be his. 
 
 Then he must specialise either in navigation, 
 gunnery, or torpedo, in submarine or R.N.A.S. ; 
 in destroyers, physical training, engineering, or 
 remain a General Service lieutenant. Perhaps 60 per 
 cent, decide to specialise, and of them a certain 
 number become ultra-specialists and are known, as 
 dagger-men from the symbol which is placed against 
 their names. 
 
 It is at this stage, under the scheme, that the 
 executive officer breaks away from the rest. He 
 becomes a specialist, perhaps a dagger-man, reaches 
 commander's rank as a specialist, and from thence 
 passes by seniority to captain and finally to admiral. 
 
 As commander an officer has full control of the 
 work of his ship. It is he who must carry into effect 
 
46 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 all orders issued by his captain. He must arrange 
 for landing parties, boating, and the order of the day. 
 It is he v/ho is responsible for the smooth process of 
 coaling ship, sending for stores, cleaning and painting 
 ship. Stowage of boats, mooring and unmooring, 
 entertainments, and a thousand concomitant burdens 
 are on his shoulders day and night for the whole 
 period his ship is in commission. 
 
 He is the senior officer of the wardroom mess, 
 wears three full stripes with a curl, to denote the 
 military branch, above it. He is president of the 
 mess, the officer who calls upon " Mr. Vice " when 
 he proposes the health of the King. He is a martinet, 
 very sure of himself and of his powers, a man "among 
 men, the father of those who are his juniors or are 
 in trouble, and their uncompromising critic when 
 criticism is essential. He is also their companion 
 at those smoke-room sing-songs which help to break 
 the monotony of life at sea. 
 
 To come from the activities and companionship 
 of this rank to the seclusion and dignity of a captain 
 must be one of the greatest drawbacks to promotion. 
 Hitherto since he came afloat he has been the comrade 
 and latterly the councillor of the gunroom and ward- 
 room ; but when he wears four stripes instead of 
 three he surrenders all that^ — lives in larger cabins, 
 eats his meals and lives his life alone. 
 
 In harbour he has his compensations, his friends, 
 and his consultative chats with the admiral ; for 
 the rest he has moved from the position of one whose 
 business it is so to dovetail events that one does 
 not impinge upon the other. He has become the 
 organiser and plotter of evolutions which others 
 must carry out. He has become the brain of his ship, 
 and although occasionally he visits the wardroom, 
 listens to a song, chats, or glances through an illus- 
 
THE LADDER 47 
 
 trated paper and smokes as the others do, he has an 
 air of reserve, one might call it preoccupation, which 
 is rarely seen in the faces of his officers. 
 
 There is no formality in these visits. The officers 
 '* carry on " precisely as if he were in his cabin. 
 There is none of that offensive servility between 
 juniors and seniors that one finds elsewhere. They 
 take their stand as men do who have had a common 
 education, who know how to acknowledge seniority, 
 either of age or rank, without confusion. A middy 
 will chaff with you and give you points in riposte, 
 but he will not kow-tow either to your age or to 
 your rank, although he will acknowledge both. 
 Indeed, I have met young officers in all branches of 
 the Service who could lord it quite serenely as host, 
 even on a pinch, as president of their mess, and remain 
 as calmly expert as a society woman at that ordeal 
 we term an "at home." I know no higher praise. 
 
 It seems, then^ that when a commander comes away 
 from all this and is invested with the isolation of a 
 command which no longer has tangible aids, he 
 must suffer in the Navy even more than when he 
 gets a similar step in the Merchant Service. It is 
 at this stage that the habits formed by tradition and 
 long service are resolved and a man's character is 
 made plain. If you have character, nothing very 
 much matters. If you have none and happen on 
 the rank of captain or admiral, you were better 
 dead. 
 
 Villeneuve, Admiral of France, opponent of Nelson, 
 seems to have been such a man. On his escape from 
 the blockading squadron off Toulon he reached the 
 West Indies and could have wrecked us there ; but 
 although he was " three weeks in the West Indies 
 before Nelson arrived, in that time he neither accom- 
 plished nor undertook anything but the recapture 
 
48 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 of Diamond Rock, a precipitous islet off the south 
 end of Martinique, which the British had held for 
 some time." * 
 
 Sir Robert Calder seems to have been a British 
 replica of similar weight. Faced with the chance for 
 which Nelson had waited two years and twice crossed 
 the Atlantic, he managed in a futile way to meet, 
 fight, and lose Villeneuve when by all the tenets it 
 w^as essential not only to beat him, but never to 
 lose touch. 
 
 The French admiral was bound to a rendezvous 
 to form a junction with the Spanish fleet. It was 
 part of the plan which Napoleon had formed when 
 engaged upon the Boulogne adventure. The possi- 
 bility of invasion and the proximity of the Corsican 
 had together so bemused the people of these islands 
 that nothing but a fight in which we were clearly 
 the victor could hearten the nation or minimise the 
 risk of invasion. Yet Calder allowed the Frenchman 
 to get away to his rendezvous at a moment when 
 Nelson with fewer ships was eating his heart out to 
 be at him. 
 
 If character, then, is a quality essential in a captain, 
 it is even more necessary in the rank which is above 
 it. A captain commands one ship, a rear-admiral 
 a squadron. A captain takes his orders from the 
 flagship, but a vice-admiral and an admiral command 
 a fleet — that is to say, a combination of squadrons 
 with all the scouts, cruisers, destroyers, and sub- 
 marines which go to make each unit. 
 
 A captain, you understand, still has some one to 
 whom he looks for orders and advice, but an admiral 
 has none. He acts on his own initiative. He must 
 verify or discard the crumbs which daily and hourly 
 are flung to him. He must sift men's words, analyse 
 
 ♦ Mahan, " Life of Nelson," vol. ii., p. 298. 
 
THE LADDER 49 
 
 motives, search through blank walls for signs of 
 design. Rumour is his handmaiden ; but he dare 
 not trust her. Truth remains hidden in her well, 
 dexterous in evasion* as men with a conscience. He 
 may rarely move on the spur of the moment, because 
 without co-ordination his plan may miscarry. He 
 must be ready to spring and equally ready to lie 
 down. He must be that strange thing in man, a 
 mixture of audacity and caution. 
 
 Few can attain these heights ; fewer hold them 
 when attained. As it is more difficult to breathe the 
 higher you mount, so it is the more difficult to see 
 the farther you remove from the crowd. For a man's 
 progress in these days of wireless messages is not 
 unhampered by the fact that he is linked to Whitehall. 
 Whitehall, too, is made fussy by jangle which is 
 not of sailors ; by questions in the House ; by rulers 
 who are at sea, alike in their office and their meta- 
 phors. It all comes of the demand to know, offhand, 
 what has been done, what is being done, what is 
 going to be done by an island nation which for years 
 refused to prepare for the day which has come. 
 
 Nelson moved alone and could eat his heart out 
 over the silence with which he was surrounded. For 
 weeks he would be without news of Whitehall, for 
 weeks be entirely reliant on what one of his too few 
 frigates could glean ; but an admiral of to-day is 
 in no danger of that. Rather is he like to be confused 
 by the multiplicity of voices all quacking in different 
 keys ; by the buzzing wires, the wireless interludes, 
 the signals made, even as of old, by the man who 
 knows nothing of signals, questions asked by men 
 whose object is so hid that one is compelled to con- 
 sider whether it be a matter of national importance 
 or a pushing of the personal equation, individual-cwm- 
 party aims. 
 
50 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 One hears too much of the push and prise of men 
 who are behind the scenes in this war — men who are 
 powerful, whom it is wise not to offend. One would 
 like to hear less of it ; more of restraint ; a finer 
 recognition of the integrity and calm resolve of 
 those who are in touch with events — who are not 
 likely to burk the issue nor to scamper like frightened 
 ducks before the wild beasts of the sea sent by the 
 Reise Kaiser. 
 
 At the head of them all is the admiral, a man who 
 once was on the Britannia and has trod the long path 
 which brings him finally to command. 
 
 Sometimes his place is on the flagship, sometimes 
 in a rather bare room before a desk littered with 
 papers, the walls which hem him from the world 
 hung with charts and plans crossed by squares of 
 red and blue ink and minute squadrons at work 
 upon them. Here are the shoals and lightships, the 
 tracks and distances, the depths of water and height of 
 land. Here the mine-fields, there the roads by which 
 it is possible to cross them, there the blocked enemy 
 strongholds, enemy aerodromes, submarine centres, 
 and the misty backwaters of the Frisian Islands. 
 
 One sees the narrowing Channel which leads to 
 Dover Straits, a little circle which gives to scale the 
 arc of visibility on a dark, clear night — the arc, that 
 is to say, within which it is possible to discover an 
 unlighted craft at night. It is very small, less than 
 a mile in diameter ; but on hazy nights, or in rain, 
 fog or falling snow, the arc becomes microscopic. You 
 see a vessel only when you are nearly in contact with 
 her, when only by the exercise of your skill as a 
 seaman is it possible to avoid collision. 
 
 Remember, too, that vessels brought suddenly in 
 contact with each other are travelling often at the 
 speed of trains ; that the raider comes hell for leather, 
 
THE LADDER 51 
 
 perhaps at forty miles an hour, knows the exact 
 position and number of his squadron, while the 
 defender must first discover who it is that approaches 
 and must hold fi.re until he knows. 
 
 All odds are with the raider flotillas, precisely as 
 all odds are with the raiders by air. Now and again 
 it is possible to sight them and make sure, as was 
 the case in the magnificent action of the Broke and 
 Swift ; but it is not always wise to turn and ram, 
 or open fire on the hazy semblance of a squadron, 
 as Rodjesvensky learned in the early days of that 
 cruise a outrance which ended at Tushimo. 
 
 The enemy bent on a raid, on an evolution, on 
 what you will of an offensive, knows what is his 
 objective ; the defence can only guess. Nelson after 
 two weary years of promenading up and down before 
 Toulon waiting for the French fleet under Latouche- 
 Treville to come out, was unable to catch him in the 
 act. Word came to him that the fleet had sailed, 
 but not whither. Nelson beat up and down in vain 
 attempts ^o find that fleet, sailed for Egypt, searched 
 the Eastern Mediterranean, came back, looked in 
 at Gibraltar, and finally discovered that weeks ago 
 Treville has passed out of the straits, bound, as 
 Nelson surmised^ — still guess-work, you perceive — to 
 the West Indies. 
 
 , So with an admiral of the blockading squadrons 
 to-day. He must guess. The only difference is that 
 he is in touch with a plethora of opinions, suppositions, 
 and must sit at his desk or march the deck of his 
 flagship while making coherence of them. 
 
 In Nelson's day the fleets he commanded were 
 usually short of frigates, the fast vessels on which 
 he relied to bring him news. On the outbreak of 
 war between England and Germany the battle fleets > 
 were short of cruisers and destroyers. 
 
52 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 " I want thirty destroyers," said an admiral to 
 me not long ago, " strung out in line to guard that 
 passage ; but I haven't got them. In addition I 
 should require vessels to relieve them and vessels 
 to replace those which are damaged ; I have neither." 
 
 That is a matter for the delectation of the nation 
 and its rulers ; yet, had the Navy been given a free 
 hand at the beginning of the war, the war would 
 have ended in two years. It had not that free hand. 
 The blockade was a farce from the beginning, the 
 Navy unable to move as it would. 
 
 A little while ago a general is said to have remarked 
 that " he hoped the Army would win the war before 
 the Navy succeeded in losing it." 
 
 That is a quip, and quips neither win nor lose 
 wars. They are part of the equipment of the three 
 P's, and should not be repeated broadcast for igno- 
 rance to batten upon. 
 
 If the Army had held the Belgian coast instead of 
 marching south to aid the French, the Germans 
 would not have been able to dig themselves in, as 
 the saying goes. Nor would the Navy have been 
 offered the silly task of digging them out. That was 
 a mistake — perhaps unpreventable with the force at 
 our disposal — of the Army. The Army should 
 remember it when it rails at the impossible conditions 
 it, in common with the nation, created for the Navyi 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 HIS majesty's bluejackets 
 
 Sailors in the Making, — The Lower Deck, — The Gun 
 
 Turret. 
 
 " A SAILOR is a person who sails in, or navigates, 
 a ship ; if that does not cover it, you may call him 
 a seaman." 
 
 That is the definition supplied by those who 
 administer through the medium of a dictionary the 
 boiled-down knowledge of ages in an age when sail 
 has nearly vanished from the seas. 
 
 In the Navy the man is known as a " bluejacket " 
 by those who march with prunes and prism for guide, 
 as a " mat'loe " or " flat-foot " if you take his own 
 version, as the " handyman " if you are inclined to 
 give him his due. But if you wera to ask him to 
 sail the leviathan whose quarterdeck he salutes, or 
 to tell you something of navigation, he would reply 
 in the fashion of all those who scent sarcasm : " Garn ! 
 Oo are you gettin' at ? " And if you persisted and 
 proved yourself worthy his confidence, he might 
 add : " Twenty-five knots is about our mark, an' 
 w'en we navigate we do it so as to cop Fritz w'en 
 ee's off the spot," which is not precisely what he means 
 to infer. 
 
 As a matter of fact it is very difficult to get behind 
 the screen which sailors erect when in contact with 
 tweeds and broadcloth. He is not quite certain of 
 your attitude. He has been accustomed to your 
 frowns rather than to your smiles. You belong in 
 
54 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 consequence to a tribe who are " sharks " or " shore- 
 loafers," he is not sure which, persons who know 
 nothing of ships and care less. 
 
 The popular feeling in pre-war daj^s, to our dis- 
 grace be it said, was that we preferred to avoid him. 
 If he came into a railway carriage where we were, 
 we hastened to find another. If he entered a bar 
 where we were enjoying our whisky peg, he was 
 invited to go the other side of the screen or outside. 
 We refused in the smug days of peace and plenty to 
 rub shoulders with uniform when by any chance 
 we could avoid it. Sailors were people who had not 
 the common sense to stay on dry land. Dr. Johnson's 
 opinion of sailors is well known. We seem to have 
 accepted it together with Voltaire's quip about 
 " murderers in red clothes and hats two feet high " 
 at a gulp. And in later days the bluejacket was the 
 " common sailor " of educated diction, even as his 
 brother was the " common soldier." 
 
 But now, when all men worthy the name who have 
 youth on their side are either sailors or soldiers, we 
 have discovered a new and rather urgent kinship 
 for uniform, and have ventured sometimes to sing 
 its praise in the blatant fashion of our day. " Our 
 boys," we hear them called, " our boys in blue " or 
 '' in khaki," which is simple offence become com- 
 pound. To the plain man this savours somewhat of 
 death-bed repentance, of your joy at seeing a police- 
 man when an enemy has you by the throat. 
 
 The sailor scents patronage in these effusions. He 
 is not looking for endearments because lie stood up 
 to Fritz when Fritz was cornered and compelled to 
 take a hammering. He is concerned for his pal, his 
 '' raggie," as before, knows what is due to the white 
 ensign that floats over him, and would like to see 
 Fritz come out to take the dressing he has earned. 
 
HIS MAJESTY'S BLUEJACKETS 55 
 
 even as Villeneuve came out of Toulon to face Nelson 
 and Trafalgar. > 
 
 We know so little of him that he is nearly as strange 
 to us as in those days when he was haled to the 
 Fleet by means of the press gang. We understand 
 him, indeed, no better than we understood his 
 brother of the First Seven Divisions, whom at length 
 we have admitted to the temple while barring the 
 door on the Navy. 
 
 Why these things are is a mystery which some 
 day the historian will explain in more or less lucid 
 phrasing. He may perhaps enlighten us, too, on our 
 attitude to sailors generally, whether of the Navy 
 or of the Merchant Service ; why we hold aloof from 
 them, speak of them in inverted commas, as it were, 
 and seem so curiously to forget, in time of peace, 
 that without them we could not exist as a nation, 
 free or controlled. 
 
 Yet he is worth knowing. 
 
 He is the man who runs barefoot on a battleship's 
 deck, works her guns, mans a pinnace and goes out 
 under shell fire to pick up enemies who otherwise 
 would drown ; who paints, polishes, scrubs, growls 
 and moves to action stations without quaking. 
 Whom sometimes we see on the parade with a girl 
 on his arm, or hurrying with a fat black bag to 
 entrain for his base. He smokes a fag in these days 
 instead of a pipe ; but his eyes are steady in spite of 
 the mines and submarines which for long months 
 are the sole representatives of that enemy he awaits, 
 and in spite of the tears in the eyes of those who 
 accompany him and must say good-bye. 
 
 He has a great reverence for women, notwith- 
 standing the lessons women through the ages have 
 taught him. He is, perhaps, a little self-conscious ; 
 but he loves kiddies as he loves dogs, or Port Said 
 
56 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 donkeys, horses, anything he can pet. He swears 
 by a certain grey African parrot he has trained to 
 be uncannily wise, or by the marmoset he picked 
 up during his last commission in the East, and he 
 spends hours perfecting its tricks that it may be well 
 loved by the girl for whom it is destined. 
 
 He is particular about his rig, as he calls it. His 
 trousers must have the correct degree of buttock 
 tightness, the prescribed flow over his instep. His 
 collar must be just so deep, his black silk handker- 
 chief knotted as it has been knotted since Nelson 
 joined his brothers in > Valhalla. But the old reefer 
 has gone the way of the queue, and in its place is 
 a semi-military garment more in keeping with the 
 needs of the day, less trim though, less characteristic 
 of the sailor than any part of his outfit. 
 
 He endures buffets with a stoicism that leaves 
 the rest of us staring, hears orders which may put 
 him in touch with the red flame of battle, and obeys 
 as he obeyed his instructors at Chatham, Shotley, 
 Portsmouth, or any of those centres which milled 
 him as a boy. The secret of his endurance, his won- 
 derful adaptability, is that he was caught young, 
 as we say, and taken into the Navy at that difficult 
 hour when the school board had released him as 
 finished. Just then he was ripe for adventure in 
 any known field — ripe for heroism or stupidity ; ripe 
 for apprenticeship to some struggling tradesman 
 who would set him on a cycle too high for his reach, 
 load him and strain him, work him till the soul was 
 dead in him . . . ; or, by chance, ripe to stagnate 
 as a caddie on Merrie England's green links. 
 
 Instead, or perhaps after an interval given over 
 to these adventures, a training ship or a naval estab- 
 lishment got hold of him. At Shotley and Whale 
 Island you may see him to-day keen at his new job 
 
HIS MAJESTY'S BLUEJACKETS 57 
 
 and learning bit by bit, fact by fact, the formulae of 
 battle. You will find him smart, not slouching, keen, 
 not bored, alert on the drill-ground, working hard 
 on his playing-fields ; his eyes set on the lessons he 
 is learning of what men can do, of what John Travers 
 Cornwall did, and blind to the pittance which will be 
 his as a seaman. You will see him double as he 
 moves from classroom to classroom, double when 
 he is sent on a message, double in company forma- 
 tion when he goes to his messroom ; and, if you are 
 interested or something of a psychologist, you can 
 march round the tables and read what you will of 
 his attitude towards dinner or tea, or, obliquely, 
 towards his messmates and matee. 
 
 I would not have you take it for granted that the 
 system is sans peur et sans reproche, except in com- 
 parison with the system he has escaped. There are 
 drawbacks to camp life, to barrack life, training-ship 
 life ; but if you set either of them against the heart- 
 break and the Pentecostal iniquity of great towns, 
 whence largely he is enlisted, the Establishments have 
 it without a dissentient voice. 
 
 There is another view of him which shows his 
 versatility and the new atmosphere which surrounds 
 him when off duty. Chance put me in touch with 
 it on a scorching Sunday afternoon at Southsea. It 
 was too hot to walk or to do anything but lounge. 
 So I entered the turnstile, found a seat in the Concert- 
 hall and sat. A song was in progress, and the singer 
 discanting on '' The Garden of Roses," or something 
 akin to it, in a quavery, wiggle-waggle voice which 
 troubled me. The lady was dressed for a ball and 
 wore a zouave which an enemy had designed ; but 
 she gained an encore because of the power of the 
 final high note and because the audience demanded 
 it. So she came on again, wavered through something 
 
58 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 new — perhaps of the man among the roses, or the 
 thorn^ — wavered to the end, wavered flat, and vanished. 
 She might have been discanting on the rules of 
 prosody. 
 
 To inspire hope the orchestra gave us " Tales of 
 Hoffman " and a 'cello solo with harp accompaniment 
 which the hall decided to praise without stint. And 
 then there appeared on the platform a bluejacket 
 with a song '' Nirvana," which brought down the 
 house, and I confess to a thrill. It was very spon- 
 taneous. There were no shakes, no frills, only a fine 
 voice, perfect enunciation and, what is unusual, soul. 
 
 I rubbed my eyes. Who was it ? I had never 
 heard of him. He stood there, just a bluejacket 
 without an atom of self-consciousness, accepting the 
 plaudits for a love-song perfectly rendered. The 
 house roared applause. It refused to acknowledge 
 the orchestra or its leader. The bluejacket returned 
 twice, each time with a fresh song, and each time 
 the audience refused to listen to others. It had ears 
 for this sailor alone. Again he came back. He did 
 not seem flustered, but stood square to the hall while 
 the khaki-clad accompanist struck the first chord 
 of " Because." 
 
 A veritable cry ran through the audience. I never 
 Iieard anything like it. It was nearly a sob, and 
 there before us was our bluejacket at ease as on the 
 lower deck. No shifting of feet, no question of where 
 to put his hands, no hesitation about where to come 
 in. He was there to sing and he sang. Every word 
 told, there was no gesture, no working up of effect, 
 just simplicity, and behind it the soul of the singer. 
 You know how the song goes, the aspiration of it, 
 the continuity, and can guess the effect on an audience 
 already strung taut. It was immense. Magnetic is 
 the word, yet the singer had no frills. 
 
HIS MAJESTY'S BLUEJACKETS 59 
 
 That, no doubt, was an exceptional case. It seemed 
 difficult to remember that this lad — he looked little 
 more — was on service, risking his life that we may 
 live — perhaps a leading torpedo-man or cook of the 
 mess. The hall seemed to know him ; but that he 
 was able to touch sailors and soldiers was equally 
 plain ; that sentiment has it, hands down, with your 
 bluejackets, more than ever established. 
 
 Portsmouth exuded sailors at every pore during 
 the hot days of my visit. In the main street, which 
 was thronged on path and roadway, on the Hard, on 
 the piers, the cars, the slums, the stewpans of a too 
 crowded warren, on the ferries, on the cobbles of the 
 great dockyard — everywhere were the sailors and 
 their kin. I think there must be a greater number 
 of sailors to the acre in Portsmouth and its environs 
 than in any other seaport of Great Britain, and, for 
 their sakes and the sake of their brothers in khaki, 
 I should like to sweep the whole town out from behind 
 the Hard into the sea (leaving only the barracks and 
 parks), bring back the cleansed material, and set it 
 up on a new plan. I should like to choose my plan, 
 and would give preference to the one which would 
 provide light and air and some modicum of quiet in 
 place of the tangle which exists. 
 
 The lower deck, if one may so call it, of a monitor 
 engaged in pounding an enemy who is invisible except 
 to the seaplanes scudding overhead, is scarcely the 
 place where one expects to meet optimism tinged 
 with the fatalism of the East, yet there one heard it 
 on the lips of a bluejacket. 
 
 It was a brilliant day, opaline, brisk, but so still 
 that the queer ship stood revealed in shadow, line 
 
60 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 beyond line, even to her greyness, on the sleeping 
 waters of the harbour. Her odd shape was attenuated, 
 her tripod mast and fighting-top carried far over 
 to the ship next abeam, and the men, engaged in 
 sponging out H.A. guns, showed in their white rig 
 as upon a mirror. Even the range-finder was there, 
 drawn out, thin, like a rod. 
 
 Ten minutes ago we had fired our last shot at the 
 raiders who had broken cover with a sample of their 
 Sunday morning hate. The din of anti-aircraft 
 guns and the crash of bombs falling on the town and 
 harbour was over, perhaps for the day. Men had 
 been busy with the guns ; busy with bets which 
 failed, and entranced by the small whorls of white 
 smoke germinating in the blue ; busy watching the 
 silver- winged midges which flashed overhead, listening 
 to the gnat-like drone of their engines which made 
 a background for the crashes, spitting far, far beneath ; 
 and now our sea-planes were in chase. 
 
 What would happen up there in the dazzling sun- 
 shine ? Would Briton or Hun triumph ? Icarus-like 
 our enemies had flashed over sea, felt the heat of our 
 fire and now were away, perhaps to reach their lines 
 unscorched, perhaps to oscillate slowly to the sea 
 which waited, smiling, to quench the flame which 
 had touched them. Who of us all knew ? No one. 
 To-morrow, it may be, or a week hence, a note of 
 that flight would appear in dry type — a note which 
 might be of victory tempered with pain. 
 
 The monitor had no casualties, as the phrase goes, 
 the town a few ; but at less than a cable's length 
 from the ship's side the bridge of a mine-sweeper 
 was in ruins. 
 
 A bomb had made a direct hit here, yet the mine- 
 sweeper still threw a tremulous shadow upon the 
 sea, still coquetted with the little rills which entered 
 
HIS MAJESTY'S BLUEJACKETS 61 
 
 the harbour from the sea. Skipper and crew were 
 clustered examining the wreckage. The bomb had 
 carried a full load of T.N.T., yet its weight alone 
 had done the damage. A sailor, no longer on a plat- 
 form working high-angle guns, drew the attention 
 of his friend to these facts as they leaned over the 
 rail ,watching. 
 
 '' Their number wasn't up," said the man with 
 the definition of an expert. " No one goes out before 
 it is hoisted. That proves it." 
 
 No. 1 demurred. He was less sure, the day very 
 beautiful. Nor did he point out, as he might, the 
 fatalism dormant in this statement. 
 
 " And my number isn't up," his pal resumed, 
 " nor yours either . . . nor any of us who stood 
 near that gun . . . else she would have burst and 
 blown us all to Jiminy." 
 
 He referred to the bomb, which even now was 
 being moved by experts who handled it with the 
 caution of full knowledge. 
 
 " Then I am safe for the trip," No. 1 laughed ; 
 " and you are safe too." 
 
 " Safe as houses," said the man ; then added : 
 " Of course, you can never tell when your number 
 is hoisted. It may go up any minute, and," he closed 
 irrelevantly, '' she's a daisy in a beam sea." 
 
 '' It looks like fine weather," the other suggested, 
 " doesn't it ? " 
 
 ''It is due," said his friend. " Overdue. Too 
 much sun. A bit foxy out there," he jerked to 
 indicate the North Sea. " Last night we nearly rolled 
 the soul-case out of us . . . but, we potted some 
 Fritz." 
 
 An hour later the monitor sailed to experiment. 
 The cliffs of England are beautiful in all lights ; 
 
62 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 but never so beautiful as when you leave them 
 shimmering against the emerald and blue streaks 
 which front them, and go forth to search the un- 
 known. 
 
 The coast of Flanders is still terra incognita to the 
 ships which would search out emplacements and 
 peer amidst the dunes for objectives — still the lying- 
 in-wait ground of U-boats, in a track which monitors 
 must pass before they gain the comparative safety 
 of the shoals. But men who sail in our defence take 
 these things for granted. Time was when the U-boat 
 inspired nervousness, when the strongest thrilled at 
 the notion of bemg jerked into eternity by a thing 
 so uncanny. A ship collapses, you understand, as 
 swiftly and completely as a bull when the matadore's 
 knife touches his spinal column. Waiting for a 
 coup de grace so sudden and overwhelming is very 
 like waiting for bombs in an air-raid. Man in these 
 circumstances must seek a hole and burrow like a 
 rabbit ; but there are no holes or dug-outs on a 
 ship's deck. The submarine may not have been 
 seen or heard. An aeroplane is an atom of gossamer, 
 balanced perhaps 15,000 feet overhead, giving out 
 the song of a mosquito as warning. The next bomb 
 may fall on your house ; you feel it coming, cold 
 messengers astir down your back ; so with the 
 torpedo which may or may not have been launched 
 at your ship, which may or may not be on its way 
 to scatter you, ship and crew, in an instant of time. 
 
 In spite of these things, or perhaps because of 
 them, a rendezvous had been made, and now three 
 monitors crept seaward from Margate Elbow, and 
 about them moved a screen of destroyers. 
 
 When the North Sea is at its best, sunlit, apeing 
 the greater oceans, you may expect a new spell 
 of the devil that is in it. When it is not white with 
 
HIS MAJESTY'S BLUEJACKETS 63 
 
 mist it is yellow, jaundiced with the sand which boils 
 up from the bottom ; when it is neither white nor 
 yellow it is black, hitting at you with bitter winds, 
 and the horizon has narrowed down to a smoke ring 
 which climbs towards the zenith, sinks, climbs again, 
 sinks, shuts in like a trap. 
 
 To-day it was white in patches, despite the blue 
 of the English scene. By-and-by it would be white 
 all over, and the opportunity for which men had 
 waited banished to the Kalends. 
 
 The ships steamed at their best speed, a trio of 
 comical design, while destroyers moved about them, 
 imps of the sea at full tilt — because, when you 
 consider it, slow ships invite attack. 
 
 Foam mounted like rolling hills in the wake of 
 these imps, foam clustered shining at their bows ; 
 between was a millrace, hollowed out, which swept 
 the side hissing. Helter-skelter they sped, a zigzag 
 centre-piece their loadstone — round and about like 
 merry children, the whole white world their play- 
 ground. Sometimes flags flicked out on bowed 
 halyards to decorate them ; sometimes the arms 
 of semaphores wagged solemn advice from seniors 
 grown cautious with years. Under that sparkling 
 sun they seemed to be engaged upon some criss-cross 
 pastime, threading a maze at follow-my-leader, 
 careening, dipping at the bidding of a rudder. 
 
 So they moved in the glare till they came to the 
 shoals, folded into a screen, . husbanded fuel, and 
 listened while the admiral sent back messages, known 
 to the Navy as W/T, announcing progress. 
 
 Then out of the haze which wrapped the west 
 came giant seaplanes which dropped to the surface 
 and taxied alongside. 
 
 The crew were standing easy, the seaplanes hissing 
 like geese at the ships. 
 
64 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 " Hardly necessary to go in yet, sir ? " the com- 
 mander hailed. 
 
 The officer of the watch consulted his captain and 
 returned. 
 
 " The answer is in the negative," he shouted, with 
 a hint at badinage. 
 
 " Right-o ! " came back in the sing-song of youth ; 
 then with a twist, " Arising out of that answer, sir, 
 I beg to ask . . ." 
 
 *' Oh, dry up. Rivers. You aren't there yet." 
 
 '' Please God I never will be," quoth Rivers. 
 " Hallelujah ! " He switched off and dropped astern, 
 waving to his observer. 
 
 The two men leaned over the rail watching. The 
 by-play of political phrasing was not Greek to these 
 two. They knew every trick and turn of the game 
 as well as they knew seaplane history. They knew, 
 too, of the strike in full sv/ing among these in the 
 west. 
 
 " Handy as a picture-book," said No. 1. "I wish 
 they could see them at home." 
 
 " Better see 'em in February, ice to the tip of their 
 wings," said his mate. " Might stop their rotten 
 strikes if they could see them so . . . twelve pound 
 a week, eh ! — show's that for sweatin' ? " 
 
 " Top-hole." 
 
 '' I'd like to see the half of it." 
 
 His friend nodded, exhaling smoke. 
 
 " What do they know ? " he crooned. " Lord ! 
 they are the limit . . . fools, fools ! I heard one 
 once " — he spoke in gusts between puffs of smoke — 
 " last time I was on leave ..." 
 
 " Go on," said his pal. *' I've met 'em. They take 
 the cake." 
 
 " Two of them were talking as I came down a 
 path," he continued, '' away outside our village . . . 
 
HIS MAJESTY'S BLUEJACKETS 65 
 
 an oldish man with a fork on his shoulder and an 
 oldish woman leanin' over her garden gate to pass 
 the time of day. 
 
 " ' How's Billy gettin' on ? ' asks the old man as 
 I drew up. 
 
 " ' First rate,' says the woman, ' he's drorin' his 
 two pound a week now.' 
 
 " ' Not bad f'r a b'y jus' lef school,' the old man 
 blinks ; ' w'y^ — wot's ee doin' of ? ' 
 
 " The old lady cocked her eye up the lane and 
 saw me comin', saw I was a flat-foot o' sorts, and 
 let out so that I must hear. ' Makin' dum-dum 
 bullets f'r our boys out there in the trenches . . . 
 so's they can kill the 'Uns,' she cried. 
 
 " I stopped short," said No. 1, " for she hit at me 
 
 and I had to ' Beg your pardon,' says I, ' but 
 
 the Army doesn't use dum-dums in the trenches or 
 anywhere else. It's the Germans that use dum-dums 
 against us.' 
 
 " ' 'Ow do you know ? ' she asks, ' Are you over 
 there ? ' 
 
 " ' I'm on the Fleet,' says I, ' but I know dum-dums 
 aren't used in our Army.' 
 
 " But I might just as well have held my gas. ' I 
 don't think you know any think about it, young man,' 
 she says. ' You haven't bin at Wy-pers,' she says ; 
 ' if you are a sailor, you can't know.' 
 
 " ' I know enough for that,' I told her. 
 
 " ' So you think,' she flings in my face. ' If you 
 'ad seen wot our boys in khaki 'av seen, an' done a 
 bit more, the war would be over by now. Baa ! ' 
 she says ; ' you can't even keep off them raiders 
 they send — sailor-man ! ' " 
 
 " Dum-dum bullets, eh ! " commented his pal. 
 " Lord ! wouldn't Fritz like to get hold of that 
 bit ! . . ." 
 
66 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 " Reckon it would be worth a fiver, Bully-boy ; 
 what ? " 
 
 " It would be worth," said his pal, " anything you 
 chose to ask, if you saw the right man." 
 
 They leaned over, staring at the water sizzling 
 alongside until a bugle sounded " Action stations," 
 then vanished towards their home in the turret. 
 
 " Dum-dum bullets, eh ! " Bully-boy grumbled as 
 he looked to his telescope and training- wheel. " Lord ! 
 I wish we could ! " 
 
 No. 1, at his place beside the levers, took no notice. 
 He did not hear. He was busy putting them at safety. 
 
 The coast where these things happened aped the 
 sea which bordered it. The air trembled in diaphanous 
 waves above it, as it never trembles over North Sea 
 rollers. That was the sole mark, the dividing line 
 between the two. Visibility from the bridge level 
 was poor already ; but gunners reck little of that. 
 The whole problem has been worked out. As it is 
 possible to portray, by the aid of Mercator, a globe 
 on a flat chart, so it is possible to hit objects which 
 are below your horizon. Glasses are not much use ; 
 seaplanes are heavier, but much more effectual. 
 
 As the monitors came upon the tree-shrouded 
 Konigsberg, stowed deep in Rufigi delta, got the 
 range and pounded her to pieces, so these light draft 
 ships came upon the Belgian sand-dunes, registered, 
 and got to work, in spite of invisible targets. 
 
 A seaplane buzzed over the still sea, rising like 
 a giant albatross, and, when abreast of the ship, 
 lifted and hummed into the blue. He was the spotter 
 for the leading monitor, and his messages W/T'd 
 home would be taken in, decoded, and spoken to the 
 fighting-top, as it is sometimes called, by the wireless 
 operator seated in a small cabin deep in the heart 
 of the ship. 
 
HIS MAJESTY'S BLUEJACKETS 67 
 
 Roughly the range would be somewhere about 
 eleven miles. On a really clear day it would be 
 possible, by climbing to the truck, to see something 
 of what happened ; but to-day the commander, 
 gunnery lieutenant, and range-finder were as blind 
 as the gun crew fifty feet below in the turret. 
 
 A message came through from the airman, a jangle 
 of reports, far off, somewhere behind that rampart 
 of foam, and instantly the starboard gun lifted its 
 nose, swerved to the left, and fired. 
 
 In the turret was a small report; the gun came 
 back upon its buffers, checked, slid out. 
 
 In comparison with the clang and jar of the cage, 
 carrying shells and charge from the magazine, the 
 sound was small. It seemed impossible to realise 
 in the domed gun-house that a shell weighing nearly 
 three-quarters of a ton had gone on its errand ; but 
 in the control, aloft, or on the bridge the roar it made 
 was plain to all ears. A moment later the breech 
 fell back and compressed air went whining through, 
 cleaning out the gun. 
 
 One hears but little in a turret but a few sharp 
 orders, and interspersed with them varying crashes, 
 groans, and the hiss of hydraulic pressure. A man 
 with his eye on the tell-tale sees '' Raise " upon it, 
 looks to the breech, to the rammer, and jams over 
 his cage lever. Everything goes with the crash of 
 steel ; there is nothing quite like it anywhere, for 
 in that confined space steel walls throw back the 
 sound on steel decks or hood, jangling as though 
 experimenting in noise. But the roar par excellence 
 is reserved for the cage, which flies up, stops dead 
 before the open breech, and is followed by the loose 
 clang of the rammer as it drives the shell home. 
 Again two astounding crashes follow, and after each 
 the loose bang of the rammer, as two packages of 
 
68 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 explosive arrive by way of the cage and are jammed 
 home. Then, very gently in comparison, the great 
 breech swings to, and in the centre of it one sees 
 a sector screw tight without hands. 
 
 On this No. I's voice was heard proclaiming 
 " Right gun loaded," while following it another 
 called through the light-strung gloom figures which 
 gave the required elevation. Two men came into 
 play here twisting little wheels, one the gunlayer, 
 the other the trainer ; and between them, in a 
 moment of time it seemed, the thing, whatever it 
 was, had been done. A man leaned forward at this 
 and inserted in the centre of that enormous breech 
 of shining steel a little cartridge, less in size than 
 that of a rifle, and leaned back. 
 
 Some one said briskly, " Right gun ready," and 
 again a voice, " Turret ready." At this some one 
 must have given the order to fire, yet all one noted 
 was the report of the gun, subdued, rolling in the 
 gunhouse. The crash made a moment earlier by 
 the cage was a triumph in noise compared with this 
 echo. One saw the gun plunging back, lifting a little 
 as it nuzzled with the buffers, almost before one 
 knew that it had been fired. At first, it seemed, I 
 had been too absorbed to hear the roar which experi- 
 ence had taught me must be the voice of a 15-inch 
 gun ; yet it was not until I left the turret that I 
 heard its full tone or realised that one may perceive 
 an acrid taste without having taken either food or 
 drink. 
 
 In the control, far away to the right beyond the 
 growing mist, one saw airmen busy, like rooks about 
 their nests in spring. Sometimes they were high up, 
 sometimes low ; sometimes it seemed they were 
 lost, our eyes gone with them ; then again they 
 appeared, floating in space^ while companion planes 
 
HIS MAJESTY'S BLUEJACKETS 69 
 
 darted about fighting the swarm which rose to meet 
 them. Sometimes little bursts of gunfire touched 
 our ears ; sometimes the crash of a shell which failed 
 in the mist to reach us out there upon the sea ; 
 but always, mingled with the roar of our guns, mes- 
 sages came in from beyond' — an odd assortment 
 of letters, figures, "M.13," said one, "K.L." another, 
 " L.G.," " G.25 " . . .* Sometimes strange aberra- 
 tions, perhaps from enemy operators : " Didn't 
 observe fall of shot . . .," " 500 short," " 250 " to 
 the right." 
 
 Then at a voice-pipe a man sang aloud, as one at 
 prayers^" M. for Mary, 13," " K. for King," " L. for 
 Long," and the rest — all through the splitting shock 
 of gunfire, the fumes from muzzles which leaned out 
 nosing about like lean, grey lizards seeking their 
 prey. 
 
 Two hours of this, then the mist won ; we recalled 
 our airmen and started whence we came, triumphant 
 that a bridge had been knocked out at something 
 over eleven miles with two direct hits out of three ; 
 that an ammunition store had flared at our touch 
 and the docks whence submarines emerged to worry 
 shipping had suffered from our fire. 
 
 I think, though, I preferred the fascination of the 
 control, with eerie whispers coming out of space, 
 whispers which might mean much or little, death or 
 life, to that of the gunhouse. Noise after a time 
 becomes annoying, and, although the gun roar was 
 stifled within the turret, the continual clang of 
 metal on metal was tremendous. In the presence, 
 too, of those vast forces quiet seemed essential — 
 thought seemed essential. The monstrous and 
 sinister aspect of the guns compelled attention ; they 
 * These are not the letters used. 
 
70 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 appeared to demand respect, yet they twisted, 
 lifted, sank in obedience to the touch of a lever, or 
 the turn of a wheel a man could spin with one hand. 
 The rolls of cordite, which were flung up like giant 
 sausages on a lift, carried in a tray, shot out, pushed 
 home in a manner at once ignominious and indicative 
 of immense wdsdom, became absorbing. One wished 
 to prolong the thing, to hold it poised. Imagination 
 cried out, " But suppose . . . suppose," and fell 
 back upon the plain fact that here, at all events, 
 was no time for supposition . . . that it was dead 
 and fact reigning in its place. 
 
 And in a mist which was white and enveloping as 
 steam we crept back to our base, discovered it without 
 fuss, and sat down to clean our guns. 
 
HIS MAJESTY'S BLUEJACKETS 71 
 
 The Men of the Dark Red Crown. 
 
 There is war on the land we love, and war on the sea as 
 
 well, 
 War by air, by sap and mine, with the gingering tricks 
 
 of Hell; 
 And war on the folk who are old, and war on infant 
 
 bloom — 
 But the war that traps and flays and stills is war in the 
 
 engine-room. 
 
 Working near the humming turbines, shut away from 
 
 noise and flair, 
 Engineers by gong and voice-pipe talk with those 
 
 poised high in air ; 
 Watching crank-shafts whirring madly, discs that 
 
 blink and slide and grin. 
 Noting how they cluck and jobble when men push 
 
 to make her spin. 
 
 See them on the starting platform, steam beside them, 
 
 steam below. 
 Cabled Force in wires beyond them, little knobs to 
 
 press in row ; 
 All the coiled and fateful fitments shaped to ends of 
 
 death or life, 
 Under hand of " Luff " or Captain when he calls, as 
 
 now, in strife. 
 
 See them keen to read the orders in a vault that 
 hums with Force, # 
 
 Waiting silent in an oven, hearing phrases spelled in 
 Morse . . . 
 
72 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 While the steam is throbbing, roaring, and the brush 
 
 which makes the spark 
 Hums away for death or glory, making daylight of 
 
 the dark. 
 
 Hear the guns roar there on platform, guess the way 
 
 a shell will fall, 
 As men throb at turning levers, sweating blindly at 
 
 each call ; 
 Watch them go away to stokehold, joke with men 
 
 before the fires^ — 
 " Pressure faihng ? " " England daunted ? " in the 
 
 phrases of our sires. 
 
 Breathing breath of blazing furnace, peeping through 
 
 the mica screen. 
 Shovelling coal or tending oil-spray, cheering as they 
 
 work or lean. 
 Watch the firemen making records, joking as they 
 
 hear the drone 
 Of boilers towering high above them, carrying death 
 
 within each zone. 
 
 Note the clicking, tricky tell-tales, standing there 
 
 their work to show. 
 See the dusky, bubbled gauges warning men it's time 
 
 to blow ; 
 Watch the shirtless, sweating torsos, glow on arm 
 
 and shoulder blade. 
 Lines of black that mark the creases as they ply their 
 
 aching trade. 
 
 Hear them cheer each boom that echoes from the 
 
 guns in turret high. 
 As they twist and writhe and mutter, throwing 
 
 spray-clouds to the sky ; 
 
HIS MAJESTY'S BLUEJACKETS 73 
 
 Mark the din when shells ricochet, enter casemate, 
 
 pierce the skin, 
 Shake the grim, steel-strutted structure, blast and 
 
 bleach amidst the din ; 
 
 Listen to the shout of stokers when above the boilers' 
 
 drone, 
 Crashes full the shell that pierces, beams which were 
 
 the boilers' throne. 
 Wrecks them with the tearing fury of a blow that 
 
 is supreme, 
 Splint'ring all the^ steel-strung girders, freeing Hell 
 
 with scalding steam. 
 
 Watch the stokers, pressure balanced, raking out 
 
 the fires and flame. 
 Water sizzling up about them till the roll-call lacks 
 
 a name, 
 Hear them cheering there in stokehold, turning valves 
 
 and drawing fires. 
 Cheering blindly in a cavern nipped and twitching 
 
 like steel wires ; 
 
 Till the slowly heeling platform, balanced by more 
 
 distant beams, 
 Fills with running boiling water as it rills and flows 
 
 and steams . . . 
 Mark the faces looking upward, faces blanched and 
 
 lying down, 
 Till the crush and rush of workers fighting now for 
 
 those who drown. 
 
 Rise above them, stagger upward, when the word 
 
 goes out to sally. 
 Hear the wit and boyish jesting as they climb to 
 
 make " their tally," 
 
74 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 Facing shells and Charon calmly, facing God or 
 
 " Number One," 
 Racing up to " chance the oddses " 'neath a crimson, 
 
 westering sun. 
 
 See them stripped, half -naked, bleeding, as they 
 
 make for ladders nigh, 
 Ladders leading up to Heaven, piercing casings 
 
 which defy, 
 Bullets lashing, splinters flying, as they climb there 
 
 to the door. 
 Swaying this way, swaying that }vay, telUng now of 
 
 home on shore. 
 
 Cheering mateys lightly wounded, nursing those the 
 
 steam has flayed, 
 Till the swollen seas before them leap 'neath gun 
 
 which boomed and bayed. 
 Watch them now the decks are tilted, sliding down 
 
 to re^ch the wave. 
 See them greet the wind of winter blowing keen from 
 
 northern cave ; 
 
 Cheering as they take their plunge-bath, shouting as 
 
 they scatter chaff. 
 For there, within the western gloaming, was the Hun 
 
 who could not laugh. 
 Dour and dogged, maimed and beaten, down and 
 
 sinking spite of odds, 
 Standing in the flush of gloaming like a cromlech of 
 
 the gods. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 Hail ! for the engine-room. 
 
 Hail ! for the men deep downy 
 
 Engineer, fireman, trimmer. 
 
 Men of the Dark lied Crown, 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 NOORD HINDER 
 
 Guns and Efficiency. — Engineers, Firing, and the 
 R.N.A.S, 
 
 Far out where the Hps of the estuary touched the 
 sea lay a group of four destroyers, blue-black against 
 the silver of a mirror which usually is smirched and 
 grey. Over their fat funnels was a blue diaphanous 
 haze, tremulous, flickering, which pointed to impri- 
 soned force, to heat, which is the essence of force, to 
 instant readiness for a dash, should the gods so will it. 
 
 They were the " duty squad " of the fleet which 
 lay in shore, basking in the sun. 
 
 As I came near in the flagship's launch a pair of 
 whalers drew out of the glare with crews at full 
 stretch, the coxswains leaning forward, back, pushing 
 with hands which timed the stroke, shouting, evidently 
 keen set. 
 
 The men were in singlets and shorts — men of 
 muscle, browned, big. They flashed past us with 
 a grunt and a surge of oars on each stroke : " Now ! 
 Now ! Lift her ! " The coxswains crooned " Now ! 
 . . . Now ! " and the bent forms straightened with 
 the sound. 
 
 There seemed but little between the two as they 
 passed, but I thought the nearer crew had the finer 
 swing, the better incidence. It was a moot point 
 which would win though, and presently when they 
 rounded the flagship's stern there was not half a 
 length between them. 
 
76 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 Five minutes later I mounted the gangway of 
 T.B.D. X2 and met the smiUng glance of her chief 
 gunner. 
 
 " Commander's compliments, sir, and apologies," 
 he said at once. " He told me to say he got your 
 signal just as the crews were ready to start. He 
 was quite sure you would understand, because . . . 
 Ah ! Here's the engineer-commander. ..." 
 
 He fell back a pace and the newcomer took up the 
 phrase : 
 
 " Because the admiral said you are a sailor, sir . . . 
 Glad to see you on board." 
 
 " Was!'' I interjected, as we shook hands. 
 
 " It comes to the same thing, doesn't it ? Once 
 a sailor always a sailor. ... A question of tense — 
 . words which refer to yesterday, to-day or to-morrow, 
 and blink the fact that what was, ?.$." 
 
 " You are very sure," I laughed, because there 
 was no mistaking his sincerity. 
 
 " I wote a paper once to prove it. It was a good 
 paper ... it took me nearly twelve months to do 
 it," he sighed. 
 
 " Where did you send it ? " I asked. 
 
 " The point," said he, " is where did I not send 
 it ? I began with the Saturday and Spectator and 
 finished up with Tit-Bits. The editor of Tit-Bits 
 advised me to reconstruct it and send it to the 
 Religious Tract Society ; but I refused. Probably 
 that is the reason it was not printed. I had great 
 visions of being an author in those days ! " Again 
 he sighed ; but a twinkle lurked which belied the 
 suggestion. 
 
 " If you had continued . . ." I commenced. 
 
 " There would have been no Silent Fleet ! " he 
 interjected. 
 
 "It is scarcely inarticulate to-day, is it ? Why 
 
NOORD HINDER 77 
 
 not give iis the benefit of your experience — what an 
 engine-room is Hke in a scrap, as they call it ? " 
 
 " Whisht ! " said he ; and then " God forbid ! " 
 with undoubted fervour, switched off and remarked, 
 "" That reminds me " — which was not true — " the 
 commander said he was sure that in the circum- 
 stances you would forgive his temporary absence." 
 
 I waived the point and assured him I would not 
 have spoiled the spin for the world. 
 
 " The fact is we are rather keen on this race," he 
 explained. " We have a lot of points to pull up . . . 
 besides, it does the men good, keeps them fit and gives 
 them something to talk about while we are waiting 
 for Fritz." 
 
 We were on interesting ground here, and I 
 challenged at once : 
 
 " You haven't seen much of him since Jutland, 
 have you ? " 
 
 " Absolutely stalemate," he avowed, " and will 
 remain so until he is driven out." 
 
 " You think that should be done ? " I questioned. 
 
 " Should ? " he demurred, his eyes twinkling. 
 " Nay — I did not go so far ; but we could get him 
 out ..." 
 
 " Then why this halt ? " 
 
 " In conjunction with the soldiers, of course," he 
 concluded. 
 
 " Then why . . ." I commenced ; but he cut in 
 with his dry smile : 
 
 " Nay, I'm not discussing military tactics, becavise 
 I happen to be engineer commander and conversant 
 only with steam ; but if you ask me whether he is 
 likely to come out if we don't force him I am 
 inclined to say No . . . not as things are. If you 
 made it hot for him over there it would be another 
 matter. But at the moment, why should he come 
 
78 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 out and risk things with a navy less than half our 
 strength?" 
 
 " It may be a nearer thing than that," I suggested, 
 " after all these years." 
 
 He brooded over that, and the chief gunner said 
 with emphasis : " He has some damned good guns. 
 Often he straddles us with the first salvo. . . . 
 Damned good men behind the guns, too . . . Sixes 
 to meet our fours . . . nines when we are there 
 with sixes . . . it's uncanny. But he goes to pieces 
 quickly. Can't keep it up when we begin to 
 bark. . . ." 
 
 " But how can you bark when the odds are against 
 you to that extent ? " 
 
 " Get under his guard. Rush him . . . speed," 
 he chuckled ; " dare-devilry, guts. That's what 
 comes of training plus a trifle of nous. We have 
 nous . . . Fritz has none. You have to tell your 
 Sausage what to do or he won't do it ... If I'm 
 knocked out the buntin'-tosser would carry on . . . 
 or an engine-room rating , . . anything that can 
 walk. That's where guts come in. It's where we 
 shall do them in . . ." 
 
 " But if they meet your sixes with nines and 
 twelves, always," I suggested, ''it must ..." 
 
 "Oh but»they don't!" the engineer-commander 
 interjected. " Sometimes the boot is on the other 
 foot ..." He looked up with shining eyes : 
 
 " ' 'Tis all a chequer-board of Nights and Days 
 \Yhere Destiny with Men for Pieces plays ; 
 Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays. 
 And one by one back in the closet lays . . . ' 
 
 That," he urged, " is the bedrock of talk — all thought 
 
 on the subject. I couldn't make it plainer in a week." 
 
 The chief gunner wriggled with his finger in one 
 
NOORD HINDER 79 
 
 ear. " If you're goin' to quote poetry, sir, in proof 
 of trajectory," he said, " I'm away." 
 
 "It's the only thing worth Hving for," the engineer- 
 commander rapped out. '' Come^ — I'll give you ten 
 minutes for your guns . . . ten minutes — no more, 
 no less ; so get her jacket off and let us look at her." 
 
 She was a beauty, you may be sure of that — clean, 
 shining, and so workable that a man sitting on the 
 gunlayer's saddle could twist and turn her with the 
 finger of one hand. I remarked on the wonderful 
 balance and the gunner took that for his text at 
 once. 
 
 "Balance," said he, "is the twin of speed. If 
 you have balance you have speed, and if you have 
 speed you get on to your target while the other 
 fellow is fiddling with si;ghts . . . and, if you can 
 cap the two of them with nous, as we Britishers can, 
 you will have Fritz well on his way to the. ditch 
 long belore he is ready to smack back. . . . But then, 
 we are born sailors ; they are only soldiers at sea. 
 . . . We have been at war all our lives ; they are 
 only beginning. They are good, mind ; but they 
 are not as good as we are, because they are not as 
 old as we are at the sea game. 
 
 " We have been at it twelve hundred years or so ; 
 they " — he snapped his fingers — " twenty-five. Every 
 sort of force is up against a sailor-man. Gunnery 
 isn't learned by target-practice ashore, but on deck 
 or in the barbette of a ship that's swinging thirty 
 degrees each roll and pitching bows under at the 
 same time. That requires handling. There's nothing 
 automatic about it — it's man-atic, and the chap 
 that can keep on a target when his gun is mounted 
 on a thing which is about as steady as a cask in a 
 tide rip deserves. . . . Well, the commander is here, 
 or I would tell you what I think he deserves. Ou-aye ! 
 
80 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 I know, I know ; but " he chuckled, " if you are in 
 any kind of doubt what can be done with a gun 
 under these conditions 'buy an 'am,' as that chap 
 Pycroft said, ' an' see hfe 1 ' " 
 
 "'' Here ? " I questioned. 
 
 " I don't suppose she'd buck at carrying you " — 
 he tossed back, rubbing his hands, enjoying himself 
 immensely ; " but that is only the opinion of a chief 
 gunner, and as it's more a question of weights an' 
 displacement than trajectory you'll understand I'm 
 not laying down the law, or . . ." 
 
 "Fools tramp where wise men dare not tread," 
 the engineer-commander paraphrased, his face a 
 study. 
 
 '"Fools rush in where angels fear to tread," the 
 gunner corrected. " Had ^^ou there, sir, in spite of 
 Osborne and the Luck of Dow's Flat ..." 
 
 '' First you stagger me with Omar, and now with 
 Bret Harte," I complained ; "I ask you a simple 
 question relative to that digging-out process we were 
 promised and you land me on Dow's fence ..." 
 
 "Whisht!' said the gunner (his finger lifted); 
 " they're coming ! *' 
 
 " They " were the two boats, and we turned, 
 laiighing, to watch. 
 
 " A dollar," the gunner cried as he span ; " the 
 Owner wins . . . one dollar. I'm a poor man, broke 
 by the war, but ..." 
 
 " On the make," the engineer-commander decided. 
 " When will you leave something to chance ? The 
 Owner's leading by a length." 
 
 " Two, sir. I'm giving nothing away these times." 
 
 "We moved aft and stood watching. 
 
 " Officers versus Crew," the engineer-commander 
 explained. ''Both doing their damndest. Officers 
 leading . . ." 
 
NOORD HINDER 81 
 
 " Their prerogative," said the chief gunner, " it 
 comes from their training on the Dart . . . eight ! 
 But I would have hked to have been there." 
 
 "In your next incarnation," the engineer-com- 
 mander announced, "you will be an instructor at 
 Osborne. If you had bagged that Fritz last Tuesday 
 it would have been the Dart . . . but now!" He 
 moved, expressing the burden of failure. 
 
 " Dartmouth or Hades," the gunner decided, his 
 eyes thoughtful in spite of the alternative. " Whisht ! 
 See the boats. ..." 
 
 We turned and saw the rear crew spurting gamely 
 as they drew up — saw, too, that it would avail them 
 nothing. The officers moved with the same even 
 swing I had noted as they passed up river ; the men 
 were working harder, the coxswain timing them 
 with tremendous energy : " Now ! Now ! " His 
 voice came over to us like a prayer. 
 
 But it was too late. In five minutes the officers 
 tossed oars abreast our counter, then paddled easily 
 to the ladder. The gunner moved away to the blue- 
 jackets who were watching : " Lines there ! Lively 
 now ! Smack it about ! " and steadily proclaimed 
 that he was the sole sportsman on board. 
 
 The commander climbed the short ladder and 
 advanced to meet me, holding out his hand. " Sorry 
 I wasn't here to welcome you," he smiled. " Hope 
 they have been looking after you, eh ? " 
 
 He was blue-eyed, clean-shaven, and big enough 
 to have made a guardsman. In his shorts and 
 jersey, a sweater hung by the arms about his 
 shoulders, he looked young enough to be emerging 
 from a trial spin on the Dart, fit enough to bring 
 an eight first past the post either at Henley or Mort- 
 lake. 
 
 In a moment we had known each other half a life- 
 
82 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 time, and he was introducing me to the men as they 
 trooped up from their boat. Here was Number One, 
 here Torps, here Pay, here old Pills ... A lieutenant 
 and a snotty completed the crowd. It was a good 
 race. The boys had given them all they wanted. 
 He called after Stroke as he danced along the rail 
 carrying the boat's painter: "If you had spurted 
 five minutes sooner, Peter, you would have rolled 
 us up " ; and Stroke at the salute looked as though 
 he believed it. 
 
 We stood in a group chatting and staring at the 
 sparkling river. That suggested a swim, and the 
 commander turned away shaking his head. " Can't 
 be done," I heard him sa}^ 
 
 " Would you go in if I were not here ? " I asked. 
 " Rather," came instantly from the group. 
 " For two pins I would join you," I laughed. 
 " Splendid ! " 
 
 After that there could' be no escape from men bent 
 on swimming, and this the commander made plain. 
 
 " Carry on while I get unrigged," I begged. *' I 
 shall have to cool down first." 
 
 Towels and a bunch of drawers' rose miraculously 
 from the hatchway and fell at our feet. There was 
 a scuffle of men in shorts and men without shorts, 
 then a swift run up the deck forward. The com- 
 mander stepped over the rail and stood a moment, 
 balanced, then took the water with a splendid spring. 
 Torps followed ; in pairs and singly the others leaped, 
 swam out, headed the tide a minute, and came back 
 to the ladder, climbed on board, raced forward, and 
 again dived. 
 
 The engineer-commander, gunner, and I stood 
 watching. 
 
 " It's well to be young," quoth the man of steam 
 and humming turbines. 
 
NOORD HINDER 83 
 
 " Until the war came," the gunner took him up, 
 " I did not know I was old ; but now ..." 
 
 " You want oiling like my bearings, eh ? " 
 
 "An' still I creak," he admitted, solemnly smacking 
 his thigh. '' Wae is me, an' still I creak." 
 
 Then, quite suddenly, something happened to bring 
 the yeoman of signals aft at a run. He held a slip of 
 paper folded tightly, perhaps because of my presence, 
 which he smuggled into the engineer-commander's 
 hand. I was just ready for my swim and had timed 
 myself to join in the next run for'a'd ; but the 
 engineer's eyes said wait a bit, so I pulled a towel 
 round my shoulders. 
 
 He had read the note and acknowledged it. The 
 yeoman was waiting orders which came brusquely 
 from the engineer-commander : '' Hoist the recall." 
 
 He turned to me. 
 
 " Better get dressed again," he said. " There 
 will be no sun bath to-day. They will all be on 
 board in a moment. Sorry. You see we are flagship, 
 and this is the duty trot section. We shall be outside 
 in ten minutes." 
 
 He began to whistle softly, then, looking up, he 
 whispered : 
 
 " And when the Angel with his darker Draught 
 Draws up to thee — take that, and do not shrink." 
 
 " ' Buy an 'am, sir,' " the gunner chanted, unmoved, 
 "* an' see life.' . . . Maybe it's a Fritz." 
 
 The engineer-commander rose smiling and com- 
 menced to wave his arms, signalling the recall to the 
 men splashing out there in the sunshine. The com- 
 mander s^w and swam in, climbed the ladder, and 
 stood brushing water from his eyes. " Well ? " he 
 questioned. 
 
 O 2 
 
84 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 The engineer opened the note and held it so that it 
 could be read. 
 
 There was a brief pause. Water trickled down, 
 shining on the commander's shoulders in the glare. 
 
 " Steam at once, Chief," he said, and climbed on 
 board. He raised his voice, looking towards the 
 bridge. " Haul down ! Anchor stations ! " 
 
 A bugle blared the order. " Signal to unmoor and 
 follow me outside." 
 
 Almost at once a string of flags climbed the star- 
 board halyards. These were followed after a small 
 interval by a second string to port. 
 
 The commander seized his towel and disappeared 
 down the hatchway. He laughed as he passed me, 
 but did not speak. I waited till he reappeared clad 
 for the bridge and for a moment halted. " No swim 
 to-day," he vsaid. " Hard luck ! I am off now." 
 
 " May I come ? " I asked. 
 
 " Afraid you must. ... No time to put you 
 ashore now." 
 , He hurried away. 
 
 The other men, officers and bluejackets, had 
 timibled on board, seized towels and the gear in 
 which they had rowed and vanished, drying and 
 dressing as they ran. Yet the business of heaving up 
 anchor was not delayed. Forward the windlass was 
 singing cheerily and the cable clinking inboard as 
 I moved away to climb the bridge ladder. 
 
 Abreast the engine-room casing I halted and 
 looked down. Already a hum was evident, the hiss 
 of steam warming the valves, and turbines singing 
 in the domed enclosure. A thrill ran through the 
 ship as I leaned there, and the hum increased. 
 Overhead the antennae danced and swirled, shimmering 
 in the sun glare. I hurried on and reached the 
 commander's side. 
 
NOORD HINDER 85 
 
 " What is it, sir ? " I asked. 
 
 " Some one looking for trouble at North Hinder," 
 he tossed back. " Helm amidships ! " 
 
 " Helm amidships, sir," echoed the man afc the 
 wheel, his eyes, glued on the swinging compass. 
 
 " Port ten ! " 
 
 " Port ten it is, sir." 
 
 The wheel buzzed. I looked up river and saw^ the 
 three w^ho shadowed us entering the track we left, 
 up there in the shimmering estuary — saw how they, 
 too, clove its centre and added to the churning wave 
 that flowed away on either hand. 
 
 On the esplanade as we rushed seaward two women 
 stood weaving handkerchiefs, and I noticed Torps 
 and the navigator Morseing in reply. They did not 
 'indicate the nature of this stunt, as they called it, 
 but gave swiftly the an revoir, which means so much 
 to those who wait and fain must guess. 
 
 In column of line ahead we passed the forts and 
 lightship, edged away to the south, and raced tremb- 
 ling seaward. 
 
 It was calm, the sea a mirror which poured away 
 from either bow as the red earth turns outward from 
 a plough. Gulls accompanied us, rose in our path 
 and came circling back to sit in groups upon it, 
 crying, squabbling, preening their wings. It was 
 cold, too, in spite of the sun. What air there was 
 seemed to be drifting from the pole. It pitted the 
 sea here and there with spread-out patches of darker 
 hue. Elsewhere the surface was lined in blue and 
 emerald which died at the horizon in a blur which 
 rolled like smoke upon a prairie, spaced with pink 
 and yellow spirals softly glazed upon the lights. 
 
 I was so absorbed that I did not see my friend 
 who quoted Omar until a sub -lieutenant climbed the 
 bridge-ladder to give me his message. " The engineer- 
 
86 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 commander thinks it a good opportunity to go 
 below," he said. " They will be whacking her up 
 as soon as we are clear. It is rather a scene down- 
 stairs ; but up here, nothing for an hour or so." 
 
 I agreed and went at once. They gave me a pair 
 of clean gauntlets, a piece of waste, and led me to 
 a manhole, a small round shaft through which a man 
 of average build could pass without difhculty. 
 
 A sailor lifted the cover and the engineer-com- 
 mander pointed my w^ay. I went down by a ladder 
 which lay against one side of this shaft and stood 
 back against the opposite curve until he joined me. 
 Between us we completely filled the space. Then 
 some one put on the lid, clamped it, and we were in 
 darkness with a vast booming drumming on our 
 ears. 
 
 '' We have to close the top before we can open 
 up below," said my companion, " or we should be 
 blown out of it like a whiff of smoke. There's a big 
 pressure on . . . forced draught you know. She's 
 humming already." 
 
 I heard it and felt the weight. It was as though 
 one had put on the helmet of a diving suit and gone 
 under with the air pressure alone to hold back the 
 rush of water. There was a deadening of sound 
 similar to that produced by hands strongly pressed 
 over the drums of one's ears. 
 
 " Better when we get below,'* the engineer-com- 
 mander shouted. Then the clang of an opening door 
 assailed me, and I looked down, as it seemed, upon 
 the infernal regions ... a dim space which seemed 
 befogged ; where light gleamed in patches, pumps 
 clucked, turbines hummed, and the boom of a 
 monstrous drum echoed and vibrated in a twilight 
 which was, perhaps, of the gods. 
 
 It all looked so distant, so weird, by this approach 
 
NOORD HINDER 87 
 
 that I pictured one of Sime's drawings and half 
 expected to meet the queer shapes with which he 
 peoples his depths ; but everything was normal. 
 As a matter of fact the space was filled with sound 
 rather than with shapes ; with levers and brackets 
 and polished casings, brass and steel, which reflected 
 light. 
 
 When we reached the platform I looked round. 
 One man stood with his back to us. He did not 
 turn. He seemed to be engaged in juggling with 
 round brass knobs, while at odd moments he gave 
 sudden twitches at the two wheels which were fixed 
 elbow-high before him. He was engrossed and 
 serious beyond words. One hand manipulated each 
 side — a wheel and push-knobs exactly similar in 
 character and position lying to the left and right. 
 Facing him in a wide semi-circle was an array of 
 dials, all white-faced, with oscillating hands, as 
 though they feared the power which drummed and 
 rolled about them, up the dim bulkhead where the 
 throbbing grew musical, across the domed upper 
 deck — down, round, endlessly at cannon. 
 
 " Engineer-lieutenant of the watch," said my 
 companion in a dull shout. " Keeps him busy ? " 
 
 As we stood there a gong clanged, and the juggler 
 instantly snapped a handle in response and again 
 came back to the bell-pull, push-game, and the little 
 wheels, for all the world as though in truth he juggled. 
 
 But the juggling was work, the push-knobs and 
 the little wheels and gong clamour the means by 
 which he gave effect to the orders which reached him. 
 Through them alone he kept the sea boiling in our 
 wake, our distance from next astern a miracle of accu- 
 racy, and enabled us to cover the distance between 
 our base and Noord Hinder in eighty minutes. 
 
 It was amazingly simple, so I gathered, when you 
 
88 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 had learned your job ; and for this he had been 
 prepared at Osborne and Dartmouth, where for 
 long days he had worked amidst lathes and patterns, 
 with files, cold chisels and planes, until he was hand- 
 perfect, able to take his place at this nearly automatic 
 control. He stood before us as the central figure of 
 the whole force of mechanism which ended in the 
 propvilsion, at something like forty miles an hour, 
 of a fighting unit racing to the succour of unknown 
 friends. 
 
 It was easy to understand down there how remote 
 is the engine-room staff from the varying incidents 
 of a fight. In the presence of a roar which filled 
 one's ears and compelled us to shout and watch each 
 other's lips, the noise of guns would scarcely be 
 heard. A shell bursting somewhere within those 
 steel walls would bring reality in a moment, the 
 scalding breath of the boilers ; but shells tearing 
 at the decks and superstructure would fail. In all 
 truth these men of the engine-room and stokehold 
 stand or fall in the keeping of their brothers who are 
 on deck. They answer signals made on telegraphs, 
 hear the gong clang, reach over and get speech 
 through voice-tubes with the bridge ; but they see 
 nothing and can gather little of the progress made 
 up there where at a turn of the wheel their vessel 
 leaj)s away at a tangent, buried in foam, to escape 
 a torpedo — zig-zags and twists amidst clouds of dense 
 smoke to spoil an enemy's aim. 
 
 Nervy work, my masters — done in the nerve 
 centre of force ; done silently, done without question, 
 quibble or hesitance, with an endurance too full for 
 words ; that is the part of those who work in a bath 
 of sweat while others shiver and are bathed in salt. 
 
 We came by doorways which we clami^cd behind 
 
NOORD HINDER 89 
 
 us^ — through tubes like ventilators, up steel-runged 
 ladders, through a maze with engines working at 
 450 revolutions to the minute — to a new inferno 
 where the drone of turbines was dead, swallowed by 
 the roar of fans and flaming oil. 
 
 We had reached the stokehold, and speech was 
 impossible, shouting of small effect . The engineer- 
 commander leaned near and formed words slowly 
 with his lips — made signs which I accepted as one 
 accepts all things where the issue appears to be 
 either that of life or death. I had lost all note of 
 sensation. We were enveloped in a roar which seemed 
 to grow the longer we were in it. It seemed to resent 
 my presence, and the breath of the fires came at me 
 like naked flame. Four stokers clad in singlets and 
 pants sweated before the arched backs of their 
 furnaces. Sometimes one turned away and moved 
 a wheel, sometimes touched the throbbing gauge 
 with which each furnace was crowned, sometimes 
 stood solemnly regarding the whole amazing chaos 
 of tubes and pipes with which the place was patterned. 
 The vibration was tremendous. Everything quaked, 
 jigged, or swayed unsteadily to and fro. It seemed I 
 had reached Ultima Thule and must abide the result. 
 
 The engineer-commander touched my arm, and I 
 saw in his hand a framed mica screen, like a hand- 
 glass of oblong shape. He shouted something and 
 I took it from him. He made signs which suggested 
 that I should approach the nearest furnace. The 
 stoker who guarded it reached up and opened a 
 little slit near the crown of it and pointed. Then, 
 looking through the mica, I saw a leaping volume 
 of flame, as at the heart of a volcano, watched it 
 twisting, swirling and roaring all down the curved 
 length of the furnace. The heat gushed out and 
 scorched my face. Some one touched a button or 
 
90 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 pressed a valve and the flame increased. I stepped 
 back. It seemed angry, bent on reprisals ; I could 
 not face it. . . . Then some one controlled the flow, 
 shut to the sliding door, and again it was possible to 
 breathe. 
 
 How many furnaces existed in that spick and 
 span inferno is for statisticians : I made no effort to 
 count. The air pressure was beyond anything I had 
 ever experienced on the hither side of a diving 
 helmet, the noise so threatening I lost all count of 
 facts. The roar became oppressive, the pressure 
 pain. My ears throbbed, thumped ; I w^as glad to 
 escape. 
 
 I have called the place an inferno, yet that is a 
 misnomer. It suffices, perhaps, to bring home the 
 essential degree of heat and whirl ; but it is unfair 
 to those splendid men who work for long hours in 
 its depths, doing nothing, as I was assured, that we 
 may live. How much they do or do not do is beside 
 the mark. The place was too clean for idleness, too 
 polished, too mirror-like for no work. Everything 
 was clean. I had no need for gauntlets — perhaps 
 they were given me in case my " long-shore " hands 
 should find the rails hot. I cannot well imagine 
 them cold. Indeed, while enduring what I endured 
 I put up a petition that in the next incarnation some 
 other sinner should be drawn for stoker lest I should 
 wholly die. 
 
 An armchair in the wardroom, a cigarette, and 
 a most seductive accompaniment made things cool 
 again, and I faced further trials without qualms. 
 I had been half an hour shut away from the deck, 
 perhaps rather more, and it seemed good to see it 
 again, to sniff the breeze instead of oil, to remember 
 there was a stunt on, and to speculate on that Noord 
 
NOORD HINDER 91 
 
 Hinder message which had come between us and 
 our sun-bath that glowing August day. 
 
 We had lunch in sections. Only the commander 
 failed to visit the wardroom. The bridge held him, 
 where* in company with a bunting-tosser, he con- 
 tinued to control the duty squad. 
 
 It was greasy now instead of clear. The area of 
 visibility seemed to be reduced in proportion to 
 our advance ; but we throbbed on at full speed, 
 tossing back the scintillating bow-wave and drawing 
 the straight white track we had commenced at the 
 base. 
 
 We were nearing the lightship, and our companions 
 the only vessels in sight, when a sub-lieutenant 
 entered the wardroom to ask me if I would care to 
 return to the bridge. He said we should soon know 
 all there was to know, and suggested that, as I was 
 not equipped for fighting, I might bring my camera 
 and get some snapshots. He said they were all 
 aching to cut out the Broke crowd, and my kodak 
 really did look like the real thing^ — so would I ? 
 
 As we passed upstairs my friend the gunner leaned 
 over and said : " We shall be in at the death, what- 
 ever it is. Listen ! " 
 
 I listened all the way between the wardroom and 
 the bridge. . What I heard was quite new to me. It 
 droned like the engine of an aircraft and hissed as 
 no flying-machine ever yet hissed. There was a 
 sound of splashing, too, which grew in volume as we 
 hurried forward. 
 
 " Taxi-ing," said my companion as we reached 
 the ladder. 
 
 '' Who— what ? " 
 
 " Seaplane, sir, for a dollar." 
 
 I reached the commander's side and found him 
 staring through glasses at a whitish splotch which 
 
92 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 broke upon the greens and blues of the North Sea. 
 He glanced round as I joined him and I saw that 
 the gun crews were at stations. 
 
 '' Just in time," said the commander. " What 
 d'you think of the engine-room ? " Then without 
 pause he added : " Helm amidships ! Keep her so. 
 . . . Slow both engines." 
 
 I looked round and saw the curve we had made, 
 saw a string of flags come down, and noted the 
 answering curve of the three who followed. I had 
 forgotten the question the commander had tossed 
 out . 
 
 "One of our scouts," he resumed, as I took my 
 glasses from their case. " See him ? Winged, too, 
 by the look of it." He called a messenger and sent 
 him at the double to advise our doctor, twisted, and 
 said-: " They are a fine crowd — R.N.A.S., you know. 
 They will take on a dozen Gothas single-handed and 
 come through. ... I wonder what this boy has been 
 up to ! . . . By Jove ! there are two of them. No 
 wonder he's taxi-ing. . . . Stop ! " He raised his 
 voice a trifle and the gong clanged. He called the 
 chief yeoman and gave instructions which resulted 
 in a double hoist of bunting and a swift agitation of 
 the semaphore arms. 
 
 This was interpreted by the destroyers who followed 
 us, and they immediately began to circle at full tilt, 
 one emitting a smoke screen which effectually ringed 
 the advancing planes and ourselves. 
 
 " Just as well to be on the safe side," said the com- 
 mander. " The section is alive with U-boats. . . . 
 Astern both engines. . . . Stop ! Helm to port ! " 
 
 We leaned over the bridge screen examining the 
 procession with our glasses. 
 
 The seaplane was taxi-ing, as it is termed, and 
 towing a machine which looked as though she had 
 
NOORD HINDER 93 
 
 been used as a target by a whole battery of machine- 
 guns. The wings were shot to ribbons, some of the 
 struts gone, the engine pierced, and in the pilot's seat 
 was the boy who had come through his ordeal of battle 
 at ten thousand feet and had safely brought what they 
 called " the poor old 'bus " to sea level. 
 
 In five minutes we had him on board and the doctor 
 busy replacing the rough tourniquet which had been 
 fixed at Noord Hinder Lightship rather more than an 
 hour before. 
 
 His pal, who had plucked him safely so far, had 
 clambered on board at once on reaching us, helped 
 to lift him from the 'bus, helped to carry him to sick 
 bay, and now stood beside us on the bridge, a boy in 
 years, but a man in experience. 
 
 " Yes," he explained ; "I sent the message asking 
 for help. I was afraid that rotten plug wouldn't 
 stick it. . . . You can't do much with a cork and 
 a fathom of bunting, sir, can you ? So I thought 
 I had better send in an S.O.S. . . . Rotten bad luck 
 on you, sir," he smiled up at the commander. " Expect 
 you sent me to Hades, or somewhere equally uncom- 
 fortable. . . . Sorry ! Hate to spoil sport . . . but 
 he had rather a rotten bit of luck after putting 
 two Huns out . . . an' I rather wanted him to get 
 the benefit of it . . . D.S.O., perhaps, if he pulls 
 through." 
 
 " What's his name ? " asked the commander. 
 
 " Harding, sir, but 1 call him Bunny." 
 
 " Long at it ? " 
 
 " About two months out of the eggj' 
 
 "On patrol, then?" 
 
 " Yes. . . . You see we were sweeping up between 
 here and Noord Hinder when Harding spotted a 
 Fritz lying doggo on the surface . . . getting a 
 sun-bath to freshen the nip. I was away on his 
 
94 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 flank, but near enough to see Bunny swoop down to 
 five hundred or thereabouts and drop a bomb.' Fritz 
 was napping . . . sun a bit warm, perhaps. Anyhow, 
 he didn't spot what he was up against till it was too 
 late ; then he was all mixed up with bits of iron and 
 oil and things. A dicky shot ! He just cracked up 
 like an egg and went in. ... I dropped down too, 
 and by the time I was near enough spotted two more 
 Fritzes just clear of Bunny's tail. I shouted to him, 
 but he was too busy making sure of No. i to remember 
 there might be others. ... So the fellows emerged 
 and let go a round at him . . . played the deuce 
 with his wings, but nothing more before I could 
 cut in. . . . I dropped a bomb on No. 2. . . . No. 3 
 dived like mad, so did No. 2 . . . but I think she 
 had her medicine all right, for we saw a lot of stuff 
 floating where she went down and a big black splotch 
 came up right over the place. 
 
 " We dropped on to the sea and had a skitter round. 
 Harding got a snap of it . . . and then, afraid we 
 were rather busy, sir, trying to make sure, we heard 
 the drone of planes somewhere overhead. . . . 
 
 " I looked up ; so did Harding. . . . 
 
 " ' Huns, Peter, old thing,' he shouted. 
 
 " ' Ten of him if I can count,' said I. " ' Let's go 
 for 'em,' said Bunny, and he started his engines full 
 bore. I did the same . . . spotted a couple of 'em 
 nose diving for us as we got up. We climbed as though 
 the old gentleman was on our tail and dodged their 
 swoop. Harding let go a drum at his ; I did the 
 same at mine. Then we played 'em a bit and Harding 
 got home. . . . Sent his beggar spinning down in 
 flames. . . . Bag up to date one submarine and 
 one Gotha to Harding, probable submarine to me. . . . 
 
 '' My fellow cleared out when he saw his pal's 
 number was up. ... I wasn't sorry, for my gun 
 
NOORD HINDER 95 
 
 had jammed over the last burst and I was busy- 
 trying to clear her. 
 
 " I was so busy that I didn't see Harding start 
 to climb until I missed him ; then I followed, going 
 all out. . . ." 
 
 " What about your gun ? '' asked the commander. 
 
 " Hopeless, sir . . . and there was no time to 
 tinker with it then. Harding had engaged a chap 
 on the wing of the Hun formation, and as I climbed 
 I saw them cuckooing up and down, tail and nose, 
 trying to get in a position to strike. . . . They 
 looked like a pair of cockerels facing each other for 
 the first time. Presently Harding turned and ran, 
 firing like mad . . . then quite suddenly he shut 
 off, dropped and looped up as the Hun swept by. 
 I felt quite dizzy. I thought he was done in, but in 
 a minute he came down, and I saw him crash on the 
 Hun's tail, swerve clear, and Boche No. 2 crackled 
 down the slope. . . . 
 
 " You should have seen him go, sir. . . . I'm no 
 good at description, but it was a regular spin, like 
 
 a square of tin^ like a leaf oscillating to the ground 
 
 on a quiet day . . . like — oh ! Chucks, like the 
 devil," Peter concluded with a snap, glancing up, 
 half ashamed of letting himself go. 
 
 " Good boy ! " said the commander. " Gad ! I 
 like his pluck." 
 
 "It's his twelfth pip, sir," Peter explained, enthu- 
 siastic at the note of praise. 
 
 " In two months ? Lord have mercy on the Huns ! " 
 
 '' Trust Bunny, sir. He's not done in. He's just 
 resting, so he said. I think he deserves it. . . ." 
 
 *' Rather," said the Commander. 
 
 " But that tops off the score," Peter announced 
 ruefully. " We were in for it . . . Bunny was up 
 and I was down. Our game was to keep together." 
 
96 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 He lighted a cigarette and puffed a cloud. " Then 
 quite suddenly my gun got clear. Lord knows what 
 I did to the bally thing. I was thinking of Bunny 
 up at ten thousand, perhaps, and me tugging at locks 
 and gadgets to make you mad. I got going and 
 presently saw poor old Bunny trying to cut out a 
 wing bird and the whole formation on his back. I 
 climbed. I was sick. The Huns had their teeth 
 set . . . there were four of them actually on him 
 ... no kind of sport that . . . when I got up and 
 chipped in. Then for a bit things seemed rosy. We 
 took on the old game, side-slipping, diving, up and 
 around, letting off drums like smoke, but we had no 
 luck. We were up against wary birds who hunted 
 in couples too, and presently Bunny and I were 
 each facing a pair. We wanted eyes all round and 
 hadn't got 'em. . . . 
 
 *' I knew, somehow, we were going to get socks. 
 Don't know why . . . tired perhaps. Wrestling 
 with that blitherin' gun had taken quite a lot of 
 doing. Time the other fellow got a look in I s'pose. 
 . . . They say some one regulates these things, and 
 I fancy it's true. . . . Anyhow, suddenly I saw 
 Bunny go spinning down in a nose dive which he 
 made no effort to check. ... I knew his tricks ; 
 but this was not one of 'em. The Huns had got him 
 as he tried to loop up after a skitter. I just caught 
 sight of a pale face twitching with pain as he flashed 
 past, and, throwing up my hands, let my machine 
 sit on her tail as though I was hit. . . . 
 
 " Bunny's face had unnerved me. I felt I couldn't 
 stick it if he was gone ... I just had to get down, 
 and I slithered that eight thousand feet in record 
 time. I let her rip ... I wanted them to think I 
 was done in, for otherwise they would be down to 
 pump lead into us when we touched water. . . . 
 
NOORD HINDER 97 
 
 " They didn't follow. I suppose their squadron 
 commander didn't give them orders. . . . Boches 
 are like that . . . they seem lost when they can't 
 click heels — luckily for us. . . . So I was down to 
 five hundred before I began to flatten out. She sung 
 like a screech owl with the strain, but stood it like 
 a bird . . . and there, right under my hand, was 
 Bunny skimming on a long volplane to the sea. . . . 
 
 " I couldn't believe it. I thought it must be his 
 ghost, for I remembered his face as he slid past. But 
 it was Bunny right enough, bleedin' like a pig and 
 grinning. . . . 
 
 " He grinned sideways when I got close, leaned over 
 in a heap, and began to laugh, just like a girl, sir — half 
 crying, you know. Then I saw it was dangerous and 
 got my nose between his floats, shoved him over to 
 Noord Hinder, and got him on board . . . After that 
 
 oh well ! we had to plug him and then I 
 
 decided to start off to taxi home . . . couldn't very 
 well stick it there, sir, in case a Hun came along. 
 Bunny was in a mortal funk. He said we should be 
 interned . . . couldn't risk that; so we scooted. . . ." 
 
 " Lucky for you our tracks coincided," the com- 
 mander commented. 
 
 " neither ! " 
 
 " Ever done any taxi-ing before ? " 
 
 " Once or twice, sir . . . only once to speak of." 
 
 '' Where ? " 
 
 " Zeebrugge to the Thames. . . . Why ? " 
 
 " In half a gale of wind ? " asked the commander. 
 
 " Well it was blowing a bit. . . . Why, you 
 
 weren't ..." Peter gasped, again shy, it appeared. 
 
 " I saw you come in. Cold, wasn't it ?•" 
 
 " It wasn't warm, sir." 
 
 " Two men lying across your cab, half drowned, 
 eh ? Picked 'em off a wreck after a bit of torpedo 
 
98 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 work, eh ? No risks taken . . . difficult to remember 
 details. What ? Got your D.S.O. yet ? " 
 
 Peter shook his head. He displayed quite suddenly 
 a desire to go and see Bunny. He said Bunny always 
 moped if he was left long alone. The commander 
 made no comment. He looked at me and smiled. 
 A moment later we were alone. 
 
 " Birds," said the commander. " Did you notice 
 his eyes ? They are all like that . . . after a few 
 
 months. Distance, you know. No^ I'm no good 
 
 at that sort of thing. I want decks under my feet — 
 steel if you like. . . . Did you notice what he said, 
 by the way ? " 
 
 " Apropos ? " 
 
 " ' Bunny's face had unnerved me,' as he flashed 
 past, you recollect, ' so I threw my hands up and 
 let my machine sit on her tail . . .' — eight thousand 
 feet up, mind, ' as though I was hit.' Lord ! if that 
 doesn't get the boy his D.S.O. , nothing will." 
 
 The duty squad hissed smoothly over the calm 
 sea, entered the jaws which screened our base, and 
 came round to nuzzle the buoys precisely as though 
 nothing had occurred. We hoisted flags and waved 
 the semaphore for ten minutes ; then Bunny went 
 ashore in a cot with Peter in close attendance. 
 
 We noticed as they left the side that they both 
 were grinning, and I turned to hear the engineer- 
 commander, quoting for my benefit : 
 
 La vie est vaine : 
 Un peu d'amour, 
 Un peu de haine . . . 
 Et puis — bon jour ! 
 
 La vie est breve : 
 Un peu d'espoir, 
 
 Un peu de reve. 
 Et puis— bon soir 1 ' 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE ESCORT 
 
 Destroyers. — In the North Sea. — The Apotheosis of 
 Chatter.' — Dawn. 
 
 Twin destroyers moved through the darkness 
 heading to the east, and in a seaport far astern women 
 who were girls in years returned from the cHffs, where 
 for an hour they had strained eyes on watch — came 
 back to wait and pray, to pray and knit. 
 
 There was a stunt on, that is all — one of the kind 
 known to the Navy as a beef trip. It was summer, 
 and the England we know clamouring for food. In 
 the lands on the far side of the North Sea are spies 
 who, when they score, as sometimes they do, carry 
 fat purses to the fireside where women await their 
 return ; but never, whether they win or lose, do the 
 sailors on whom they spy carry fat purses to those 
 who await them. These men do not consider gold. 
 They are concerned with a factor termed honour, 
 which has nothing in common with gold, although 
 sometimes honours are bought with gold. 
 
 In the summer men expect to see the sun even in 
 that stretch of muddiness they term the North Sea ; 
 but the sun had gone down behind glum clouds at 
 nine o'clock, and the half-light showed a dim horizon, 
 perhaps a mile distant, damp, smudged, miserable 
 to consider. 
 
 The escort commander acknowledged these factors 
 with a shrug and concentrated his gaze on the beastli- 
 ness they faced. 
 
 H 2 
 
100 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 "North-east," said he, "with rain and spray 
 enough to wash the Fleet." 
 
 A shadowy figure behind the screen made answer : 
 " What price an armchair, sir, before the fire ? " 
 
 " Some one in it, waiting for ... ? Sorry," the 
 commander interjected ; " can't seem to remember 
 you as a married man, Lindsay." 
 
 " Can't seem to remember it myself, sir. Didn't 
 last long enough to get that sort of feeling. Ten 
 days' leave, a -week of life, then this, . . . Can't 
 fancy I see myself selling that farm." 
 
 " Nor I. Seen the evening paper ? " 
 
 " Not yet. . . . Any news, sir ? " 
 
 " They say the war will be over by Christmas. 
 That's the cream. ..." 
 
 " Good ! Who's the liar ? " 
 
 The commander moved across and stared through 
 a slit at the compass. He was silent — angry. Behind 
 him stood a bluejacket nursing the wheel. Near at 
 hand was a bunting-tosser, flags stowed, switch ready, 
 Morse graven on his brain. The commander came 
 near and said again : " Ask if they have seen the 
 evening paper." 
 
 It seemed he had a mind to probe. 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir." 
 
 Immediately at the mast head a series of flashes 
 appeared and from the next astern came an answering 
 will-o'-the-wisp. Then the bunting-tosser, otherwise 
 yeoman of signals, spelled out the query : " Have 
 you seen the evening paper ? " 
 
 " No," flicked through the dark with precision, 
 followed by " Why ? " Then : " What's the latest 
 London whine ? " as though in mimicry of the 
 question put by No. 1. 
 
 " It's a London crow," said the light in long and 
 short flashes to a commander's dictation. " It says 
 
THE ESCORT 101 
 
 we shall be sitting down to dinner at peace with all 
 men on Christmas Day." 
 
 '' Name, name 1 " pleaded the light. 
 " J. B." 
 
 " F lor eat ! " winked from the next astern. " Good 
 old liar." 
 
 The commander seemed impressed by this simi- 
 larity of views. He moved up and down the small 
 bridge assimilating the fact. 
 
 And as he marched, glaring into the night with 
 each turn, a kindred sentence troubled him. " Wh^t 
 is the Navy doing ? " For a moment he halted, stung, 
 then marched as before, up and down, down and up, 
 considering, intent. 
 
 This thing annoyed. It had come to him in many 
 guises — through the medium of letters and comment 
 in the Press ; by innuendo from lips arched suffi- 
 ciently to lead Judas by the ears ; from those who 
 hurled straight questions which spoke of business 
 considerations and refused to soften the blows. ' ' What 
 is the Navy doing ? Why don't you give them 
 socks? You are big enough and strong enough in 
 all conscience. Surely there must be some way of 
 digging them out as that First Lord of yours said. 
 Why, then, don't you begin? " 
 
 He remembered, too, additional piffle all harping 
 on the same string. " Get them out, or if you are 
 incompetent, let those in who can. These raids must 
 cease. They are breaking the nation's nerve." 
 
 Astonishment came to his aid here. He looked 
 at the North Sea tumbling mistily in the gloom. 
 There were one hundred and sixty-two * thousand 
 square miles of it, and he occupied a space whence he 
 could govern a circle one mile in diameter. Rather 
 
 * Authorities diflPer : 
 
 Murray gives 163,600 square miles ; 
 Krummel gives 220,910 square miles. 
 
102 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 futile, was it not, to talk of stopping all raids while, 
 on the far side, behind the wet triangle were walls 
 and mines, forts and an armed coast for the raiders' 
 shelter. The thing at which they were to dig. 
 
 He came back to the allegations of these critics, 
 as he termed them. Even the battle of Jutland was 
 not sacred to them. They walked around it with 
 a microscope tearing at the honour of those who had 
 fallen. Jutland had been shorn of its glory by the 
 stupidity of those who led our fleets, or by Admiralty 
 instructions ... or because some one a long way 
 up lacked the Nelson touch. And he remembered 
 that when the Nelson touch was in being its critics 
 damned it, swore that any other sort of touch would 
 have finished the French at the Nile, made victory 
 of defeat at Copenhiagen, and won at Trafalgar so 
 that no enemy ship could have escaped. 
 
 He remembered, too, those more personal affronts 
 which had come his way ; heard a soft voice deploring 
 the fact that she really had never cared for him as 
 she should, and thanking him for giving her freedom 
 to return to the arms of khaki. 
 
 And because he was strong and big-hearted he said 
 nothing of this either to his mother, sister or pal. 
 But it rankled. Khaki, it appeared, was in the 
 ascendant just now. Well, it was wise to recognise 
 facts. And of course one must acknowledge that it 
 was largely composed of that part of the nation which 
 had refused to prepare for this raffle — he phrased it 
 so in his mind — and therefore had left the Navy 
 fettered, unable at the first spring to strike out. 
 
 Perhaps that was why he was bitter, why he joked 
 with Lindsay about marriage and walked so frequently 
 alone. He had been through Jutland, you under- 
 stand, and knew just how much of this criticism was 
 just. He had been in the North Sea ever since the 
 
THE ESCORT 103 
 
 Cressy trio went up, and he knew how shore folk 
 looked upon sailors when the wit was out. 
 
 " What is the Navy doing ? " He flung back his 
 answer through spray that strove to blind him : 
 " Fighting for a people who were too damned lazy 
 to prepare . . ." — then marched in silence a little 
 ashamed. 
 
 A swell rolled down from the north in lumpy 
 disarray^ — a sort of jumble-sale of discarded seas 
 which flicked and spluttered with undirected zeal, 
 leaped on board in the waist, and set *he destroyer 
 lurching. She was going all out, in the naval phrase, 
 and trembling like a lap-dog facing the cold. The 
 sea towered on either hand as she drove through it, 
 broadened to a counter- wave, and fell breathless 
 into the sizzling wake. 
 
 The Long Forties held this racing pair at an hour 
 when it is seen at its best, or its worst, as you please. 
 A destroyer can lie for a moment very easily on two 
 of the waves it provides, with a vision of daylight 
 peeping amidships beneath her. It builds up a sea 
 which can break a ship's back, drop her engines on 
 the sands, and leave two ends oscillating vicariously 
 to the depths. Only the Dogger Bank or off Yarmouth 
 in a north-easter can equal its virulence. It slops 
 at the iron coast, slops at the ships which pass over 
 it^ — brims upon them and seeks to carry men in its 
 arms when it returns. 
 
 It is a shoal spot in a very malignant sea, untiring 
 in its war on men and their cobbles. It rolls back 
 upon itself, stung by the granite which stays it from 
 a march across Scotland. It is very rarely still, and 
 is part of the hunting-ground of those unterseebooten 
 which obey the All-Highest — — of Germany. 
 
 Mist it carries in its arms, sea-fret, rain, hail, snow, 
 as the seasons ordain. And with them it shrouds 
 
104 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 our coasts, blots out the lights, tinges the seascape 
 with yellows and greens, wraps the horizon in steam, 
 and wrecks the ships which move upon it. The 
 commander had no words for his abhorrence of it. 
 It was the last sea made. Late on Saturday night 
 it was begun and left unfinished. The far side of it 
 was so shallow that you could drive a coach and 
 four up the coast from the Maas to Texel at low-water 
 springs, damn till you were blue in the face and 
 hand the ribbons to a numskull with perfect sangfroid. 
 Yet we fought to maintain our grip on it — fought 
 for a nation which was blind to our deeds now, as 
 before it had been blind to the methods of Germany. 
 Well^ — ^that was part of the plot by which a world 
 burdened with progeny was permitted to destroy 
 those whom it was difficult to feed. . . . Those 
 women were right. He saw it now. He remembered 
 their smug attitude of content, dog-oddities posed 
 silkily on laps which should have held babies. 
 
 Admiral So-and-So was a rotter . . . that was 
 the term ; and his wife was no better. The C.-in-C. 
 deserved translation . . . while General So-and-So 
 was as big a fool as Lord K., and God knows he Avas 
 the last word in stupidity. They walked more 
 gingerly with the Navy, perhaps because the com- 
 mander was there to refute them. Yet they destroyed, 
 for other listeners, all, from the First Lord to the 
 last gazetted lieutenant. And they knew, cigarettes 
 emphasised this ; for were not their husbands mem- 
 bers of His Majesty's Government, people who talked 
 without closing doors ? . . . and these women were 
 but units, as the commander knew, of the tribe who 
 babbled, criticised, and shrugged out the ineffable. 
 
 What was all this to the ears of a man stung by 
 the preference shown for khaki by the woman he 
 worshipped but an incentive to cavilling ? It reflected 
 
THE ESCORT 105 
 
 on the people he Hved to defend. No soul of all the 
 thousands in office but worked for himself, precisely 
 as trade unionists worked for themselves and struck 
 when the nation was cornered. 
 
 One should not be asked to fight for a nation one 
 despised. One should be freed of an incubus. Yet 
 it remained. It was an incentive to the last move 
 of all harassed souls, whether by fate or by accident. 
 For a moment, as he stood facing the spray clouds, 
 he rebelled, then a voice appealed, saying, somewhere 
 at the back of things : " Surely you aren't going to 
 be knocked out of your stride by a chit of a girl ? " 
 ... A chit ! . . . That gave him another point of 
 view. He had scarcely considered her thus . . . and, 
 said the voice, to join such blighters . . . God ! they 
 are the limit. 
 
 So ! That was over. He could not have said to 
 what this thought referred. The Celtic mind is 
 more prone to introspection, perhaps, than the Saxon. 
 It sees things from various angles, and all seem to 
 impinge on the main question. Some men might 
 pass over to internment; but he could not. It was 
 not for nothing he had been trained at Osborne and 
 Dartmouth ; not for nothing he had worked at 
 Whale Island with the Vernon and the rest. . . . 
 Only a cad would go over and leave all those damned 
 fools to fight their own battles in future . . . only 
 a cad. 
 
 He crossed to the starboard wing and leaned over 
 the screen to stare at the sea. It strove to whelm 
 him as before, to brush him into the pit it had dug 
 out there where immensity yawned, hissing its 
 greeting. 
 
 In his eyes the sea suddenly appeared as a shallow 
 incentive to evasion — an incentive prepared by the 
 Almighty to keep men and nations at see-saw ; a 
 
106 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 tantalising bridgehead which an army might cross 
 if you could dam it as they talked of damming 
 Zuyder Zee. It was the worst ring in the world for 
 a fight, hedged with shoals. One could never see 
 two yards from one's nose. To navigate by obser- 
 vations was absurd ; a man had to smell his way. 
 Nelson beating against nor' -westerly gales in the 
 Gulf of Lyons was in paradise by comparison with this 
 still-born echo of a sea. And the Navy was slanged 
 for not sweeping it clean. God 1 that annoyed. 
 
 But it would be held. He came back to that. 
 Although it was not worth the lives of two British 
 bluejackets, the All-Highest should never rule it. 
 Rather would he, as commander, march the bridge 
 as Vanderdecken marched the poop of his Flying 
 Dutchman, live in oilskins till they grew to be part 
 of him, wear sea-boots and fisherman's stockings 
 and all the idiotic mufflers the British people wove for 
 khaki, conduct beef trips till Kingdom come, than 
 the Kaiser should crow at Cuxhaven of his sovereignty. 
 
 Seven bells ! It was not struck, yet in his heart 
 he knew the hour. The gale droned on. The dark- 
 ness was of that character that the men dubbed like 
 the inside of a drain. Submarines would scarcely 
 bother them to-night. They would be looking after 
 their own hides, not cavorting on the surface on the 
 chance of a shot. Besides, the destroyer was going 
 all out. In her engine-room there was a roar of 
 imprisoned force ; the hum of her turbines playing 
 musically on his ears told him all he need know. 
 
 " A north-easter, by George ! One of the blighters. 
 Wonder what it is like in Edinburgh ! " 
 
 A picture of Princes Street on Saturday night 
 arose before him ; the portico of the North-Eastern 
 Hotel. He saw the fur-clad women lounging there in 
 chairs and beside them khaki, gorget -patched, eye- 
 
THE ESCORT 107 
 
 glassed, untouched by the war. He heard the ripple 
 of their laughter, remembered the seven-course 
 dinner they had enjoyed, the wine, coffee, liqueurs 
 and cigarettes they had consumed. And he made 
 shift to get hold of this convoy, to find them more 
 '' beef." 
 
 Then, far back at the end of his last leave, he 
 remembered the room where she had said just what 
 she had said. It was a beautiful room, artistic, rose- 
 tinted, semi-dark. She lay, her face turned to the 
 pillow of a sofa, her shoulders shaking. He reached 
 out and touched her head, and she instantly flung 
 back her hand : " No^ — no ! Not that. I don't 
 deserve it." There followed a deeper note. "All 
 I ask is that you should be happy' — pray God that 
 may be possible." 
 
 He made a long pause on this. 
 
 In reality he was searching the heart of a gale ; 
 in thought, with the facility of one accustomed to 
 the silences, he was watching this girl, reading her, 
 remembering her words. The dual capacity caused 
 no strain. It was the half-uttered sentences which 
 found that. It appeared that khaki was a more 
 artistic colour than his crude blue and gold. 
 "Paltry!" The word escaped him, and he looked 
 across the bridge to where a dim shadow outlined 
 Lindsay with raised binoculars. He moved over to 
 join him. 
 
 " See anything ? " he asked. 
 
 " No, sir. Imagination only." He lowered his 
 glasses. 
 
 " We can do without that, here, Lindsay — what ? " 
 
 " Rather, But I would sooner be here than ashore 
 where they are." 
 
 He spoke of more than one, not knowing what had 
 transpired in the room in town. 
 
108 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 " Yes^why ? " 
 
 "Oh, well ; you see, sir, that we at any rate are 
 doing things, while they "^ — he halted, uncertain hoAv 
 to put it — '' have to sit still and guess. That must 
 be ghastly." 
 
 The commander frowned over this. It was a factor 
 which had escaped him. 
 
 " Yes," he said at length. " Perhaps you are 
 right. Anyhow, it explains the damned had shooting 
 they make." 
 
 He turned and walked towards the chart room. 
 
 ''Over by Christmas!" he growled. "Good 
 Lord!" 
 
 He exchanged signals with his next astern and 
 went to look at his chart. 
 
 A messenger intercepted him, handed a paper, 
 and stood back. The commander switched on a 
 light and closed the door. 
 
 It was a message from the wireless room explaining 
 in the terse language of the sea that patrol X. J. 2, 
 far up the liittle Fisher Bank, had caught sight of 
 two cruisers steering N.W., true, and lost them in 
 the dirt. He had advised C.-in-C. Position would 
 take them into neighbourhood of T. 5 before daylight 
 at twenty -seven knots. 
 
 The commander read it. His lips were closed, his 
 eyes steadfast. He called the messenger and said, 
 " Tell Mr. Escott to get on to the Admiral and 
 report," acknowledged his salute, and turned to the 
 chart. 
 
 A few measurements gave the destroyer's position. 
 With compasses extended thence to T. 5 he measured 
 on the scale. 
 
 " At two o'clock," escaped his lips. Then after 
 a pause, " Can do ... if the convoy is ready." 
 
 True. And thereafter an escort would be tied to 
 
THE ESCORT 109 
 
 the speed of the slowest ship of the convoy. Perhaps 
 eight knots. 
 
 Well — the Navy would save oil and the people 
 would have more spare cash for the cinemas. 
 
 So the world wags. 
 
 Three a.m. . A scattered array of cargo-boats 
 flaunting neutrality, wallowing perhaps to the stars; 
 two British destroyers to act as herald. An hour 
 late at the start, a faint line already touching the 
 horizon out there where the wind boomed. Dark 
 still, blowing still ; wet, mist, spray joining hands 
 in the murk. A man who would stay at sea when 
 it was possible to wash hogs on shore must be a 
 glutton for discomfort — yet these boys of the ward- 
 room and lower deck made light of it. When a sea 
 catches a man, rolls over him and wets him to the 
 skin, he damns the sea ; but he does not eschew it. 
 He gets a cup of hot cocoa, if he is lucky, drinks, 
 smokes, and chatters out shibboleths about that 
 farm which is not his to sell. 
 
 In spite of oilskins every one was wet. Oilskins 
 do not keep out sea-water, rain and the rest ; they 
 keep it in when you are brimmed. Gradually you 
 warm it — as you do the wet linen of a pack * when 
 the blankets are about you. A man who would 
 remain dry at sea in a destroyer, or one of the patrol- 
 boats, needs isinglass worn bladder-wise, hermetically 
 sealed with a drawstring. This would put his eyes, 
 ears, hands and feet out of action — and he would 
 not be able to smoke. On tl\e_whole sailors prefer 
 to get wet, and rounding up a convoy gives oppor- 
 tunity even to the stokers. 
 
 A convoy which speaks a dozen languages ashore 
 speaks but one at sea — otherwise it would never be 
 
 * The medical, not the military, type. 
 
110 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 rounded up. On this occasion it was a lumbering 
 tank of a boat which answered to a Swedish variant 
 of the " Dutchman " lingua which gave all the 
 trouble. She persisted in using her blinker when 
 .every one else was at peace. She wanted to know, 
 in long and short flashes from a singularly powerful 
 lamp, how she was to steer, when she was to get 
 in, whether her cargo, which was pitprops, was 
 required in France or Italy ; and on each occasion 
 the commander silenced her. Then she lost her 
 station, and blinked out the fact till next astern 
 boarded her and put the lamp out of action. It 
 was then that the last of the escort's bluejackets 
 got wet. And it was then that the lieutenant who 
 boarded her discovered ,she was a thirteenth ship 
 in a convoy supposed to contain twelve. She ex- 
 plained quite glibly that she had intended to run 
 the gauntlet alone, but had been advised by wireless 
 from Carlskrona to fall in with the rest. Hence, 
 doubtless, the ignorance of the British Admiralty 
 of her movements. Her papers seemed to bear out 
 these statements, so the lieutenant signalled, damned, 
 and got back to his boat. Afterj that, for an hour 
 there was peace. 
 
 The opportunity for which, in some moments of 
 stress, the commander had prayed was at hand, but 
 he did not know it. Who of us, ashore or afloat, 
 in these days would pray for prescience in a matter 
 which stands with the Most High for direction. The 
 Zaza's and Magda's of great London are in no sort 
 of doubt as to their part in divination ; they pander 
 simply to the gulls and the gulls whimper when they 
 are plucked, calling on the Law — which is as it 
 should be in a world made rich by the manufacture 
 of H.E. shells. 
 
 A commander is not one of those who manufacture 
 
THE ESCORT 111 
 
 shells. He orders their use and in times of stress 
 fires them. He was therefore scarcely likely, in 
 spite of his ancestry, to encourage the soothsayers 
 when facing a north-easter, or when running away 
 from it, with a wireless in hand bidding him alter 
 his course. The factor of this additional ship did 
 not seem to call for examination beyond that already 
 accorded to it. The thing had happened before. 
 It was a beast of a night for boating, darker now, 
 if possible, than an hour ago, and there was this 
 matter of the cruisers to consider. It was agreed that 
 an eye should be kept on the interloper ; that was 
 all. 
 
 Lindsay again on watch at four o'clock rather 
 questioned the reliability of that report from patrol- 
 boat X. J.2. Her commander, it appeared, was one 
 of the Curly Gang,* keen, but new to the job. He 
 wondered. Perhaps he had seen snakes in the dirt. 
 Of course one could never be sure. The thing to do 
 was to keep their eyes skinned and leave the rest 
 to Joss. 
 
 A wireless in a strange tongue intervened to bother 
 the commander here — not because it was impossible 
 to pick one up, but because it was strong. Its mean- 
 ing was sought in every known code, and in some 
 that were not, its probable source considered. 
 Guesswork made way when all else failed, and that, 
 too, was presently discarded. The words were 
 German, but they had no plain sequence, and the 
 wireless-room had no means of decoding them. 
 
 Difficulty, you perceive, in spite of comment, 
 remains a factor on the high seas as elsewhere ; 
 espionage a factor even more illusive. 
 
 So the thing moved to completion, Lindsay on 
 watch once more ; the commander having been up 
 
 * R.N.R. 
 
112 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 all night, as befitted his supremity, still footing his 
 small bridge ; the engineer-commander nursing his 
 engines, husbanding oil — the British nation com- 
 fortably abed. 
 
 Next astern was now no longer next astern. Some- 
 times he circled at full speed round the convoy, 
 sometimes passed into the shades astern to bring up 
 the rear. Dark still, blowing as before ; rain, mist, 
 and tumbling seas to right and to left of them, the 
 escort wallowing : then out of the blackness a glare 
 appeared, far over in the east where some day the 
 sun would rise. It stood for thirty seconds perhaps 
 straight in the wind's eye — a flare, not of the sun 
 but of a funnel, twin funnels ; then a squall rushed 
 over them, blotting it out. 
 
 Next astern spotted it and flashed the intelligence 
 to his chief. He, too, had seen it, and in his mind 
 the thing was clear — cruisers. Word came back for 
 action stations as the leader circled swiftly from the 
 van. " Convoy at full speed, scatter ! " ran his 
 message as he passed, while the wireless tapped out 
 details which should intercept those two who came 
 hell for leather to his aid and turn them to the south 
 in order to crack nuts which it would be impossible to 
 crack here. To the wet triangle, he seemed to say ; 
 meanwhile whack her up and hard-a-starboard ! 
 
 The destroyer flared, ruffled by a following sea. 
 For a minute she seemed to stand on end, her funnels 
 belching sparks, then slobbered into stride while 
 next astern fell into his. Independent action was 
 the word, and, as the two moved in line, next astern 
 heard his leader's comment on the fact that now 
 the convoy seemed to lack the thirteenth ship. 
 Was he quite sure of his facts ? In any case only 
 twelve ships moved to their orders. And there 
 came the blatter of a chief yeoman — "Fritz for a 
 
THE ESCORT 113 
 
 dollar, sir," and over his shoulder to the man at the 
 wheel, " Fritz, or I'll eat my best gell out of home." 
 
 It did not occur to this commentator to explain 
 that the omens were against any meetings whatever 
 but the one they faced ; yet at that moment his 
 commander was giving the challenge which should 
 determine the nature of the flare they had seen. 
 
 All funnels shoot flames on occasion, even under 
 the greatest precaution, when a vessel is driven ; 
 all friendly ships acknowledge the challenge when it 
 is given — yet now the signal remained unanswered. 
 The gun crews had no doubt — they made ready. 
 The commander had no doubt — he headed for the 
 flare. The seas smoked past. 
 
 Twin destroyers steared now in column of line 
 ahead to the eastward sampling the salt seas. Behind 
 them, scattering like a flock of pigeons, the convoy 
 churned along at what is called full speed. West, 
 south, north they drove, laying off courses for a 
 future assembling, noting the log, punctilious of 
 effort for the sake of destroyers already out of sight. 
 These drove into a sea which leaped them at a bound, 
 raining spray on their taff rails. In black darkness, 
 in the teeth of a gale, they moved onward, leaping 
 like hounds in a gorse patch, and suddenly were 
 lighted from stem to stern ; their grim attitude, 
 guns, shields, crews, bridge all picked out in the 
 glare of a white light. And with that light came a 
 new rain — a rain which spat fire, iron in jagged slips, 
 bullets, gases, upon them from lips so near that 
 none could miss, which blinded men, flung them out 
 in red patches upon the sea ; smashed guns and 
 shields all in a tornado of red force that silenced the 
 wind roar and tamed the sea. 
 
 Instantly the leading destroyer flashed out his 
 intent, swerved, and became the centre of a sheet 
 
114 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 of flame. Guns flared on all hands — a diapason note 
 upon a background of rattle. The first boomed, the 
 second ground out the notes of a pneumatic riveter 
 running spasmodically. Spray curved high, flame 
 lit, the sea leaped in columns which towered geyser- 
 like, hissing. The leader was the centre of it, her 
 path a zig-zag of pitted whiteness, going all out for 
 her big antagonist. Her commander no longer stood, 
 nor did he sleep, but sat in a bunch giving orders 
 while one stooped over him binding his stumps. 
 Blood on the bridge, blood in the waist, blood spat- 
 te. ed and clogged for the seas to sweep clean ; gunners 
 at rest, torpedo-men who would launch mouldies no 
 more ; so they charged to get near, swerved and 
 let fly. 
 
 The first missed. A second followed, in spite of 
 failure, and found its mark in obscurity, far off where 
 fire leaped and a dull roar came down the gale. In 
 a pause which seemed tremendous no gun spoke. 
 The crews stood watching. Some one cheered — a 
 dull shout broken by swift vengeance as shells rained 
 fast. Whether the sea was hell or the fire hell none 
 could have said ; they faced both wiltering, impotent 
 ■ — faced it without flinching, barking, angry, flame 
 their message, till those who were left went up with 
 their ship, flung thither by the breath of their own 
 magazine. 
 
 Next astern saw her go, yet he scarcely swerved 
 as he crossed her track. Cheers rang out even as 
 they would on victory. The commander waved his 
 cap leading it, knowing well that he, too, would be 
 wiped out. The men shouted, cognisant, if men in 
 action can think, that presently they too would be 
 flayed. 
 
 The shells they received were from nine-inch guns. 
 
THE ESCORT 115 
 
 They replied with sixes. You can make no mistake 
 at close range in these circumstances — the lesser 
 armament fails. Well — but Fritz should have a 
 good run for his money. Apparently there were two, 
 each big enough to scoff the grim hound which flew 
 at them. So much searchlights had shown — the rest 
 was guesswork ; but next astern was equipped, like 
 her leader, with mouldies itching for a run, men 
 itching to start them in the time-honoured fashion 
 of our marvellous Navy. 
 
 Two swift cruisers faced this small hound of the 
 sea which had seen a companion hound caught and 
 flung piecemeal to people God's Heaven ; but that 
 did not stay her. It bared her teeth. Her lips rucked 
 back upon gums which snarled. She came with a 
 rush as methodic, as well aimed, as if the grey hulls 
 she charged were built of the butter and eggs of the 
 scattered convoy, with sides no thicker than the 
 plates of that Swedish snake which had crept among 
 them, signalled the position, and escaped tongue in 
 cheek the winner of a purse. 
 
 She spat flame as she rushed ; but she had no 
 intention of ramming. She sought to get under the 
 big-guns line of greatest depression — to face his 
 cracklers, whatever force he could fling, and get 
 to work with her mouldies. One went home, or so, 
 in the turmoil, it seemed. Then the great ship 
 limped in her stride, came round to the north and her 
 consort was free to use pressure. 
 
 The end came swiftly while next astern was tapping 
 out hieroglyphics to certain lean cruisers of the 
 southern pack, who rushed to her aid. It came in 
 the flair of action — guns roaring, machines spitting, 
 flame pouring from wrecked funnels. It came in the 
 old way, but in the swift fashion of to-day^ — every 
 man at his post or dead ; engines racing, stokers 
 
116 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 watching through mica screens the play of oil in the 
 furnaces ; engineers steadfast on platforms watching 
 the telegraphs, the tubes, thrusting in buttons, 
 pulling at levers, as though, in all the world, only 
 the question of revolutions mattered. 
 
 It came with a snotty in charge, the bridge a 
 shambles, a wounded yeoman at the wheel, the guns 
 wrecked. A great flash of light heralded it — yellow, 
 green, pink — wonderful to behold, and through its 
 glow masses of iron and steel leaped up, aiming at 
 the stars, wavered, came back upon the sea, pattering. 
 
 And when the light was gone there remained stray 
 dots pulsing upon the sea which carried them. 
 
 So night fell upon the escort which attended the 
 slow march of provisions to England- — night and 
 silence. 
 
 So came a new heralding of shapes before the 
 throne of Most High God. The dawn of a new life 
 for some . . a. little shortening of supplies for those 
 who still gorge. 
 
CHAPTER Vfl 
 
 SURSUM CORDA 
 
 The Eyes of the Fleet. — A Cruiser engaged. 
 
 Prince Bismarck said to me in 1889 : '' If the British 
 Fleet is overwhelmingly strong it becomes the dominant 
 factor for peace in FAirope." — Lord Beresford. 
 
 Long grey hull, wedge-shaped, falling away aft, 
 boasting four funnels and two attenuated masts with 
 a bridge lifted halfway to her fighting-top — that is 
 a typical cruiser. Her guns lean out nosing the sea 
 over bow and stern, her bulwarks are rails ; her 
 casings, boats, barbettes, Q.F.'s, tubes and a thousand 
 obstructions crowding decks are part of her, rigid 
 iron and steel, and she stands to the Navy of to-day 
 as the frigate in Nelson's time stood for battleships 
 of the Line. 
 
 But they move with speed and certainty for equip- 
 ment. Wind, weather, and sea have but little influence 
 on these warrior greyhounds which watch our shores. 
 It may make them wetter, make positive superlative, 
 make men swear and pray as the case fits- — that is 
 all. They are knife-like in their structure, lean in 
 the flanks as their prototype of the chase, and of 
 enormous energy when measured in horse-power. 
 In a seaway they are no more comfoi table than a 
 racing-yacht close hauled in a breeze. You live in a 
 bath, and there is no steam geyser to warm the shower 
 when it falls. '' She ships it blue and she ships it 
 neat " is a very fair description of the thing in 
 being. 
 
118 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 Rather different to the old days when frigates 
 carried messages and searched out enemy formations 
 for the fleet. Then you would walk the quarter-deck 
 in pumps and remain dry ; now there is no quarter- 
 deck worth the name, and pumps would be like wash- 
 leather in an hour. A cruiser lies as near the water 
 as the frigates stood over it with their copper in a 
 breeze; but she can turn on her heel like a skater 
 at full tilt, and speak to her friends through leagues 
 of ether with a certainty that would leave the old- 
 time sailor agape. 
 
 They are the lineal descendants of the vessels one 
 used to meet in all parts of the world, watch as they 
 hoisted their ensigns at eight bells, wait for when at 
 sunset the flags were hauled down, try to follow 
 w^hen the chief yeoman was busy with his signals. 
 They are of that race of ships which came into distant 
 harbours, took up an anchorage, hoisted a flag and 
 instantly commenced a salute. Sometimes other 
 warships were in the port, and then, for an hour or 
 so, one watched the tongues which leaped red from 
 alternate sides as fresh colours went up and the guns 
 paid homage. 
 
 Then for days or weeks we took our fill of them, 
 noted the precision of their top hamper, watched the 
 bo'sun as he went out in a cutter to square their 
 yards, worshipped the clean, white beauty of their 
 sides, the brass and ornamentation on bow and 
 stern, watched the launches, the gigs and cutters, 
 and ached to be of those who walked their decks. 
 
 They were the outposts of an island nation ; 
 vessels come sometimes to exact reparation for acts 
 of savagery committed by barbaric tribes — the pleni- 
 potentiaries of the sovereign of the seas and a 
 tangible assurance that England would do her 
 duty ; but now they are grey as the seas which 
 
SURSUM CORD A 119 
 
 beckon them hence, caiT}^ them and sometimes hide 
 them. 
 
 Cruisers have varied duties, some of them pleasant, 
 some unpleasant — all of them difficult. They are 
 the eyes of the fleet and are accustomed to hold 
 themselves in readiness for any adventure ; to carry 
 through the pacts of empire, guard the ocean high- 
 ways where on vastly divergent tracks merchant 
 ships pass and repass bringing wealth and greatness 
 to the nation. They may be dispatched to the gates 
 of the sun or to face the blasts of arctic winter ; may 
 be called upon to round up enemy cohorts or to draw 
 battle squadrons into action ; may go out with bands 
 playing, as to a dance, and face death in the blare 
 of a gale. 
 
 Without question, without argument, at the 
 ordering of a string of flags or a whisper in wireless, 
 they move away from their base to face the dangers 
 of modern sea war at its worst^ — seas strewn with 
 mines, craft which creep in its depths, carrying 
 perhaps the stink-pots of an enemy placed surrep- 
 titiously below deck — in any weather, at any hour, 
 so the men who man them pass from our midst and 
 sometimes enter Valhalla in passing. 
 
 Valhalla, palace of immortality for the souls of 
 heroes slain in battle, stands for all men to enter. 
 
 If they be fi,t, its gates fall open to their summons ; 
 if they be unfi.t, its gates remain closed. That is the 
 law of the ancient Northland races as sung by the 
 sagamen of the past, and we who follow walk 
 reverently with -lifted hearts. 
 
 " The sting of a blow is on our faces. 
 The soul of a man is in our keeping, 
 The Trust of a Nation is at our feet. 
 And he who was strong is strong no more . . . 
 
120 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 " But the thud of guns and tramp of armies 
 Shakes the land as we sleep, and the Heavens 
 Are dark ^vith tears. Yet there remains for those 
 Who are sere as for those who march, the still 
 Voice of Faith . . . 
 
 '''Lord! I believe, 
 Help Thou mine unbelief.' " 
 
 Through the grey air in the manner of vikings, 
 over the grey sea they loved, domed by the grey 
 clouds which sometimes screened them, moved three 
 shapes, brushing a path in the wilderness. 
 
 They emerged slowly from a smoke cloud which 
 for an hour had formed their screen behind Pentland, 
 a triplet from the fleets of Britain, dipping to the 
 swell which ran white-lipped to greet them. 
 
 A cruiser and her escort moved there pushing into 
 the teeth of a rising gale, facing dim heavens which 
 masked the westering sun. 
 
 Heavy grey clouds, with a scud streaming thinly, 
 like smoke, across them, confronted this trio ; heavy 
 grey seas which rose in black shapes, solid and 
 menacing, to honour the English War-Lord, at whose 
 voice millions of his race had awaked, taken arms, 
 and gone out to fight for freedom, justice, honour. 
 
 No other man could have called forth so spon- 
 taneous an answer, no other could have imbued men 
 with the confidence necessary for so vast an adven- 
 ture — only that English War-Lord who now voyaged 
 to the stars . . . Kitchener, " K. of K.," as the 
 world called him ; the cold, stern soldier of the 
 chatterers, whose iron face and will was imprinted on 
 the nation's mind, in spite of malice, so that nothing 
 could shake its trust. 
 
 And now he sailed in the Navy's keej^ing. Sailed 
 at the King's order, a staff of great men his com- 
 
SURSUM CORDA 121 
 
 panions, to greet the Tzar of all the Russias and 
 forward the national business. 
 
 The Hampshire dipped to a sea and spray flew on 
 either bow, rainbow-tinted where light touched it, 
 grey where there was none. For a moment she 
 seemed to pause, scumbled by the flurry of the 
 wilderness ; then again her grim sides showed their 
 tint — the war tint of a nation at grips with death ; 
 the grey-black of the Fleet which holds it scatheless. 
 
 She matched in tone the Atlantic rollers, even as 
 a while since she had matched the North Sea spate. 
 She was grey with their dim greyness, cold as the 
 shallow wastes where for months she had cruised. 
 The fog of those drear seas was the standard she 
 aped. To be like them, to match the smoke, the 
 mist of her habitat, the aim of her people. 
 
 She moved with the conscious dignity of strength 
 and ordered force — power in her stride. The muzzles 
 of her guns, pointed for offence, leaned out grimly 
 nosing the murk. The smoke from her funnels 
 streamed back upon her wake, leaving a cloud as of 
 the cuttlefish blurring his trail. 
 
 High over the bridge screens the wind sang a 
 whistling chant in the greyness ; and the delicate 
 antennae, which are a ship's ears, twirled and vibrated 
 between tall masts. 
 
 On either hand the twin black imps who were her 
 companions belched smoke and cut capers which 
 scoffed at the dry laws of gravitation. Sometimes 
 they soared as though, like a seaplane, they pricked 
 for the stars ; at others the sea swallowed them to 
 the tips of their funnels, and only the inkiness of 
 their breath remained. 
 
 In the Service the imps are known as T.B.D.'s, 
 torpedo-boat destroyers, and they move, like the 
 porpoise or grampus, at full tilt when on business. 
 
122 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 Sometimes they catch a submarine and crumple him 
 up with a spitting fury of gunfire ; sometimes give 
 him the stem, and nothing remains 'to mark his exit 
 but a weightier stretch of water, a space wherein 
 seas no longer break. 
 
 So the trio danced onward, emerging from Pent- 
 land, and came towards the iron coast of the islands. 
 
 All the land is iron-bound here, all the islands 
 pinnacles of a worn continent whence the sea has 
 washed the softer terrain. As the giant rollers of 
 South Pacific have torn Patagonia, jagged it, and 
 pieced the sea with a thousand islands, so the Atlan- 
 tic's surge has brashed the Scottish coast line, leaving 
 rock and islets, pinnacle and shoal in labyrinthine 
 profusion as outposts for the land. 
 
 A wild coast — wild as the fjords, wild as western 
 Magellan and the interlocked islands of Patagonia. 
 Cold, grey, iron-bound, all of it, upon which seas 
 roll their thunders. A coast harried by gales, where 
 fishermen live precariously, fighting to win suste- 
 nance from the sea, where the sun is oftener cold 
 than warm, oftener screened than clear. 
 
 Two bells ! Seven o'clock, and a bugle calling the 
 watch to secure a raft which the sea had mauled. 
 A wild night on the horizon. A wild coast a-lee, as 
 our fathers have sung. A gale humming melodiously 
 its requiem, as is the way with gales, on declining 
 day. . The sun blaring red and blurred upon turrets 
 and bastion of sea and sky. A flame picture wonderful 
 to consider — the last to shine on men voyaging to 
 Valhalla ; the ship lighted by it, the air luminous, 
 the purple seas flecked because of it. 
 
 Then came the northern twilight — all its magic 
 burked by swift clouds from the wrathful west ; the 
 curtain of sea and sky which draws upon a gale. And 
 
SURSUM CORD A 123 
 
 in the smother it was seen that the escort suffered, 
 that to prolong its stay would bring disaster — so 
 from the centre shape went a message to the imps. 
 
 " Go home ! " it said in the language of the sea ; 
 " you will be getting your socks wet. Go home and 
 keep the fires warm." 
 
 The imps flicked a reply. In their minds they 
 argued that the chief knew his business, that sub- 
 marines would have no chance in a night of this 
 sort. They would be pumping like a balloon tethered 
 in a gale . . . couldn't get a shot in once a week ! 
 '' Go home ? Rather ! " 
 
 They turned in a sea which smothered them, 
 climbed its back, and the cruiser moved alone. 
 
 Majestic, fearless. A grey shape that stole on in 
 the growing dusk. A figment of steel and Bessemer, 
 tie and girder, rod and joist. A ship less in the 
 semblance of a ship than of a wedge. One of less 
 power than those leviathans who fought beside her 
 at Jutland ; but fast, trustworthy, staunch. A 
 twelve-inch salvo, if it hit her squarely, would put 
 her out of action, perhaps in a smother of red flame, 
 instant, tremendous ; but the sea she looked upon 
 as a locomotive looks upon its track. The sea, she 
 was ready to assert, had less mobility than the iron 
 road which carries a train ; but it is durable. It 
 never requires repair. Its bridges never break down. 
 It is there if you would test it — strong, cold, full of 
 movement, full of surprises, but immutable. 
 
 For twenty odd months of war this cruiser had 
 gone her way as ordered. She had endured the peril 
 and uncertainty of an endless pause ; had passed 
 from sea to sea, from port to port, scouted ; faced 
 the bitter winter of that vicious puddle misnamed 
 the North Sea ; fought somewhere in the thunders 
 
124 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 of the Battle of Jutland and emerged, as just now 
 she emerged from Pentland, certain of her ability to 
 face the odds which were set her. 
 
 Dangers too subtle for analysis lay in her path 
 now as from the first mad onrush of war. Death 
 from mines scattered broadcast, from submarines 
 lurking where the gods knew, from conspiracy all 
 the devilry of an enemy berserk and twisting in the 
 toils — how should she consider the grim pinnacles of 
 those islands she passed ? They were shadows merely, 
 shadows over which the scud drove, impossible of 
 offence ; yet, in spite of all, ashore as well as afloat, 
 there were sinister forebodings, the claptrap perhaps 
 of ignorance, and the jubilation of those who knew. 
 
 K. of K. was the central figure here and there. 
 " What wouldn't the Sausages give to down 'im ? " 
 asked the lower deck. " Is there any blighter 'ere as 
 will give the lie to that ? " Apparently there was 
 none. So with those far off. If there were a secret, 
 that secret was kept. If there were conspiracy, those 
 of the lower deck who spoke were no party to it. 
 British seamen these, not Huns. Ready to grouse if 
 you will, but clean of hand, as is inevitable while the 
 white ensign flies and the seas remain free. 
 
 K. of K. ! The War-Lord of England would have 
 given his ears to hear that talk ; but his greatness 
 kept it from him. 
 
 For half a lifetime he had dominated men's thoughts 
 and speech by the personality which was his. The 
 sphinx might divine what man would say, but he 
 would not clothe it in words. The known " austerity 
 of his glance," the '' steely blue eyes," kept subor- 
 dinates at a distance and truth in the background. 
 There were those who talked, of course. Enemies, 
 some, who reeled off anathema on all the sphinx 
 qould do or say. Others, doubtless, who defended. 
 
SURSUM CORD A 125 
 
 What matter ? Is it not always so ? Deep in the 
 heart of all great men is an inner consciousness, even 
 as with you or me. It is perhaps more kept in control. 
 Certainly it finds no place in expression. And to 
 the machinations of an enemy those who would enter 
 Valhalla remain indifferent. 
 
 Night flared over him, seeking, as always, to push 
 him out of his stride. Wind and sea were conspired 
 to drive him below ; yet for the most part he kept 
 the deck. A gale blared over the grey shape which 
 carried him, seas rolled upon her, aimed to blot her 
 out — to drive her, as it had driven others, on those 
 dim island pinnacles she skirted. The gale grew, as 
 it were, with the knowledge of its impotence. It 
 slammed at the rollers, whitening their crests ; sent 
 black hills across the night, down which trailed 
 luminous splotches, dull fires of marvellous quality^ — 
 streaks, spots, as though the hill were stable. And 
 in an instant they were gone, the hill became a 
 hollow, and all its ravening parts aswirl upon the 
 cruiser's plates. 
 
 She moved through the bluster scatheless- — cold, 
 stern, indomitable as that Lord she carried, screened 
 from the driving seas by her shield. She was pointed 
 for the north. She would see the gates of the Arctic, 
 breathe the breath of the white tracts which stretch 
 away and away to the confines of the world- — to the 
 great white soul of winter, there by the pole. 
 
 She would hold speech with consorts who were 
 invisible as the Norns brooding over her; receive 
 messages from a chief whose orders she obeyed ; 
 speak with Admiralty itself, domiciled in that great 
 London where cabs swirled in the murk and theatres 
 no longer blazed wanton light on the crowds who 
 passed. She would never be alone. Voices would 
 reach her as from the spirit world passing inscrutably 
 
126 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 with stabs of flame. Even the King, if he so -willed 
 it, could speak with her, advise, warn, cheer her. 
 
 And always in her long passage through the wilder- 
 ness she would be in touch with war — the war which 
 now it was her business to avoid, but which stood 
 arrayed, as always, to strike her down. Steel against 
 steel, flame against flame ; by ramming, by gunfire, 
 by scorpion blows delivered under sea, by stealth 
 from within ^ — so might come, at any moment, her 
 end, giving her over to Valhalla, the palace of 
 immortality. 
 
 She lifted in a whirl of spray, unconscious of 
 Valhalla as he for whose guerdon she strove, and 
 again came bell-strokes, given, as the fashion is on 
 shipboard, twice staccato, once again, after a pause. 
 Three bells, half-past seven ! She took no heed of 
 it, nor of the chanty which for a moment of time 
 escaped the men's quarters. 
 
 She was master of her destiny here as in other seas. 
 Her beams and girders thrummed their unending 
 song, challenging the gale. Her engines purred 
 an accompanying bass. Shovels rattled, winches 
 whirred, down there in the hot heart of the ship 
 where men worked stripped to the waist, sweating, 
 their torso shining and grimed in streaks with the 
 essence of her power. Did they not carry Britain's 
 War-Lord- — the soldier who magically had raised and 
 equipped an army of millions while other folk trailed 
 blather? The sailors kncAV him. The black squad 
 knew. The officers marching the bridge knew. 
 Doubts assailed them less than the knowledge that 
 it must be uncomfortable for him. For the sterile 
 attitude of sub-acid criticism they had no words. 
 He was their guest, their over-lord. A man known 
 in the world as K. of K. 
 
 For the honour of their errand stokers worked 
 
SURSUM CORD A 127 
 
 where Aveaklings would die. For the honour and the 
 danger and the glory of their errand they would 
 work double tides if he so willed it. As their comrades 
 on deck went their way in a bath of iced spray, so 
 down here others toiled in a bath of sweat ^ — watched 
 levers and valves, brasses and giant rods which never 
 were still, which did human tasks with barbarian 
 force, clanging out chords. They stood cheek by 
 jowl with cranks which revolved, marked the eccen- 
 trics swerve, the sway and poise of the whole . . . 
 because, in fine, the word had gone forth to carry on. 
 
 They were bound on a journey so secret that all 
 the world prattled of.it, so dangerous that a presage 
 grew. The man in the street, it appeared, had definite 
 information of the quality of those passengers long 
 before the cruiser received them . . . K. of K. ! 
 How the world bleated. 
 
 Clubs and dinner-tables in London and elsewhere 
 rattled with talk of him and his journey. They 
 criticised him and it, questioning with an air of 
 immense wisdom the value either of him or it. The 
 great Kitchener, forsooth ! The man whom the Hun 
 loved best- — who was tired, effete. . . . 
 
 Those of our enemies still in our midst joked of 
 the secrecy we maintained in all matters of national 
 moment. They chattered tongue in cheek. 
 
 And now that the Navy had charge of him all the 
 world had knowledge of his ship. She faced a gale 
 with high seas, blackness and the devilry of the 
 blustering north. K. of K. had been seen to smile. 
 He was an old voyager. What was a gale but wind ? 
 Clean to the taste though, clean and without subter- 
 fuge or quibble, or any of the smug posturings of 
 those who, perhaps, would advise. He was seen at 
 length to enter the captain's cabin' — ^the holy of 
 holies on all ships both great and small. 
 
128 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 The sentry could have told when he passed the 
 threshold ; perchance given a hint of the manner 
 of his apj)roach^ — and exit ; but Valhalla holds him 
 too. 
 
 For there came quite suddenly a vivid .flash, a 
 resounding roar, and instantly the doors of Valhalla 
 stood open to all. 
 
 Silence fell on that ^racing cruiser. The voice of 
 the machine was hushed on her hurts. To some 
 extent there was the v/ondrous quiet which lies at 
 the heart of a cyclone. The engines no longer moved 
 — only the tumble of the sea, the drone of a gale, 
 were e\'ident. Men rushed together awaiting the 
 orders which presently would hint at the Jifeaning 
 of that crash. 
 
 Would it be action stations and the glory of a 
 fight ? Had Fritz got through- — had they stumbled 
 on a mine ... or would it be the humdrum tale of 
 boat or fire stations- — drill ; the last word in harass- 
 ment for men honestly perfect ? 
 
 Who knows ? 
 
 Not those who stood there listening, expectant. 
 Not K. of K., still within the captain's roomi. Only 
 the officer of the watch knew, and his order went 
 forth, arresting guesswork. 
 
 A bugle sang for boat stations— boat stations where 
 boats would remain unlowered. 
 
 There came a sound from belov/ more explanatory 
 than this which was honestly conundrum, and the 
 men trooped to quarters on a ship which already 
 hummed under them. From aft, climbing the hatch- 
 way, came, with a word of command, two of those 
 who rule. 
 
 " Way for Lord Kitchener there ! " And the men 
 saw pass them twin figures of Britain's latter-day 
 worship — one clad in khaki, the other in blue. They 
 
SURSUM CORDA 129 
 
 watched these two until he who wore khaki reaphed 
 the quarter-deck. 
 
 Thereafter two khaki-clad figures seemed to pass 
 up and down the sloped decks together. 
 
 The men moved away to release rafts, to unlash 
 boats, to take their stations as for drill. Some 
 occupied places in boats which would remain in 
 their cradles until stirred by sheer inclination ; others 
 found spars, lifebuoys ; blew up waistcoats and 
 pretended it was funny. 
 
 The cruiser quailed under them. 
 
 Without doubt this thing that had happened was 
 fatal. Presently the vessel would throw up her heels 
 and they who waited expectant would have to swim 
 for it. Uncomfortable, that. Cold. . . . 
 
 A bugle blared orders which the gale strove to 
 drown. It was piping up once more ! What was it 
 they said ? A drift of talk whelmed them. There 
 would be a devil of a sea over there on the island ! 
 All rocks, by Jove ! Luck, eh ? 
 
 " Wish I was at the back of Portsmouth ! " came 
 thoughtfully from hirsute lips. " Wish you 'ad 
 me by the bloomin' scruff, mate ! " leaped in re- 
 joinder. 
 
 And Valhalla stood wide to them awaiting the 
 Pale One's sweep. 
 
 K. of K. walked slowly before them. Up and 
 down, down and up, a khaki-clad figure on whom 
 the Empire still leaned, cold, unresponsive, a little 
 tired of the hurly-burly. He continued to walk. 
 His arm was linked within his friend's^ — was that his 
 wont ? 
 
 K. of K., the men called him, worshipping and 
 critical in a breath : the man who emerged once in 
 
130 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 the Soudan disguised as a dervish to answer the 
 challenge of an astonished sentry. The man who 
 had built by slow degrees the blow which finished 
 the Mahdi at Omdurman. The man who had block- 
 housed the Transvaal and compelled the Treaty of 
 Vereeniging ; who had fashioned India's army anew ; 
 ruled Egypt ; and lastly built up a force which 
 presently he would slip on the Huns as hounds are 
 slipped upon their quarry. The man, it was whis- 
 pered, who looked with love, at length, upon the 
 home he was fashioning back there at the edge of 
 Barham Down, amidst the giant trees of the rolling 
 Kentish uplands, and stole odd moments to visit it 
 as others would a mistress. 
 
 He marched there before them calmly, up and 
 down, down and up, as if he were again on sentry go 
 and must. 
 
 There came a sudden lurch flinging men down like 
 apples shaken from a tree. They crashed across the 
 deck, scrambled to their feet and stood waiting. 
 Lord K., it seemed, stood also. 
 
 But they knew that their hour had come. They 
 knew the strange trembling that had touched their 
 ship. They were prepared by long service for assault 
 and battery. They knew the writing on the wall, 
 and would go out toeing the line in face of it. 
 
 The gale took them at their word and sent a sea 
 which brimmed to the gun-shields. The ship rolled 
 back in the teeth of it, her fangs buried, her bilge 
 lifted to the black night. To the drum of the gale, 
 to the pall which descended upon her, so she dipped 
 to the majesty of her end. 
 
 Thus passed Kitchener on the road to Valhalla. 
 
SURSUM CORDA 131 
 
 God saw his work was done, heard the prattlers, and, 
 pitying, called him. 
 
 Valhalla holds him. Kkaki-clad he lies within the 
 walls of steel which were his shield . . . even as 
 they are the shield of all those who heard and obeyed 
 his call. 
 
 K 2 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 PRO PATRTA 
 
 The Prelude,— The ""' Cherry picker.'^ — Service in the 
 North Sea.— The Real Thing. 
 
 Reggy Sinden, Lieutenant-Commander, R.N., 
 called himself a " dug-out," which was a misnomer 
 for one so young. 
 
 On August the 2nd, 1914, he was the owner of an 
 estancia at the foot of Cordillera, in the province of 
 Mendoza, Argentina ; but September the 10th found 
 him standing before a door at Whitehall which bore 
 the following legend — 
 
 " Don't knock. Come in. 
 Take your hat off on entering. 
 If you cannot take your hat off, 
 Stay outside." 
 
 Reggy Sinden entered smiling. He knew the Navy 
 and its methods, knew to whom this order was 
 addressed, and passed up the long room uncovered. 
 
 " Well ? " said the Chief as they shook hands. 
 " What have they given you ? " 
 
 " Submarine service, sir, again. I'm appointed to 
 E 01, commissioning Sheerness." 
 
 " But I thought you came out because of your 
 eyes ? " 
 
 " Oh, that's all right. Argentina cured me. . . . 
 Seem short of men for undersea craft — trained men," 
 he explained ; " and so I'm fixed up . . . join at 
 once and get into shape." 
 
PRO PATRIA 133 
 
 The Chief watched him with critical eyes — 
 
 " Didn't you press for surface work ? . . . I 
 happen to know they want 'em as badly as we want 
 most things." 
 
 " It was the training that did it. . . . You can't 
 make submarine men in ten days ; they put it quite 
 fairly, and I couldn't refuse — now. It was different 
 when I came out of the Service. War a long way 
 off then. No occasion to eat your heart out, although 
 it was a bit of a wrench to cut the hawser, even then." 
 
 " Of course. . . . Well, what about the ranch ? " 
 
 " Sold." 
 
 " Break-up price, eh ? " 
 
 Sinden nodded. 
 
 " Couldn't very well stick out for plata these days, 
 sir . . . besides, land's down." 
 
 " Everything's down but the flag, eh ? Good Lord ! 
 Some of you over-seas men are paying for our slackers. 
 Navy's tied to the British apron-strings just when 
 it requires absolute freedom . . . the old jorum . . . 
 got your gear ? " 
 
 " Everything. I join to-night. Trials to-morrow. 
 After that quien sahe? North Sea, perhaps . . ." 
 
 The Chief held out his hand. " She's a fine boat — 
 the last word from our yards so far . . . take care 
 of yourself and good hunting ! So long ! " 
 
 At four o'clock that afternoon Lieutenant-Com- 
 mander Reggy Sinden stood on the deck of his boat. 
 Beside him were a commander and Barry Lame, 
 otherwise P. & O., a newly- joined member of the 
 Curly Gang, who would be known as the navigator 
 when his other sobriquet failed. 
 
 They were going the rounds, the commander, who 
 would leave her in Sinden' s hands on the expiration 
 of her trials, explaining to the new man the various 
 points in submarine construction. 
 
134 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 '' No," he said, " there are no airlocks in British 
 submarines. The whole top -side is an airlock, as 
 you will find if she's holed and you get out of the 
 hatch. . . . You see the air naturally rises when 
 water enters, and there is only one way of escape — 
 that is by the conning-tower. . . . 
 
 " Nor do we use helmets — they are served out ; 
 but as a matter of experience we know it is extremelj^ 
 difficult to escape from a vessel that has been properly 
 holed. It is all chance, Joss, you know ... we 
 haven't time to bother about it. Been in the Adriatic 
 at all ? " 
 
 " Not lately, sir. . . . My route has been London, 
 Suez, Colombo, China for the past two years — Rome 
 and Carthage most of the time." 
 
 " Ah ^ — damned fine ships. Rather different here 
 as far as space is concerned, eh ? Navigator on the 
 Rome?'' 
 
 " Yes — afterwards chief of the Carthage y 
 
 " I know her . . . Marsden in command. Good 
 fellow, Marsden. . . . But about the Adriatic ; I 
 have a notion we shall be sending round there, or 
 even farther east, presently, when Italy declares her 
 war aims, eh ? And you boys will have to mind 
 your eye. . . . 
 
 " To begin with, it's blazing hot — when it isn't 
 wickedly cold, blowing a mistral or a trans-montana, 
 or something wet like a sirroc. It'll be an unhealthy 
 station for submarines. Airmen top dog all the time. 
 You won't be able to move among the islands, as a 
 rule, without being spotted from aloft. Then they 
 will come down and drop bombs which may or may 
 not hit you, and you will be inclined to burrow. 
 That's the limit. Don't try it. You are no more 
 hidden in the shallows when you are down than 
 what you are on the surface. Keep moving. It's 
 
PRO PATRIA 135 
 
 your only chance. Turn on the gramophone and 
 pretend to listen to Harry Lauder or Tettrazzini ; but 
 come up . . . 
 
 " Mind " (he twisted to Sinden), " excuse this 
 patter. You came in the middle and must bear 
 with it for the navigator's sake. . . . Mind," he 
 resumed, " you are as blind, when you are down 
 under, as a mole, and must learn to see with your 
 claws and nose. There's nothing else' for it. The 
 airman is like the farmer with a spade and a dog. 
 But the mole is less easily seen than a submarine 
 when she's down under, so keep moving. It's no 
 use to sit still. You can't afford luxuries of that 
 sort in shoal water when a seaplane with a pocketful 
 of bombs is monkeying for a pot shot. . . . 
 
 " You've got to get up and bark. That may scare 
 him, drive him higher up, anyhow . . . and if he 
 doesn't get rattled and sheer off, remember it's just 
 as comfortable to be done in with your head out of 
 water as in it. Now we'll go downstairs and look 
 at the instruments." 
 
 They climbed through the open hatch, passed 
 down the conning-tower and control, and reached 
 the cylindrical centre body of the vessel, where 
 everything that matters in a submarine takes form. 
 They examined the gauges, the levels, the fool-proof 
 fitments, tubes, voice-pipes, and came to the small 
 flap table, where presently the navigator would work 
 out his reckoning, plot his courses, and bury himself 
 waist deep in the abstruse data which explains our 
 tidal system. 
 
 A long, narrow passage held these men. At the 
 centre its width was about four feet clear — that is 
 to say, something not very much wider than a 
 dining-table. Head room was sufficient, but not 
 more. A tall man would go bent in some sections. 
 
136 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 while even a short one would be compelled to crawl 
 in others. Forward were tubes, the torpedoes 
 shining in oily calm close at hand. Every inch of 
 space was apportioned, and somewhere forward of 
 the control a couple of bunks, one on either side, 
 with sliding doors drawn, showed that sleep was still 
 considered a factor in equipment. 
 
 But all this was A B C to Sinden, who made at 
 once for the eyes of the boat on leaving the control. 
 
 The first he passed without comment, a sinking of 
 buoyancy at once noticeable. Then he came to 
 No. 2 and crowed : " Kelvin for a dollar, sir ! " 
 searched and found confirmation, and again crowed — 
 one can call it nothing else : " Knew it ! Without 
 Kelvin we should still be groping. Without the chaps 
 who cut the gadgets we see with, we might just as 
 well tie up our boats . . . and this "■ — he pressed 
 a lever — " is the last word, not only in clarity and 
 power . . . but, by the Lord ! You can see. . . ." 
 He became mute, morseing the word it was unwise 
 to whisper then or now : " That puts us on top. 
 Kelvin trick, I'll swear. ..." 
 
 He turned to the commander, who stood smiling 
 beside him, took in his appreciation and his nod, 
 and gave rein : 
 
 " She's a beauty, sir ! . . . I'll take her where you 
 will." 
 
 " Good ! " said the commander. " To-morrow we 
 shall give you full charge." 
 
 Now to-morrow and many successive to-morrows 
 stood recorded in the log of the Cherrypicker, as they 
 had dubbed her, before it was considered wise to 
 release those who had contracted to build her and 
 deliver her word-perfect to play her part. She was 
 not word-perfect. She required a prompter. As a 
 matter of fact, it is amazing that builders can string 
 
V, 1 ^m 
 
 V 
 
 1 
 
 \ 
 
 .r^r^ 
 
 1 
 
 ^:iJ 
 
 Jm^^ 
 
 < 
 
 1^"^ 
 
 1 y^Itj 
 
 H^^^iiw^xi^ il 
 
PRO PATRIA 137 
 
 together so complex a machine that perfection 
 may be expected of material honestly mute. The 
 engineer and chief artificer claimed that she could 
 speak, but, like the monkey, refused lest the Owner 
 should require her to work. 
 
 England, in these days, you perceive, still required 
 submarines. As a nation we were not enamoured 
 of the under-water idea, and did not tackle it with 
 any degree of enthusiasm until other countries made 
 it plain that submarines would be the new weapon 
 at sea. Then we built rapidly, and presently had a 
 finer fleet than our competitors ; but we had not 
 contemplated ocean-going craft, and the vessels with 
 which we commenced the war were as the little 
 fighting ships of Alfred the Great to the leviathans 
 of to-day. 
 
 Meanwhile the Grand Fleet stood across the 
 threshold of the North Sea, and work proceeded 
 " as requisite." It stood there challenging the German 
 with the same^calm as that with which it had taken 
 up its stations at the end of July. Weeks had passed 
 since then, and very little had happened. Der Tag 
 and the poison gas of sterile years, but packed with 
 bombast, seemed to have culminated in something 
 akin to stalemate. 
 
 Then one morning the British nation woke up to 
 read that three ships, Aboukir, Cressy, and Hogue, 
 had entered the long silence while on patrol out there 
 in the North Sea. It was a blow the nation had not 
 expected, although there were those who had foretold 
 what would happen, who had said plainly that surface 
 ships would be tied to their harbours by the activities 
 of this new deadliness^ — men who had warned it of 
 the dangers to be found lurking behind Borkum and 
 the Frisian screen which shut in Ems. The proximity 
 of Ostend, Zeebrugge, and Antwerp to our shores^ — 
 
138 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 towns which might in certain eventuaUties pass into 
 enemy hands — had been foreseen ; and to it all the 
 nation had turned a deaf ear. Now it became angry, 
 and mutterings of that stupid cry '' What is the Navy 
 doing ? " — which first was heard from Newcastle — 
 saluted those who fought. 
 
 Obviously the Navy was losing certain vessels 
 which it had no special desire to lose. Obviously 
 naval men were going into the ditch in the old way, 
 and the nation was beginning to reward them, as it 
 rewarded the victors of Copenhagen, the loser at 
 Minorca, and all that bunch of blunderers who won 
 for it the over-sea lands we still called Colonies. 
 These things are unpleasant to remember. One 
 would like to be able to say that it ended with the 
 loss of those ships ; but that would only be another 
 specimen of the historic terminological inexactitude. 
 
 For a month the Cherrypicker worked from her 
 base in the North Sea with nothing v^y startling to 
 report. Occasionally she sighted an enemy sub- 
 marine, dived and proceeded full speed to attack ; 
 but always when she put up her periscope to resight 
 and train the sea was void of enemy craft. 
 
 Notes in Sinden's handwriting show in terse outline 
 the heartbreak of these happenings. They show, too, 
 something of the conditions of under- sea warfare. 
 The constant strain on nerve and sight, the extra- 
 ordinary hazards, the joy of going to the bottom to 
 avoid the rush of surface craft, when it may so happen 
 that you plump on a mine capable of lifting you to 
 the surface again — for one dull moment in scattered 
 sections. They tell one of the blind fumbling, the 
 mole-like striving when netted ; how Joss is the 
 ruling factor always and at all times, when some 
 force holds you pinned fathoms below surface. It 
 
PRO PATRIA 139 
 
 may be a mine mooring which has fouled some excres- 
 cence in the hull, the planes, the propeller, the rudder, 
 the screens of your conning-tower. The mine, if you 
 wobble too much, may come down and detonate. If 
 you start the propellers, you may be firing the match 
 which will send you skyward, ... or it may be 
 you are foul of wreckage — some sunken craft whose 
 yards and masts have not yet resolved. You cannot 
 see. You peer out of the conning-tower scuttles and 
 fancy a thousand chains are holding you. You see 
 things with tentacles which slobber near the glass — 
 it may be weed, or it may be Hun mechanism set to 
 hold you fast deep down where in the course of 
 certain days and nights you will no longer be able 
 to breathe. You will feel the slow approach of that 
 torpor which ends in asphyxiation and question 
 whether it has not already commenced. Your breath 
 will come less readily because of these things. Your 
 heart will beat as seemed impossible, and then, with 
 a fine burst for freedom at all hazards, you will turn 
 on the gramophone, order the engines full speed 
 astern, and remember that Joss still stands for those 
 who fight, beckons to those who trust, and will not 
 fail you. 
 
 So you come out of that hole^ — terror, if you prefer 
 it — with a little twisting and buckling, and prepare 
 to enter another under the same guidance. But first 
 you must take a look at the sun ; failing the sun, 
 at daylight, or starlight^ — anything of that world 
 which once was yours to see. 
 
 Fog, in these conditions, is plain delight ; a gale 
 with curly crests, sheer joy of life ; the sun, if it be 
 there when you emerge, your betrothed in her 
 gentlest mood. 
 
 But there was very little sun in the failing months 
 
140 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 of 1914. A curtain was drawn upon a warring world. 
 Earth quaked at the blast which blew with ever 
 increasing violence on the wrecked lands of Belgium 
 and France. Our First Seven Divisions were being 
 pounded to the death. Behind them was the North 
 Sea, to the right of them France, heroically standing 
 to bear back the legions of Kultur which stood over 
 her. Nothing behind either but the Channel and 
 the North Sea, dominated and held in grip by the 
 Grand Fleet, which then was England in being, 
 Albion the white and shining presence, the promise, 
 trust and hope, of half the world. 
 
 It was a dark period, black with portent. England 
 seemed on the verge of paying for the ikon smashers 
 who had conspired to make her unready. Coronel 
 had been fought and lost. Gallantry had again been 
 shown to be no fit weapon against massed guns of 
 greater calibre. Craddock was gone, Monmouth and 
 Good Hope^ with all their skill and vim and splendid 
 comradeship, were gone ; and von Spec was seeking 
 coUiers in preparation for a dash on the Cape — 
 thence, who knows, to make a bid, perhaps, for 
 that part of Australia which would fall to him, in 
 accordance with the War-Lord's promise. 
 
 Sinden, P. & O., and Archer, the Engineer-Com- 
 mander of the Cherrypicker, knew these things and 
 breathed with closed lips. They had seen prepara- 
 tions in being, had laid for one tremendous hour 
 beside the Inflexible, knew her errand and that of 
 her sister, although the wardroom frankly was in the 
 dark. 
 
 " One of Jacky Fisher's sleuth-hounds," Sinden 
 acknowledged as he stood in the Cherrypicker's 
 conning-tower to watch her sail. " It will be touch 
 and go, though. If they get out in time, we shall 
 scotch them ; if too late, we shall monkey von Spee 
 
PRO PATRIA 141 
 
 all round the world and back again. . . . It's time 
 something was done to show South America we mean 
 business. There isn't a republic south of Yucatan 
 but the Germans have got a lien on it ... I know. 
 I haven't lived in the Argentine for nothing. The 
 old flag was wiped out long before Coronel, as far 
 as South America goes. ..." 
 
 He turned in the growing dusk and waved his 
 hand in the direction of H.M.S. Inflexible. " God 
 speed, old darling ! " he crooned. " Get her going 
 hell for leather, an' let 'em see what the Navy can 
 do with its children." 
 
 An hour later he gave the order to close down, 
 and dived to test the Cherrypicker before proceeding 
 to his beat. Then in the morning when it was grey 
 dawn he sighted a vessel broad off on the port bow 
 which brought him fame^ — with the few who knew. 
 
 There had been mist, in patches, and Sinden was 
 in the act of closing down when a whiff of air from 
 the north-east lifted the curtain and disclosed a 
 Fritz, also on the surface. The navigator got her 
 bearing, scuttled with his commander, and in less 
 than a minute the Cherrypicker had vanished and 
 a voice was saying " Starboard Forty ! " ; then as 
 the electric engines came into action, " Stand by 
 tubes ! " 
 
 There followed a movement of the crew to stations 
 and silence. 
 
 Instantly the purr of dynamos filled the throbbing 
 hull. The Cherrypickers breathed hard. Hitherto 
 they had found no chance, only the tortuous business 
 of entanglements and mine-fields : but here was 
 Fritz, a live Fritz, apparently - oblivious of danger. 
 Would they draw his teeth ? Would they, in the 
 days to come, when one could talk, be able to say 
 what they might not say now — in the chimney- 
 
142 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 corner perhaps, with bright eyes hfted, cheeks flushed, 
 fingers working spasmodically at buttons which in 
 all conscience were clean ? . . . Would they be 
 able to* give chapter and verse of their first shot, or 
 would the other fellow score ? 
 
 It was a toss up. No soul of them could say 
 certainly that Fritz had been caught napping. Not 
 one of them but might in a few minutes^ — five, ten, 
 twelve — be blown to fractions. Not one of them in 
 that case. . . . 
 
 "Bow tubes ready . . . beam tubes ready ! " 
 
 There came a hiss of compressed air, a trickle of 
 water running with startling clarity somewhere. A 
 subdued clang . . . and through it all the hum of 
 dynamos, the clang, recurring as of bolts shot in a 
 cavern deep bedded in the earth. Sweat stood in 
 beads on Sinden's brow ; he loathed the secrecy of 
 the thing, but it was war. P. & O. felt a curious 
 lifting of the hair beneath his cap ; then came an 
 order to blow down and rise to twenty-eight. The 
 noise of pumping ensued, and upon that the com- 
 mander's sharp voice^ — " Stand by bow tubes ! " — 
 as he passed to the high-power periscope. 
 
 A little twisting of wheels and a grunt from Sinden. 
 It was as though he had said " missed." Then, in 
 a silence which could be felt, the men saw him lean 
 away from the eyepiece to say : " Under a thousand. 
 Call it eight hundred. . . . Fire starboard bow 
 tube ! " 
 
 He reached back his left cuff and stood critically 
 examining the dial of his watch. The boat rolled 
 slightly, echoing to a dull thud which seemed to 
 have come from the confines of the world. Others 
 suddenly f^und it necessary to consult their watches, 
 to count the seconds, as it were, between now and the 
 beyond. Then came a stronger vibration, a thud 
 
PRO PATRIA 143 
 
 so solid and violent that the Cherrypicker throbbed 
 from stem to stern ; and upon that sound, as though 
 it were part of the game, Sinden's voice, calm and 
 restrained, was heard saying : 
 
 " Got him ! . . . Now we can go up and makee 
 look-see." 
 
 The look-see revealed a patch of discoloured water 
 amidst the greyness — something grey floating in it, 
 atoms swimming in it, all grey and blurred from the 
 shock with which they had been hurled to the surface. 
 
 Sinden stared and gave the necessary orders, but 
 his gorge rose at the sight. It was un-English — like 
 shooting a sitting bird. In spite of his elation he' 
 execrated the necessity. A stand-up fight is another 
 matter, but this stealthy business of sneaking upon 
 your enemy and cutting him down without a word 
 of preparation, now that he had done it, appalled. 
 But it was war, as understood in the twentieth 
 century ; war as shaped by the enemy and the All- 
 Highest Pickelhaube who led it ; war in its deadliest 
 and most scientific form, which Sinden must carry 
 through whether he loved or hated it. 
 
 Nevertheless it was essential to do something to 
 take the taste away. So the Cherrypickers got orders 
 to save the drowning, and turned with alacrity to 
 obey. Four they hauled on board* from the edge of 
 the pit ; fed, clothed, and put them to sleep in bunks 
 which hitherto had been untenanted. Then, as 
 there was nothing else they could do, they carried 
 their prisoners sedately to the depot, " as required, 
 in order to obtain medical attention." 
 
 Thus, without talk or illuminating head-lines, the 
 Cherrypickers passed through the ordeal of their first 
 encounter, under the leaden skies of the North, took 
 breath, and moved out for further rehearsal. En- 
 
144 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 tanglements remained to be unravelled, channels 
 searched, enemy craft caught and crushed. All the 
 maze of plot and counterplot, all the sage plannings 
 which keep men awake when they should be asleep ; 
 the tense fight with conditions, the necessity to 
 avoid mines, to avoid aircraft when amidst the 
 shoals ; to battle with wind and rain, sleet, hail, 
 seas, and all the hurled misery of force. To stand 
 on watch when the seas hissed past and face the 
 blind groping which ensued if they dived . . . that 
 was the business of the Cherrypickers in the closing 
 months of the year. 
 
 They were weeks of stress and watching which few 
 can gauge who have not experienced the thing in 
 being. Weeks when it was impossible to say of the 
 next minute that one individual would remain to 
 greet it. When all men's lives depended on the 
 commander. When it was impossible for him to 
 delegate his burden of responsibility and he sat or 
 stood staring into the eyepiece of his periscope with 
 scarcely a rest, lifting it, lowering it, twisting it so 
 that he could see what passed on every hand. When 
 he knew that for the smallest drowsiness or inatten- 
 tion he and all who were entrusted to him would pay 
 with their lives- — that he alone must carry on. 
 
 A strain of that nature would soon become unen- 
 durable, precisely as trench warfare after a while 
 spells madness. Hence the regulation for change of 
 scene and, when it is possible, leave, as we understand 
 it now. But in the early days this was impossible. 
 Sinden and his crew were holding the gap, exactly 
 as our men of the First Seven Divisions were holding 
 it in Flanders. England was unready ; therefore the 
 men we had deputed to defend us must stand between 
 us and the Cross. 
 
 Meanwhile authority saw that the Cherrypickers 
 
PRO PATRIA 145 
 
 had proved themselves and decided to move them 
 to other fields . . . perhaps to Fiddlers' Green, 
 which, as all the world may discover, is the Elysian 
 Field " reserved for sailors and vagabond craftsmen," 
 if they care to consult what, I suppose, is the standard 
 English dictionary.* 
 
 The hour struck for their departure one night in 
 December, when a blizzard and a gale had between 
 them conspired to keep all hands without sleep for 
 thirty-six hours. The men were nearly dead-beat, 
 Sinden, as he expressed it, ready for a wringer, when 
 a wireless came through ordering him to return to the 
 base. 
 
 This was in the nature of a deliverance. The gale 
 came at them from the north with ears laid back 
 and teeth bared. They had been compelled by their 
 work to remain on the surface, but now they would 
 be able to dive. The grim arc of the heavens which 
 spanned them was engaged in riddling fine snow far 
 up overhead, and the wind carried it in nearly 
 parallel lines across them. There was no escape from 
 its lash. They were clothed in white and swept by 
 the sea in alternating moments of time. Look-out 
 used a shovel to clear the deck behind the screen; 
 the man who tended the hatch was kept busy 
 slapping it to and re- opening it. Those on the 
 conning-tower were wet to the skin ; those who were 
 below were wet from an opposite cause. 
 
 The submarine plunged and reared and twisted — 
 pumped is the term — like a scared mount in that 
 regiment whence she found her name. It was cold 
 with the biting quality of high altitudes traversed 
 by their kinsmen of the Air Service ; but it was 
 wet as well as cold, and torpor moving to assert its 
 power. 
 
 * Webster's '* New International Dictionary.'' 
 
146 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 Then Joss put an end to their vigil with a wireless 
 which said : '* Return to base with all speed." 
 Sinden looked upon this as coming from Joss, and 
 he should know. You will understand the alacrity 
 with which he gave the order to close down and 
 how speedily they got under — seeing Joss ordered 
 that also. You will be inclined to agree with 
 Sinden, too, that there is only one objection to 
 Britannia's rule of the Ocean, and that is that she 
 cannot rule it smooth. 
 
 Steaming cups of diluted beef essence greeted them 
 as they descended to sixty feet, turned about, and 
 made for home. Potted meat, butter, and biscuit 
 helped to put torpor to flight, helped to bring back 
 the quip and badinage which is the hall-mark of the 
 wardroom in war time or in peace. But Sinden was 
 in a critical mood. He foresaw things. He was 
 looking ahead and wearing Jules Verne's glasses. 
 
 " There is a day coming," said he, " when we shall 
 run these things " — he swept the narrow passage 
 with a half- armed swing, nodding sagely — " without 
 men. Destroyers will come under the same law. No 
 crews. Just a machine governed by waves. You 
 will touch a key somewhere in your eerie, and out she 
 will go. You will touch another key, and you will 
 direct her course. By-and-by when she comes near 
 her objective you will touch off a tin-fish and switch 
 her back by the way she came . . . What ? " 
 
 " A sort of glorified Brennan," the navigator 
 smiled. 
 
 '' Without the wire, old dear ! Without all crush- 
 ing handicaps ; without even a gold-laced sleeve 
 to ..." 
 
 " What radius will she have ? " Archer questioned, 
 opening a valve. 
 
 " The coast line behind Borkum will be within it." 
 
PRO PATRIA 147 
 
 ** Ah ! Then you will have done something for 
 sight while you were at work with the waves . . . ? " 
 
 " Sight ! " Sinden paused, half hesitating, then 
 brushed aside cobwebs. " Sight ? " he reiterated. 
 " Of course we shall have fixed that too. We shall 
 be able to use glasses that will never hurt us by their 
 use . . . 'nother kind of thing altogether. Waves 
 will be in that too, Archie-boy. Refraction will be 
 in it. . . . It will be a jumble, but stupidly simple. 
 Ask the Kelvin-sahib. He knows. It will happen 
 . . . but before that time comes we shall have done 
 other things^ — you and I and P. & O., the whole 
 crowd — and, and we shan't like some of them much. 
 . . . Give me another juice." 
 
 He held forth his cup. Archer poured and, as he 
 poured, asked : 
 
 " But how d'you know these things will happen ? " 
 
 " God knows ! . . . Waves, perhaps. I feel it in 
 my bones." 
 
 Then they turned on music, changed sodden 
 garments, and pretended they were glad to have sold 
 their farms in order to become Fritz-hunters. 
 
 On the morrow, late, they came up off a lightship 
 whose signal had guided them for the past hour and 
 found the snow vanished. A blazing sky welcomed 
 them over the fiats of Essex as they entered, but had 
 drawn a curtain when they came alongside. 
 
 The mother-ship still lay there in spite of Hun 
 raids, her corridors and endless trim cabins, her 
 servants, wardroom, and jovial brotherhood, all as 
 if no snow had been, no blizzard, only the calm still- 
 ness of a winter's day. But before it was possible 
 to enjoy these luxuries Sinden went to report, got 
 orders for Whitehall at 2.30 the next day, inter- 
 viewed his servant, and turned in with the knowledge 
 that something certainly would happen — to-morrow. 
 
148 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 II 
 
 Sealed orders were the outcome of that trip to 
 town in his best bib and tucker, together with a 
 second envelope to be opened at noon on December 
 the 15th at a certain rendezvous. 
 
 Meanwhile Sinden had three days' leave and was 
 free, with Archer, P. & O., and the rest, to speculate 
 on the nature of their next cruise. Sinden was very 
 cock-a-hoop at that time. My Lords had unbent for 
 a few minutes, and had spoken kindly of his zeal 
 and endurance. They mentioned the fact that his 
 name was down for recognition. So he telegraphed 
 to his mother and spent three splendid days of leisure 
 at the old home in Surrey. It was his first leave, and 
 he enjoyed it to the full ; yet when he came to his 
 room at night, he sat before the fire, head sunk, his 
 hands clasped closely across his eyes. He could not 
 have explained that action. His eyes seemed tired, 
 that was all. 
 
 On the 12th the Cherry pickers cast off their moor- 
 ings and proceeded to the rendezvous, where three 
 days later they came in touch with other submarines 
 and an escort : here they opened their sealed orders 
 and discovered they were not bound to the Adriatic, 
 as some surmised, but farther east- — out there, indeed, 
 where already a fleet was collecting, and whispers 
 had gone the rounds predicting the nature of its 
 activities. 
 
 It seems that at that time it was as essential to 
 play to the gallery as it is on occasion in other theatres. 
 On the sea we had taken some hard blows, and, in 
 spite of the heartening effect of the Falkland action, 
 something spectacular was desired. Therefore, as 
 at other periods in this war, speeches, threatenings 
 and the rest, had been made conveying information 
 
PRO PATRIA 149 
 
 to the enemy while preparations matured. We were 
 to slam at stone walls once more, even as at Alexandria 
 in 1882. 
 
 In spite of Nelson's letter to Lord Hood on the 
 wisdom of attacking forts with ships, in spite of 
 Moltke's plain ruling on the same question, in order 
 to assist Russia and block the way to the East we 
 were preparing to pit floating batteries against shore 
 positions mounting heavy Krupp guns. That these 
 defences dominated a channel which narrowed down 
 to about three-quarters of a mile at Chenak, a channel 
 blocked by mines and other devilments, seemed to 
 escape notice. 
 
 " There is nothing the Navy cannot do " had 
 become sheer headiness. The Navy knew, and knows 
 quite well, what is possible and what is impossible. 
 Doubtless it had weighed the precedent of Alexandria, 
 knew how Alexandria was defended, and was able to 
 compare man values in so glaring an instance. Fuzzies 
 in the scales with the Turk ! — the Turk, too, in the 
 hands of a German over-lord. It stands out, written 
 or unwritten, that the Navy knew. 
 
 Sinden and those with whom he talked on the long 
 stretch between England and the East had no doubt. 
 Gibraltar, Malta, and other centres of definite know- 
 ledge were all decided that the thing could be done, 
 provided, as Hornby advised in 1877, the Bulair 
 lines were occupied by soldiers. 
 
 Some one asked where the soldiers were coming 
 from, and at once there came back the shot : "God 
 knows ! I'm not in official secret S' — but soldiers there 
 will be. . . . How else in this world or to-morrow 
 is it to be done ? " 
 
 " There's a talk of our doing it off our own bat — 
 that's all," was the comment. 
 
 " There's talk of a new systemjof ventilation for 
 
150 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 all Cherry picker s,^^ Sinden laughed, " but that doesn't 
 prove anything except that we shall want it out 
 here." 
 
 But when Sinden got orders to examine certain 
 sectors of the Straits, and left Mudros for that purpose, 
 no soldiers had been seen making preparations for 
 a descent on Bulair, no transports had arrived, nor 
 was there any word of their coming. 
 
 The Navy, it will be seen, was going to be very 
 busy with its bat. 
 
 Sinden was absent a fortnight on that cruise and 
 learnt much of what was in store. He had scraped 
 through the mine-fields that guarded the Straits and 
 hied clear away into the Sea of Marmora. To use 
 the cock-a-hoop phrase of the day, he had threatened 
 Constantinople, held up the traffic between Europe 
 and Asia, and seemed able to do the trick without 
 soldiers. As a matter of fact, Sinden was astonishing 
 the Turks by his gentlemanly methods. It appears 
 they expected him to adopt U-boat tactics and to 
 sink at sight ; yet, if a ship came his way, he ran 
 alongside and searched her — brailed her up, as he 
 said, with a shot across her bows and then boarded 
 her to " make his look-see." 
 
 Sometimes the Turks took headers on his approach ; 
 then Sinden saved them, gave them cigarettes, and 
 told them to sit in the sun and get dry. He was 
 careful always to reassure people who took fright on 
 his approach. He said that if his object was to kill 
 men he could do it with guns without coming near, 
 and that it was silly to get into the sea and pretend 
 they were all Boyntons. 
 
 Then one day he brought an old paddle steamer 
 to, and on going on board found not only contraband, 
 but a deckload of women and children. As he was 
 
PRO PATRIA 151 
 
 unable to ferry the women to a place of safety within 
 the meaning of the phrase, he ordered the Turkish 
 captain to carry on, get to his port, and land his 
 people quickly. 
 
 He gave him to understand that the Cherrypicker 
 would be there or thereabouts awaiting that landing, 
 and advised him in a broken mixture of French, 
 English, and Spanish to stir his stumps, as the tin-fish 
 he had in pickle for him was of a brand noted for 
 keeping faith. So the skipper made haste for the 
 particular wharf which awaited him, and Sinden 
 followed in his wake, submerged when he judged it 
 expedient, and came in when the sun was down. He 
 sunk three ships instead of one and retired satisfied. 
 
 The Turks talked of these doings of the clean-shaven 
 Giaour who commanded the British under-sea marvel, 
 and, if one may put faith in the accounts which take 
 the place of those records which once were de rigueur. 
 he went even to the gates of Pera, which is beyond 
 Stamboul, and brought consternation to those who 
 dwelt in Therapia, a far-off Elysium midway to the 
 Black Sea. 
 
 By this time it was generally understood in London 
 that we had smashed every fort from Kum Kale 
 and Sedd-el-Bahr to Nagara and Cham Kalessi. Why, 
 having done these things, the fleet still remained in 
 the JEgean is not quite plain ; but had Sinden tried 
 his luck past the smashed forts on the surface, it is 
 safe to assert he would never have reached his base. 
 
 As a matter of fact the return journey was even 
 more perilous than the outward — or, the Cherrypicker 
 had less luck. Across the Sea of Marmora it was 
 fairly plain trick-work, but from Bulair, which we 
 were to hold, to Cape Helles, which the Turks still 
 held, is a distance of forty miles^ — a run, indeed, of 
 exceptional danger, either submerged or awash. 
 
152 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 Sinden took it submerged, and was plagued by a 
 current which no man can gauge, whether he be on 
 the surface or under it. Nor was it advisable to 
 attempt the passage at night, for all this group of 
 smashed forts were able to use their searchlights 
 very much as we use them here when a raid is expected. 
 What chance so distinct a target would have in these 
 circumstances Sinden decided by going down to sixty 
 feet and feeling his way with the boat's nose. His 
 chart, spread on the small flap-table, gave him all 
 that could be gleaned as to the depths, course, and 
 distance ; but it could only generalise about currents. 
 " Here," it would say, " there is little or no current." 
 " Here it runs from two to three knots," straight 
 down between the rock hills and scrub where presently 
 the soldiers would be engaged. " Here it runs four 
 knots at times " — ^that is to say, four and a half miles 
 an hour. 
 
 It is tricky work in daylight to pass through the 
 Narrows, as all sailors know ; but to navigate it 
 under-sea with only occasional glimpses of the darker 
 land as shown in a periscope is a feat deserving the 
 highest praise. It is a feat one would like to describe 
 in all its wonderful hazards, the backings and turnings 
 which take place, the patience and calm of the men 
 sitting in a machine which has been forced upon us, 
 which no one can love ; the stealthy glide to the 
 stirface when no " way " must be on your ship lest 
 a feather of spray, ringing the periscope, bring quick- 
 firing guns into action, and you go down in a bath 
 of oil and a vast turmoil of bubbles. The sweating, 
 tense silence and concentration of faculties intended 
 for finer work is here. It is a nightmare of all that 
 is strenuous, unnatural, and crippling ; yet in this 
 war we have learned to look upon the Submarine 
 Service as a necessity — which in very truth it is ; 
 
PRO PATRIA 153 
 
 but we have not thought it necessary to find wreaths 
 for the Navy which has provided the Service. We 
 have pilloried certain chiefs and dared to pat the 
 Navy on the back. We have pretended that we 
 differentiate between the personnel of the fleets and 
 the staff which directs it ... as though we could 
 hurt the chiefs and leave the Navy cold. 
 
 That, perhaps, is the reason one hears across the 
 flats sometimes, out there where it is a toss up what 
 happens next moment, " What's the latest London 
 whine ? " and the answer, given in an instant, 
 " Strafeum's lost his collar stud and expects the Navy 
 to find it." 
 
 Sinden got through, and presently reached his base 
 with all his pumps at work and the Cherrypicker 
 looking like a motor that has been driven through 
 wire entanglements. He made his report in due 
 season. He said he regretted that when coming 
 through the last row of mines — he mentioned the 
 exact depth at which he found them — he unfortu- 
 nately fouled an obstruction. This held him up for 
 three mortal hours, and seemed particularly difficult 
 to escape. To his pals he said that at one time he 
 thought he would be compelled to try looping the 
 loop ; to his Chief he said he was nearly at his wits' 
 end. To his pals he said the sweat poured off all 
 hands, and that was the reason they set the pumps 
 going ; to his Chief he said the temperature rose con- 
 siderably — which doubtless was true. But the 
 evolution by which he cleared was inspired by simple 
 desperation. Sedd-el-Bahr was to starboard, Kum 
 Kale to port, and searchlights were sweeping the 
 Straits. After suffering asphyxiation and some other 
 sorrows, he " took a round turn out of her " and 
 came blatant and vengeful to the surface. 
 
154 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 He had broken something. Perhaps wrenched 
 a plane off her^ — hence the leak and . . . the 
 altogether. 
 
 But he had brought himself and all hands back. 
 For that the Chief was thankful — there were so many 
 urgencies that the Navy could ill brook the loss either 
 of craft or crew. They would be examined, over- 
 hauled if necessary, and set a-spinning as soon as 
 possible. The Chief regretted the delay ; Sinden 
 regretted it even more deeply ; but it must be said 
 here leave and treatment were essential if the man 
 was to be saved — and leave, now, was impossible. 
 
 Sinden did not apply for it. He knew the burden 
 which rested on that tiny hunter squadron : the 
 crew knew it also ; but because they were British 
 sailors, they went about their work without rhetorical 
 encouragement from those who governed. Nothing 
 was said of " bonuses," nor " overtime," nor increased 
 pay — all or either of which had been found so essential, 
 even in war' time, elsewhere. 
 
 A month had passed the way of others, and the 
 Cherrypicker was returning from patrol up and down 
 the coast between Cape Helles and Suvla Bay. 
 
 The soldiers had come at last, and were busy, as 
 the sailors said, clinging to the rocks with their 
 eyebrows. Place-names never before heard by the 
 majority were in the process of being burned upon 
 the hearts and consciences of thousands . ' ' Implacable 
 Landing " (of a truth implacable), " Gaba Tepe," 
 ''Beach Y," "Beach V," and the shambles by the 
 River Clyde had, each and all of them, a specific 
 meaning for those who waited here, a throb and 
 aglow in turn, for news. " Boomerang Fort " and 
 " Achi Baba " grew to be names on the far side of 
 the Styx, old Charon busy with his ferry on the 
 
PRO PATRIA 155 
 
 near. Sedd-el-Bahr, Chenak, and Kum Kale all 
 became involved in a glamour the background of 
 which was death. We cheered to the echo, but a 
 sob was in that cheer. The Anzac fathers, mothers, 
 took a deep breath as they read, and said in their 
 hearts. They are ours !^ — bone of our bone, blood of 
 our blood. Britannia, they are ours ! . . . And 
 there were none here who would gainsay them. 
 
 Our knowledge of this barren and waterless ridge 
 known as the Gallipoli Peninsula grew with our 
 amazement at the deeds wrought under the iron hail 
 of the Turk. Since August, 1914, we had been 
 learning to appreciate our soldiers and their kinsmen 
 the sailors. We had heard that a soldier could not 
 move unless a sailor carried him in his pack, and 
 were quite hazy as to what was inferred ; but now 
 we understood, and walked in mute acknowledgment 
 of their joint deeds. We scarcely knew our sons. 
 Those of us who were aware of their metal were equally 
 silent with those who had doubted. It was tragedy 
 in the theatre of ancient Greece — Greece standing 
 twiddling thumbs at the sacrifice. 
 
 Deep in the thoughts of all thinkers was the deathless 
 comment of the Frenchman : " C'est magnifique, 
 mais ce n'est pas la guerre." 
 
 To Sinden and those who had seen the " silenced 
 forts " and knew their strength it was tragedy 
 in excelsis. They had seen their slaughtered ships 
 and witnessed the torrent of shells flung upon those 
 rocky uplands, and they had seen the forts revive 
 as again and again their garrisons emerged from 
 shelter, to blaze at some new venture. On the sea 
 Nelson's attitude went the rounds : " The business 
 of laying wood (ships) before walls (forts) is not 
 much altered of late, and even if they had no hot 
 shot . . . the quantity of powder and shot which 
 
156 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 would be fired away in such an attack could be much 
 better directed from a battery on shore." 
 
 We had heard these things before, and some of us 
 demurred. There came a day when it was necessary 
 to cheer " the man in the street," and we heard this 
 chant : " You must not forget the prize for which 
 you are contending. The army of Sir Ian Hamilton 
 and the fleet of Admiral de Robeck are separated 
 only by a few miles from a victory such as this war 
 has not yet seen. ..." True, yet the phrase should 
 have read " by a few impregnable miles," to avoid 
 the taunt, if it be a taunt, of terminological inexacti- 
 tude. 
 
 " Through the Narrows of the Dardanelles and 
 across the ridges of the Gallipoli peninsula," the 
 speaker continued, " lie some of the shortest paths 
 to a triumphant peace." * True again, but, like the 
 defence of Antwerp, too late attempted. 
 
 Midway in the Narrows lie the rusting might of 
 great ironclads and those thousands who went down 
 with them. Like Rodjesvensky's procession to the 
 Far East, the conception was put out of court by 
 the length of time allowed for an enemy's preparation. 
 
 The losses which hitherto had been borne by the 
 fleet were now transferred to the soldiers. On the 
 peninsula men were falling like flies. The ships which 
 stood off to plaster impregnability with shells were 
 now in less danger ; but the strain remained. Especi- 
 ally was this felt by the small craft, the mosquito 
 fleet as it is called, the mine-sweepers, patrols, supply 
 ships, whether of the Navy or the Auxiliary Service, 
 to the full. 
 
 Without supplies, water, food, shells, cartridges, 
 without adequate provision to take off the wounded, 
 land drafts, the business would have ended in swift 
 ♦ Winston Churchill. 
 
PRO PATRIA 157 
 
 sacrifice of all who crawled and clung amid the 
 boulders. Navy and Merchant Service came in here, 
 day by day, week by week, running the gauntlet so 
 that men who fought might have a fighting chance. 
 There is a beach near Anzac Cove called Hell's Beach ; 
 but all the beaches were hells as all the improvised 
 jetties and huts were death-traps : yet was there no 
 pause in bringing supplies, no check for the gallant 
 men clambering up there amidst scrub and rock ; 
 men who fought, dug, rested, ate and drank with 
 the ping of myriad bullets in their ears, the crash 
 of countless shells, while a lordly sun poured down 
 upon them to bring them torture. 
 
 There were days when Sinden and his brothers, 
 confined in the narrow limits of their Cherry picker, 
 prayed for the larger freedom of battleship or de- 
 stroyer, scout, patrol, anything which could float ; 
 but the exigencies of the Service kept them chained. 
 You cannot train submarine men in half a day or 
 half a year. For that reason, if for no other, a 
 submarine crew remains for under-water attack. 
 
 It was hot in the confined space known as the 
 conning-tower ; but it was hotter, as Archer knew, 
 below. While on service it was impossible to stretch 
 without knocking a pal or your funny-bone; but 
 their training steadied the men. They knew how to 
 lose, if losers they must be, and they knew the con- 
 sequences of being too warmly clad, and took to 
 wearing the rig of their brothers up there in the 
 trenches. 
 
 •Shorts, a cap, shoes and singlets was considered 
 the minimum ; but if the flies permitted, and 
 shoulders had been bKstered into hardihood, then 
 shirtless. A shirtless brigade indeed, these men of 
 the under- sea service, at all possible times. Without 
 much room to walk, with flies in swarms to pester 
 
158 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 them, the black dtist of Impregnabihty sticking in 
 lines and puckers of their flesh — dust pushing into 
 the corners of their eyes, dust pendent in the air 
 they breathed, in the food, on the water they drank^ — 
 and, with the dust, flies which bit and fought that 
 they might bite. 
 
 To Sinden in his eerie it seemed the flies were 
 getting surfeited, the crew bloodless. He smashed 
 at them from time to time, but failed to score. They 
 were as keenly alive to a descending slipper as the 
 fleas to a searching hand. . . . Not all jam and 
 jest, you perceive, in the pursuit of victory, despite 
 the funny booklets reiterating stale jokes and the 
 priceless badinage of Tommy and Jack. Not all song 
 and laughter, not all heroism and sangfroid . . . 
 something lurking, indeed, which the ego which is in 
 us recognises for what it is. 
 
 A yearning for the country which has few flies and 
 no black dust, a place where fleas are kept in control. 
 A longing for the end of this beastliness, this quag- 
 mire of blood and rotting flesh on which we pour 
 quicklime and sentiment with liberal hand. A 
 cessation of the eternal jar of guns, of bombs flung 
 from craft which appear as silver midges amidst the 
 blue ... an end, if the gods will, of talk, and the 
 polished periods of obese and lean alike who seek 
 to throw dust as the Huns throw leaflets. 
 
 Sinden was tired. He was grimy and prayed for 
 a bath — not the sea, but somewhere where he could 
 wash and stretch forth and find a clean towel. 
 To-morrow, please God, he would get one. Meanwhile 
 ridges of black dust upon arms and hands, neck and 
 eyes ; a stickiness from salt-water bathing, heat, 
 prickly heat, flies which buzzed — sleepy, fat, gorged 
 flies straight from enemy bodies, dead horses, mules. 
 
 That was the environment of the Cherrypickers as 
 
PRO PATRIA 159 
 
 they ran for stores and a tub from under the heel of 
 war. 
 
 Sinden got that bath and instantly became a new 
 man. P. & O., Archer, every soul on that efficient 
 but circumscribed unit, had tubbed and shaved and 
 tasted a leg-ache. They had been for the walk that 
 every healthy Englishman considers as essential as 
 breakfast. They had been pestered by Greeks, 
 enticed by women and pimps, and had returned to 
 the mother-ship early, for to-morrow, it appeared, 
 they must sail. 
 
 No one minds sailing when one is quartered abroad. 
 It is as well to be at sea as in most countries beyond 
 the white cliffs of England. Lemnos, Tenedos, Besika 
 Bay, Suvla were all more fascinating in the days of 
 Troy, Hector, Helen, and the god-like Priam than 
 they are to-day. High explosives had not been made, 
 nor poison gas invented ; one had not to gather 
 disjecta membrae with a shovel, but sought out old 
 Charon whole. 
 
 P. & O. put this into words as they sat in the ward- 
 room after dinner that night. 
 
 " It doesn't matter a jigger where we are while 
 we are out here. The boat's as good as the com- 
 pany of those syncopated Greeks who have let us 
 down." 
 
 " Did I hear treason ? " Sinden asked lazily, alert 
 over his cigar. 
 
 " Truth, sir," P. & O. objected. 
 
 " Same thing. What's the punishment, Pay, for 
 so gross a breach of etiquette ? " 
 
 " On this occasion, as it's his first offence, W. and S. 
 for the crowd. I'm thirsty." 
 
 " Right-o 1 Press the button, somebody, and turn 
 on the music, or I shall go to bed." 
 
160 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 III 
 
 As a matter of fact they did not sail for two days. 
 It was found necessary to prepare for a lengthy 
 cruise, so the Cherrypicker lay beside her mother 
 and her officers took two baths daily to make up 
 for lost opportunities. The black sand of the penin- 
 sula had become part of their kit. Nothing less than 
 boiling would remove it, and that the men refused. 
 
 Sinden winced when the programme was unfolded 
 to him, but he made no effort to obtain leave. The 
 same love for the flag and his pals which had induced 
 him to sell his estancia, which had caused him to 
 raise money out of capital when pay was short, to 
 sell cattle to buy sword and Webley, compelled him 
 to carry on now that the end drew near. Nor was 
 it only the call of the Motherland, but of his brothers 
 at Osborne and Dartmouth, whom it was impossible 
 to desert ; love of honour — hatred for the cut-throat 
 methods of Germany, if you will- — love and reverence 
 in full for the dear old country, who, with her brain 
 dizzy with the demands of her children and her 
 arms full of nostrums, boldly stepped into the ring 
 when Belgium called. 
 
 He liked to think of her so, unready as usual, but 
 ready to roll back her sleeves and get ready. Symbol- 
 ism appealed to him ; hence his love for the flag. 
 Honour appealed to him ; hence the speed with 
 which he returned to Admiralty^ — hence, too, his 
 refusal now, when the Service wanted him, to apply 
 for leave. As he put it to P. & O. that night they 
 sailed, '' Little Mary cried for change, but he simply 
 couldn't humour her." 
 
 So they sailed, crept through the mine-fields, 
 passed up the Narrows, and entered the old hunting- 
 ground in the sea which had brought them low 
 
PRO PATRIA 161 
 
 There were transports to sink, and on occasion they 
 sank them ; supply ships to watch and put down 
 the ditch ; vessels of the trader brand to overhaul, 
 search, sink or pass ; frightened Turks, screaming 
 women, to reassure. There were brickbats and 
 buckets of boiling water to fend off or dodge, patrols 
 to escape ; a suggestion of armed resistance, rifle 
 fire which was most disconcerting to a crew who used 
 a submarine in the time-honoured British way. 
 
 The truth is that submarines do not lend themselves 
 to gentlemanly handling. They are too delicate, too 
 easily put out of action, for close-quartered attacks. 
 It is only by dint of building them in batches that 
 the Hun, with his methods to aid him, is able to find 
 U-boats for slaughter. 
 
 Sinden took blows and smiles with the same quiet 
 reserve. He could be dangerous when pushed. The 
 Turks had learned to understand him and those who 
 worked with him. If he overhauled them and found 
 stores or contraband, it was kismet. They bowed. 
 So did the ship ; but never once did the Cherrypicker 
 imperil a crew who behaved honestly, or sink a vessel 
 carrying passengers. 
 
 Two months of this chaffering under a burning sun, 
 drinking water which sometimes was foul, sweating 
 on the surface, sweating on the bottom, whither often 
 it became necessary to retire ; two months of glare 
 alternating with dust and salt, wind-driven to bring 
 you brash and dim your sight . . . weeks of periscope 
 staring, of flies and dirt, then the mother-ship calling, 
 beckoning, ordering you to return. A day of ghastly 
 peril down there by Bulair and the Cherrypicker was 
 away, wobbling towards home and Mudros. 
 
 Sinden sat in the look-out when dawn appeared. 
 
162 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 Astern were the forts he had eluded, Kum Kale the 
 last, already darkening against the glowing sky. 
 Astern the burnished pathway of the sun, which 
 presently would glow and ring the submarine with 
 fire. To get her out of range was Sinden's task, to 
 make her hum his prayer to Archer each time he 
 looked for air. " Get her along, old thing ; get her 
 along ! " he pleaded, and the Engineer- Commander, 
 looking at those streaming eyes, promised safety. 
 
 For a while Sinden nursed his glasses, turning them 
 upon the stretch of water which slowly became golden ; 
 then he pushed them back in their case and leaned 
 forward, pressing the palms of both hands to his eyes. 
 
 For some minutes he remained thus, a still figure 
 before the coxswain who stood over him. Then 
 again he swept the horizon, but without glasses. 
 He turned and spoke to the helmsman. 
 
 " When did you get a sleep last ? " he asked.. 
 
 The man considered and presently said : *' Tuesday, 
 forenoon watch, sir." 
 
 " And this is Friday," commented the Commander. 
 ' I am rather worse off than you, lad. I had none on 
 Tuesday, nor on Monday night. Give me a call if 
 you see me nodding." 
 
 "Aye, aye, sir." 
 
 " Autre temps, autre moeurs," the Commander 
 explained. " AVhat ? " 
 
 " That's wot the Greek said w'en *ee stole the bloke's 
 purse, sir," smiled the coxswain. 
 
 The Commander sat a trifle more erect and glanced 
 up to see a face wooden beyond words, not a smile 
 within a mile. 
 
 " Did he ? " he questioned. " Do you know that 
 w^as very shrewd of him ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And of you, too, Widgett, eh ? " 
 
PRO PATRIA 163 
 
 '^ Yes, sir . . ." 
 
 " And don't forget you slept later than I did by 
 eighteen mortal hours . . . e-yah ! Gad ! I could 
 yawn my head off. ... I'm almost beyond speech, 
 and there's forty odd miles on the horizon of things 
 to keep me doddering. . . . Whisht ! If I could 
 only walk, or dance . . . anything," he concluded 
 sotto voce, ^' but sit still and see spots . . . spots . . . 
 spots that twist and whirl like catherine-wheels 
 without a spark of light ..." 
 
 Again he leaned forward, pressing the palms of 
 his hands upon his eyes. He remained so long thus 
 that the coxswain coughed, discreetly eyeing him 
 sidelong. 
 
 " Right-o ! " said the Commander. He did not 
 spring suddenly alert. He opened his eyes and stared 
 ahead — as a man does who is in full possession of 
 his faculties. After a minute he called to the coxswain 
 with the voice of one intent on discovery. " See 
 that ? " he asked. 
 
 The helmsman looked round uncertain : 
 
 " Which, sir ? " 
 
 " There, man — two points on the port bow . . . 
 looks like a periscope, or a stake or something. Mean 
 to say you donH see it ? " 
 
 "No, sir . . . leastways . . . two points out, sir ? " 
 He shook his head. ^ " Sorry, sir. I don't seem to 
 pick it up — for the minute, sir." 
 
 " You must have damned bad sight, Widgett," 
 the Commander commented. " There — now ! " He 
 pointed, " just under that cloud, the one with the 
 shell-burst crowning it — see ? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " See the cloud ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir . . . no doubt about the cloud, sir, 
 but . . ." 
 
164 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 " Not the periscope, eh ? Well, well, it doesn't 
 matter. It has gone under again, I expect — gone 
 under, what ? " 
 
 '' It's a thing they can do, sir," the coxswain 
 replied warily, his eyes still searching the blue which 
 lay spread for their passage. 
 
 The Cherrypicker moved slowly down the glinting 
 track the sun had thrown. She was beyond the 
 reach of guns now, but sitting awkwardly awash, 
 her periscopes smashed and a hole in the conning- 
 tower which effectually kept her on the surface. The 
 coxswain twisted the little wheel with/the deft touches 
 of one absorbed in his task. He stood so still he 
 might have been graven in stone. Below in the 
 engine-room Archer and an artificer watched the 
 throbbing Diesels ; in the control a sailor stood in 
 close touch with levers and voice pipes ; the rest 
 slept the sleep of men who had wrought for days and 
 nights amidst the tricky currents of the Dardanelles. 
 
 It was a perfect morning^ — hot already, and smeared 
 about the horizon with wisps of sun-warmed smoke, 
 advertising the direction of the vessels that moved 
 beneath. It was one of those gorgeous days of which 
 steamboat sailors say " dead calm " and sometimes 
 add " thank God ! " 
 
 A breeze now would have been the supreme 
 handicap, the final straw for men honestly over- 
 wrought. In sailing-ship days it was another busi- 
 ness altogether. For submarines, too, a calm is 
 looked upon as an indication that Joss has forsaken 
 them. They have no use for it when on business ; 
 but now, it appeared, E 01 was unable to do as she 
 listed. She was mauled, stiff with her hurts, as her 
 crew were stiff with wounds and lack of sleep. 
 
 You cannot manoeuvre a submarine very well 
 when one of her planes is twisted, nor submerge with 
 
PRO PATRIA 165 
 
 a hole in the conning-tower and the periscope knocked 
 to Hades. You must come to the surface if possible, 
 pretend you are a steamboat, and take what God 
 Almighty and the enemy send to test you. That is 
 the law for all under-sea craft, and those who would 
 trust to plugs fashioned of towels or the end of a 
 mattress should be placed in strait-jackets. 
 
 That, at all events, was Sinden's belief, and it must 
 be conceded that he knew something of submarines, 
 whole or damaged. 
 
 From afar off came the jar of guns perpetually 
 slamming at zig-zag trenches which only the airmen 
 could see. The shells dug holes in the peninsula, that 
 is all, and gave men headaches. Sinden prayed that 
 he might never see that coastline again, nor taste the 
 beastliness it bred. 
 
 He was conscious the Turks would never be pushed 
 from the crests they had prepared, that the force was 
 inadequate. He was conscious of what the soldiers 
 had done, of their dash and vim ; conscious of the 
 fleet's ordeal^ — conscious, indeed, that it was holy 
 ground from which he moved . . . ground made 
 holy by the passing to and fro of the shades of laughing 
 comrades ; wraiths of her heroic dead who had fallen, 
 as others would fall, amidst the clefts and crannies 
 of that boulder-strewn land. 
 
 He viewed it in the light of recent events, sub- 
 consciously appraising it for what it was worth. He 
 knew '' they were up against bedrock," as they said, 
 '' but were not quitters." The peninsula was theirs, 
 won by deeds which left the world wrung. 
 
 The jar of guns came over the sea and touched the 
 shaken hull of the Cherrypicker. The broken high- 
 power periscope tube quailed out a note with each 
 vibration ; but the engines sang on, droning of effort 
 down there in the cylinder-like hull that held them. 
 
166 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 Piled clouds towered over the land as over the 
 sea, ringing them in with a semi-luminous barrier. 
 To the north the seascape faded, to the west were 
 the rounded cloud -bastions, a while ago tinged with 
 flame. For the rest there remained the sea, flat, 
 oily as though in presage. 
 
 For some time Sinden had remained quietly at 
 his post, his eyes taking in the small details he loved. 
 Now he rose, more stiff than before, and took off his 
 coat, wrapped it about his knees, and turned to look 
 down the hatch. The buzz of flies assailed him. He 
 sat back, angry, bending over his hurts. " No rest 
 from the beasts, even here," he complained. " Wonder 
 how many there will be when coffee arrives ! " 
 
 He leaned forward considering this ; but the 
 coxswain offered no opinion. It is not safe always 
 to bandy talk with your superior, even in that section 
 of the Navy known as the Hunter Service. The 
 coxswain saw that his commander wore the white- 
 topped cap which carried the King's badge ; that 
 he was clad in sweafer, shorts, a bandage and white 
 shoes, one of which was bloody. He saw that his 
 knees were bare and brown, his hands, neck, arms, 
 all bare and brown as his own. But for the tell-tale 
 bandage his commander might have been sitting 
 down ready for a sprint ; but the coxswain questioned 
 whether he would reach Mudros. 
 
 For some time Sinden's gaze had been concentrated 
 on a dark patch which lay on their starboard bow, 
 but because recently he had seen a periscope whore 
 the coxswain would see nothing he maintained iin 
 open mind. Now, however, as they slowly drew near 
 and the thing took definite shape, he raised his glasses 
 to search anew. A moment later he turned half round 
 and said sharply : 
 
 " Port twenty." 
 
PRO PATRIA 167 
 
 " Port twenty, sir," came in response as the man 
 obeyed. 
 
 Again the commander used his glasses, commenting 
 on the facts as they appeared. 
 
 " Looks like an upturned boat, eh, Widgett ? . . . 
 wreckage of some sort. Some poor devil of a mer- 
 chantman done in, I suppose. So ! Steady as she 
 goes." 
 
 A pause ensued. Widgett twisted the wheel and 
 stared. The commander used his glasses. 
 
 " I used to laugh at merchantmen," he commented, 
 " but now I wonder. Consider the beautiful hazards 
 of fighting without guns^ — what ? " 
 
 The coxswain considered also the hazards of 
 fighting with guns and they drew slowly near. The 
 flies in the open conning-tower appeared excited. 
 To the commander's ears this argued the approach 
 of coffee, and he prayed in his sleeve the man would 
 keep the butter and things well screened. 
 
 A picture of the conditions when last they were 
 at Suvla Bay recurred. He was getting enured to 
 it then, but P. & O. still jibbed. They were lying on 
 the surface after a long sea trip, hungry, and break- 
 fast had been announced. He had been " on deck " 
 all night, and, now, with P. & O., went down to 
 greet a swarm of fat buzzing trench flies. The brutes 
 seemed to dispute who of them should breakfast. 
 
 The officers took sweat rags and swished at the 
 pests, but struck none of them. They painted the 
 deck overhead, that is all, awaiting the moment when 
 these white-clad maniacs should tire. This happened 
 quickly. The two men sat on stools and lifted a 
 cover. Instantly the blue-green cloud fell about 
 them and some settled on the food. Poached eggs, 
 toast frizzled in bacon fat, bacon, all were mangled 
 in the process of clearing that dish. The dish itself 
 
168 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 contained many specimens that would buzz no more, 
 and the two officers discovered they no longer desired 
 poached eggs, or bacon, or frizzled toast fried in 
 the bacon fat. They called the steward and bade 
 him take it away, watched it go, and looked about 
 the narrow room. 
 
 It was alive with flies — fat, noisy, horribly gorged 
 from the trenches up there by Achi Baba. They 
 grew hot considering this defeat, striving presently 
 with the aid of slippers to bring one down. " They 
 are cannibals," P. & O. sang. " If you hit one 
 you can go on hitting every time. . . . Ah ! have 
 got ! " He had one smashed on the edge of a 
 locker, and instantly the corpse was hidden by its 
 brothers. Again the slipper came down, again and 
 again — each stroke slaughtering, not one fly, but a 
 bunch. The bunch grew, and so did the slaughter, 
 Sinden slowly becoming sick, P. & O. lacking, aftei' 
 a time, in direction. He flung the slipper from him 
 and rushed towards the ladder, spluttering as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " Let's get out of it . . . the bally cabin's full of 
 'em . . . full of 'em . . . " — he shouted it out as 
 he rushed for air. 
 
 Sinden followed. " Where in God's name do they 
 all come from ? " he gasped. 
 
 " Turkish trenches, sir," came in brutal conunent ; 
 '' they don't bury Turks out here ; the flies do that. 
 . . . See that mule ? " He pointed to a bladder-like 
 effigy floating ahead. "Put a bullet into him. If he 
 fetches up across our bows we are dead as Moses." 
 
 They sent a bullet on its errand and the bladder 
 collapsed. Flies rose over it in a cloud at the impact, 
 fell upon it, and it was black again. Neither Sinden 
 nor P. & O. took breakfast that morning. They were 
 no longer hungry. They questioned whether it were 
 
PRO PATRIA 169 
 
 not a put-up job on the part of a strained commis- 
 sariat ; but that was negatived without a division. 
 All this had happened two months ago. They 
 were black with sand and hungry, but now it was 
 a memory — a dream for all time whenever the buzz 
 of flies recurred. Loathsome ! Sinden turned away, 
 burying his face in his hands. His eyes ached^ — 
 ached. God ! He would have bartered his commis- 
 sion to escape that torture, precisely as he had 
 bartered his estancia, long ago, that he might come 
 home to fight the Hun. 
 
 The sun poured down upon the Ckerrypicker as 
 she headed towards that upturned boat of the com- 
 mander's discovery. As they approached, the flies 
 whirred, buzzing into the conning-tower, rose out 
 of it, and winged seaward. 
 
 Sinden saw them gathering ; but it was not coffee 
 and buttered biscuit they scented. It was horse . . . 
 one of the walers, perhaps, of some crack Anzac 
 team ; or a charger, the pet of a regiment, brought 
 at huge cost from Sydney or Wellington, Melbourne 
 or Auckland, to do duty in France — but done in, as 
 they express it, in that waterless zone where master 
 and man still clung wilting. 
 
 It was the coxswain who first gave it as his opinion 
 that the boat was no boat, but something common 
 enough between Imbros and the peninsula. He 
 glanced over, rucking his nose : 
 
 " It's a carcase, sir. 'Orse, by the look of it." 
 
 Sinden lifted his glasses and searched again. He 
 lowered them with a wry twist. 
 
 ' I believe you are right," he said. " My eyes are 
 tired . . . dead tired. Better pull her out again." 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir ! Hear them flies, sir. . . . We 
 shall shunt the lot, sir, if we go near enough." 
 
170 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 The commander glanced round. He lifted his 
 glasses, but he did not see. The fly buzz became more 
 definite. 
 
 " Then this is why they have been making all that 
 hullabaloo," he surmised, light entering. " God ! 
 call them," he prayed, lifting his cap. " God ! 
 sweep the seas of them, clear all surface boats and 
 under-sea boats of their drone. . . . Draw them 
 into the sunlight that they may glisten and gorge 
 and drown. . . . Call them as the Pied Piper called 
 the rats. God ! if we are to choose between rats and 
 lice and flies, give me the rats . . . give me the rats ! " 
 
 He twisted to face the coxswain and whispered : 
 " Keep her away ten. Don't touch it. . . . Keep 
 her away ten."- 
 
 He looked down the conning-tower and hailed : 
 
 " Ohe ! Archie-boy ! . . . come up . . . come up 
 and sniff the ambrosial East. Turn on the swizzle 
 and blow the flies high. Drive them so that they 
 may smell meat beyond the limit of the conning- 
 tower. Push them so that not one of them is left 
 below . . . and if "• — he ended on a sudden minor — 
 " you can't do that, for God's sake, do what you 
 can." 
 
 The engineer rose head and shoulders through the 
 hatch. The flies buzzed past. 
 
 '' What's come to 'em ? " he asked. 
 
 " Meat, great chief," said Sinden. " Hush ! Don't 
 s[)oil it. Don't tell 'em it's death. It's out there . . . 
 and- — and it's dead horse." 
 
 /' No wonder you're lyrical ! " Archer commented. 
 " How's the leg, old thing ? " 
 
 "Damned stiff . . . er . . . what about P. & O. ? " 
 
 " Asleep with his mouth open, poor devil ! Sweatin' 
 like a bull. Got both feet through the net," said 
 Archer. " Flies seem to like his socks." 
 
PRO PATRIA 171 
 
 " Course they do," Sinden nodded. " They like 
 mine. The game one." 
 
 " Think you'll be able to stick it all the way ? Or 
 will I have to turn shellback ? " 
 
 "You whack her up, Archie-boy, an' don' interfere 
 wiz your . . . hie . . . co-^ — co — mandin' off-isher — 
 what ? " 
 
 " Good old Sin ! We'll get this jaunt carved out 
 on vellum." 
 
 " Right-o ! " 
 
 '' For the benefit of buddin' snotties at Osborne 
 an' Dartmouth . . . an' for to inspire them all with 
 rotten pride in . . ." 
 
 " Drakes," Sinden chimed in ; " Drakes only ! " 
 
 " Of course," Archer smiled. " Leave a legacy, 
 each of us, to found a chair for Drakes out of our 
 prize-money, eh ? " 
 
 " Done on vellum in gold lettering. . . . Names 
 of individual heroes, stunt, ' mentions,' final honours 
 at- — at Fiddlers' Green. ... So long, Archie-boy ! 
 . . . Get away downstairs an' whack her up — else, 
 how in the world am I to get her in ? " 
 
 Archer smiled. 
 
 " Balmy ! " he whispered. " Poor old Sin ! " 
 
 The Cherrypicker skimmed, steamboat-wise, over 
 glassy sea, drawing down to Mudros Bay. On deck 
 the sun scorched. Below the engines knocked out 
 their toll of miles in an atmosphere which must have 
 stilled all remaining flies. The reek of oil and the 
 breath of the Diesels combined, in spite of singing 
 ventilators, to keep the air foul. But Archer was 
 there to drive, air or no air^ — to do the thing for 
 which he had prepared at Kingston and Keyham, 
 even as Sinden was doing his. From time to time 
 he had visited his commander sitting doggedly to 
 
172 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 carry on, and found him cheery ; but now, as he 
 again emerged from the conning-tower, he observed 
 him sunk, head upon hands, his fingers leaving white 
 pressure-marks, despite the black dust with which 
 he was smudged. 
 
 The engineer touched his shoulder, startled by 
 this evidence of collapse. 
 
 " Pain ? " he questioned, listening to the })eat of 
 his engines and searching the headland they ap- 
 proached for signs of Mudros. 
 
 " Mist," Sinden whispered, looking round. " Every- 
 thing fogged, old thing. Going off it, I think." He 
 stared ahead and again pressed palms to his eyes. 
 The coxswain made dumb signals, indicative of 
 warning. "Is it foggy ? " Sinden asked presently, 
 shrinking where he sat crouched. 
 
 Archer considered his friend through a maze of 
 conflicting opinions. Was it foggy ? Lord ! it was 
 radiant, the sea a mirror, white-hot under the sun. 
 But it would not do to say so. Foggy ? He cast 
 about for a suggestion of haze and found it over the 
 island, which scintillated afar off as Menzaleh scin- 
 tillates at high noon beyond the wall of the Canal. 
 / Sinden detected the pause and shrank closer. 
 
 " Let me have it," he urged. " No use foolin' 
 around, Archie-boy ! " 
 
 " The island's wrapped in haze," the engineer made 
 answer. " Shouldn't wonder if it reaches out here 
 a bit. I shouldn't bother about that if I were you 
 . . . you've had a long bout. Eyes fogged in con- 
 sequence . . . cr . . . take a dram if I find it ? " 
 
 " What about poor old P. & O. ? " 
 
 '' Done in if we can't fetch a doctor pretty 
 soon. . . ." 
 
 This seemed to rouse Sinden's fleeting energies. 
 
 " We'll get there," he cackled, " if I have to get 
 
PRO PATRIA 173 
 
 out and push. You keep the mill running. . . . How 
 about oil ? Enough ? Good ! . . . Then let her rip, 
 Archie-boy, and if we can't fetch, or a Hun gets up, 
 we'll just open ..." He paused and questioned 
 with a singular jerk : " What about the wireless ? " 
 
 " Done in, I'm afraid." 
 
 " Can't be botched ? " 
 
 "I'm still tinkering ; but it was pretty well 
 knocked to glory." 
 
 " Right-o ! Looks as though we'd got it in the 
 neck, eh ? Er . . . what's the dram ? " 
 
 " Pick-me-up. Topping stuff ! Pills gave it me 
 last time we were alongside in case of ... oh well, 
 in case I needed it." 
 
 "I'll take it if it kills me," the commander decided. 
 " How long does it last ? " 
 
 " Nuff to put us alongside." 
 
 Archer disappeared and reappeared like one taking 
 part in the comedy known as " Jack in the Box." 
 
 " Here you are," he cried. " Guzzle." 
 
 Sinden drank, patted his chest, and looked up. 
 " Have got," he whispered. "Now can do — what ? " 
 
 At eleven o'clock, two days and several miserable 
 hours beyond schedule, as they said, the Cherrypicker 
 limped past Cape Irene and sent by semaphore a 
 message which brought a destroyer racing to intercept 
 her. 
 
 They met midway between the signal station and 
 Cape Valanidla, which is at the foot of Mudros Bay. 
 They were secure from the Huns at last. A short 
 wagging of flags put the destroyer in touch with facts 
 and brought a young lieutenant to Sinden' s aid. 
 
 A commander with a jagged wound in the leg and 
 a bandage across his eyes is scarcely in a condition 
 to take his ship into the presence of his admiral. He 
 
174 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 can do little but acquiesce in the orders given. Yet 
 when the ship is tied up and he feels her nuzzling the 
 buoy, he may demand to be the bearer of his own 
 report, even when it is understood that the admiral 
 is fuming. 
 
 For that reason, in spite of argument with a 
 surgeon of acknowledged authority, when his wound 
 had been dressed and his eyes bandaged afresh, the 
 commander of the Cherypicker was guided over the 
 ship's side and placed in a picket-boat which presently 
 whipped him to the gangway of the flagship. 
 
 He climbed the ladder and stood a moment on the 
 grating, stifling a desire to scream. He looked a 
 mere boy now that his eyes were covered, infinitely 
 pathetic in his blindness, hands outspread before 
 him. Then the flag-lieutenant came swiftly to his 
 aid and took him by the arm. 
 
 " That you, Armitage, old thing? " Sinden crooned. 
 
 " What's left of me," Armitage replied. " What 
 have they been doing to you . . . shell burst ?v" 
 
 " Mist. Fog . . . God knows. Take me in before 
 I forget." He limped nearer. 
 
 " Before you forget ! Tcha ! The Chief doesn't 
 know you are — hurt. Let me explain." 
 
 " We were on the surface," Sinden urged. '' I must 
 see him." 
 
 Armitage noted the thrill in the man's voice and 
 acquiesced. He reflected that this might be the 
 means of putting the matter in a new light. 
 
 " Stand where you are," he said. 
 
 He moved on, opened a door, and entered. 
 
 " Lieutenant-Commander Sinden, sir . . . shall I 
 bring him in ? " 
 
 The C.-in-C. looked up from a heap of papers. 
 
 " At last 1 " he commented. " Yes — at once." 
 
 There was no mistaking the tone. Armitage 
 
PRO PATRIA 175 
 
 decided he had adopted the right course and led 
 Sinden in. 
 
 Instantly the Commander-in-Chief was on his feet, 
 pushing back his chair. 
 
 " Good God ! " he said ; "there was no word of 
 this in the signal. What in the world were they 
 thinking of to permit ..." 
 
 " Afraid I was in fault there, sir," Sinden explained, 
 limping on the flag-lieutenant's arm. " I felt I must 
 explain why we were on the surface . . . rather long 
 for a signal, sir." 
 
 The Commander-in-Chief drew a chair close. " Sit 
 down," he said. " Call the fleet-surgeon, Armitage. 
 Leave Sinden with -me." He turned to the com- 
 mander. " You gave me a devil of a shock," he said. 
 " I have been sending you to Hades for the past three 
 days . . . thought I should have to write you off 
 as missing. What's wrong with your leg ? " 
 
 "Flesh wound, sir — nothing much." 
 
 " Nothing, eh ! Nothing wrong with your eyes 
 either ? " 
 
 " Eyes," Sinden faltered. " That is why we were 
 on the surface . . . couldn't use the periscope, sir 
 ... I had to come up." 
 
 " And stay up ? You mean you couldn't see ? 
 Had to run the gauntlet of the forts from Chenak ? 
 Good God ! " 
 
 " Nothing else for it, sir. Had to stay down and 
 peg out or come to the surface and chance it." 
 
 " Where was Lieutenant Larne ? " 
 
 " Doubled up with enteritis . . . ghastly, down 
 under." 
 
 "So you came to the surface, eh ? " 
 
 The Commander-in-Chief pulled himself erect and 
 walked slowly up and down the room. " Any diffi- 
 culty with your sight then ? " 
 
176 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 " Blurred, sir . . . and when it wasn't blurred, 
 spots, things that whirred, cracked and left me 
 dark . . . but we got her through." A note of pride 
 appeared, but swiftly faded with the next sentence. 
 '' Regret to have to report rather extensive damage, 
 sir. Kelvin gone, worse luck. She was a beauty . . . 
 could do most things except talk ; but clean off 
 about two feet above the deck. Poor old P. & O. got 
 a bit of that . . ." , 
 
 " How ? I thought he was below." 
 
 " He felt a bit easier, sir, and came up to lend me 
 a hand. We were over to the north 'ard of mid- 
 stream, going slow. I was afraid they would hear 
 us knocking and pick us up if I let her go. Any one 
 but the Turks would have wiped us out there. Perhaps 
 they were short-handed . . . perhaps merciful . . . 
 God knows ! But Xum Kale made up for that — 
 more Huns, there, sir, I think. They got on to us 
 and let go. They did most things to us except sink 
 us . . . jammed one of the planes, put a hole through 
 the conning-tower . . . two men badly wounded, 
 three slightly. Lieutenant Larne severely ..." Sinden 
 swayed in his chair, pressed his hands across the 
 bandage, and looked up to say " And — that's about 
 all, sir, I think . . . except ..." 
 
 Again he paused, drooping. The Commander-in- 
 Chief halted before him and said gently : '' You are 
 dead-beat. . . . Yes — except what ? " 
 
 '' I was just wondering, sir, what it will be like, if 
 ... if they can't patch me up." 
 
 The door opened as he spoke to admit the fleet- 
 surgeon and nurse. They crossed quietly, and the 
 nurse stooped, took off the bandage, lighted a small 
 lamp, and set out an ophthalmoscope on a small table 
 while the surgeon spoke with the Commander-in-Chief. 
 
 Sinden recognised the note of preparation ; but 
 
PRO PATRIA 177 
 
 he could not see. The fogginess had vanished, and 
 darkness had taken its place. He passed his hand 
 across his eyes. True ! They were unbandaged. 
 
 Hot and cold he sat in his chair praying for miracles, 
 but none came. A curious indifference supervened. 
 Criticism chased hope in his brain. He desired the 
 whirr of catherine-wheels which sparked ; but there 
 were no catherine-wheels, no sparks — all dead vacuity, 
 oppression. 
 
 Would they never commence ? Must he sit for 
 all time in this dull agony of apprehension, expecting 
 blows, manipulation which would be torture . . . 
 or would 
 
 Suddenly he became aware the surgeon was bending 
 over him, aware of a light touch which held his fore- 
 head, that the old pain had come back, that he was 
 sinking through space. 
 
 He put out his hands and clutched air. . . . More 
 he did not know. 
 
 Somewhere there was a drone as of a machine 
 winging high overhead, or a dynamo running sleepily 
 under sea . . . the Cherrypicker's dynamo, and they 
 were on the bottom, struggling with a net, or a chain, 
 or a mooring which had fouled a plane. Something 
 tricky and unexpected belonging to this new era of 
 warfare . . . the sneaking and cowardly under-sea 
 method which had been invented by. the Shaitan in 
 his laboratory in hell. . . . 
 
 A voice interrupted here. ... " Un-English . . . 
 spume -driven from the south-east . . . the corner 
 where lathes spin in blue flames and a spluttering 'as 
 of magnesium light makes dim the sight of those who 
 tend them." Tenuous blue shades appeared, having 
 no eyes, but liquid fire'where eyes should be. Tears 
 
178 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 of fire dropped upon the whirring spindles^ — dust, 
 flies, flame. . . . 
 
 Sinden scarcely moved. Sounds oppressed him. 
 A jangle of voices rose in protest or in argument. He 
 desired to stay them, but was powerless to move. 
 He strove to rise from the chair ; but he had less 
 strength, it appeared, than a child. He strove to 
 speak ; but speech failed him. He was alone, slipping 
 away . . . slipping he knew not whither. . . . 
 
 In truth there was no noise. No voice jangling wath 
 others. Only the soft pronouncement of the Fleet- 
 Surgeon as he stood apart with the Commander-in- 
 Chief. " Trachoma, sir. An old trouble. . . . 
 Doubtless the strain of getting her back finished 
 him." 
 
 Somewhere out in the radiant sunlight a bugle 
 sounded two G's, and presently a duty-boat sizzled 
 out from the gangway carrjdng men to the shore. 
 
PRO PATRIA 179 
 
 On the Fleet. 
 
 From the rail I saw you tripping, 
 
 Lightly tripping, 
 Like a snowflake falling slowly 'midst the sleet ; 
 And your feet it seemed were slipping. 
 
 Nearly slipping, 
 As I crossed the deck to greet you on the Fleet. 
 
 Oh ! your eyes were lifted smiling, 
 
 Sweetly smiling, 
 Like Venus glowing bright in evening heat ; 
 And your pose was just beguiling, 
 
 Just beguiling, 
 And your cheeks the breeze had glazed with colour 
 sweet. 
 
 Then I whispered, greatly daring, 
 
 Chill with daring, 
 " Are you really come to greet 7ne in this sleet ? " 
 For I saw the wardroom sharing. 
 
 Quietly sharing. 
 All the brightness that you carried to the Fleet. 
 
 So I spoke like one prevailing, 
 
 Yes — prevailing, 
 As a man may speak whose heart was at your feet ; 
 While it seemed that I was failing. 
 
 Slowly failing. 
 Till you helped me throw those others on the Fleet. 
 
 Did you know you were enthralling. 
 
 Just enthralling. 
 When I begged you to be mine and not to cheat ; 
 But to share a sailor's calling, 
 
 Hold him falling. 
 That you gave your lips to mine there, on the Fleet ? 
 
 N 2 
 
180 THE NAVAL SIDP: 
 
 Then with summer swiftly gliding, 
 
 Quickly gliding, 
 'Neath the willows in that home you made so sweet, 
 Did you guess what were the tidings, 
 
 Clarion tidings, 
 That reached me as I sat there at your feet ; 
 
 That you put aside your writing, 
 
 Joyous writing. 
 As I stumbled, puzzling now how I could chear ; 
 Guessed you then that it was fighting, 
 
 Ruthless fighting, 
 That called me on the instant to the Fleet ? 
 
 For I'd said it was a warning. 
 
 Service warning, 
 Sent at intervals to make all things complete ; 
 Sent to call me, in the morning. 
 
 Early morning. 
 To the grey-clad ships the Nation calls its Fleet ; 
 
 Guessed you then that I was failing, 
 
 Lying, failing, 
 At a moment when our life was just complete ; 
 That you clung in silence, paling. 
 
 Slowly paling. 
 Till you slipped down there to cower at my feet? 
 
 Did you read the thought appalling, 
 
 Dim, appalling. 
 Which oppressed me when I saw you there so sweet ; 
 That you said, " 'Tis war they're calling, 
 
 Loudly calling. 
 Through the greyness, through the storm-clouds from 
 the Fleet ; 
 
PRO PATRIA 181 
 
 " It is England who is stating, 
 
 Sternly stating, 
 Need of men and ships and guns adown the street ; 
 And I may not keep you waiting, 
 
 Tamely waiting, 
 When your heart has gone so swiftly to the Fleet." 
 
 Could you see these things, my darling. 
 
 Did you guess that I might burke, 
 Read me, charged with thought appalling, 
 
 As I zvalked with those who shirk, 
 That you whispered ivords enthralling. 
 
 Bending low your face so sweet — 
 ''' It is England who is calling. 
 
 Just oiir Mother you will greet " ^ 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE RED ENSIGN 
 
 Merchant Service.' — Naval Reserve. — Volunteer Reserve. 
 ' — Fishermen. 
 
 When entering the China seas in the old days 
 merchantmen looked to their gun-tackles, their 
 boarding-pikes, cutlasses and small arms, lest pirates 
 should catch them unprepared and seek to smother 
 them with stink-pots. But in days when all the 
 seas are infested by pirates carrying stink-pots of 
 terrible power, merchant captains have gone into 
 action without guns or any semblance of them. 
 
 It seemed to be taken for granted that the ships 
 would fight, and they fought' — usually with the 
 ship's nose and the captain's wits for armament. 
 Whether they came from ports which had issued 
 warnings, or from ports so distant that they knew 
 nothing of war till they came in touch with it, it was 
 the same. They fought. 
 
 Sometimes it became essential to decide who in a 
 polyglot crew would be master when an enemy 
 appeared — so they fought to decide that, and the 
 squareheads went down. In this way a ship was 
 able to get into her stride, ready to win just that 
 degree of fame for which the Merchant Service had 
 languished — guns or no guns, steam, or sail. 
 
 Early in the war I stood on a point of land over- 
 looking the blue slope up which creep the ships when 
 coming from southern seas — the slope which appears 
 
THE RED ENSIGN 183 
 
 so solemn and immense when you search it from a 
 height . . . the passionate sea which shook the men 
 who strove to hamper Columbus and the march of 
 events. 
 
 It rolled there at my feet, tipped and slashed with 
 foam, carrying on its bosom the argosies of modern 
 days, submarines lurking beneath its splendid 
 colouring. 
 
 To the east a harbour slept in the noonday sun ; 
 to the west blue-grey hills, the green of wide fields 
 hedged and orderly, the clustering hamlets which 
 drowsed behind the town. Shadow lay on some, 
 light on others. The land took new tints with every 
 passing cloud. It was inspiring to watch even that ; 
 but to the south lay the sea, which rolled and twisted 
 and thundered, combing on cliffs under foot. 
 
 Both up and down the coast, as far as the eye 
 could see, were headlands bathed in spray which 
 sometimes leaped and threw great showers high to 
 smother them. Off the Head seas broke in a fine 
 flurry of wind-spun force. They seemed to threaten 
 a quaking land, the hills that fronted them, all that 
 green expanse. But the buttressed Head played 
 with the torrent which strove to shake it' — took the 
 spray in hand, made pictures of it, and smiled at the 
 fancies it wrought. It stood in a haze of colour, 
 sun-warmed, prismatic, wonderful ; it stood again a 
 moment draped in mist, aping the winter which was 
 past ; it stood with laughter shaking it, the lighthouse 
 white upon its crown, summer touching it^ — lighting 
 that grey and mysterious cavern down there in the 
 border-line of foam. 
 
 At the signal station a pennant flew at half-mast, 
 whipping the wind which had decided to fra^ it. In 
 the offing were vessels — steamers, coasters, a couple 
 of four-masters, a great ship leaning down before the 
 
184 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 gale, and far away over the slope a giant of the 
 Atlantic which the coastguard could name from the 
 colour of her smoke. 
 
 There was a fresh breeze in Channel^ — that is all. 
 Some of the vessels which creep from immense 
 distances to feed England were in the danger zone 
 and near a port of call. In the bay were others, 
 lying at anchor, awaiting the nation's orders ; waiting 
 to learn which of the teeming centres most needed 
 the grain they carried — whether some ring had 
 cornered it and it would go to fill granaries which 
 eventually would feed Germany. 
 
 The port of call lay up wind in the blue haze, a line 
 of headlands stepped in foam pointing the way. 
 
 The coastguard at my elbow made a movement, 
 and I saw that he had put down his glass and was 
 hoisting a pennant. " She's signalling her name," 
 he explained. " Grain ship from Oregon. ' Report 
 me all well ' — so she says." 
 
 The ship attracted me ; but I made no comment. 
 I was a greenhorn from beyond, taking the air. 
 
 Like the rocks she approached, the ship was bathed 
 in foam. She leaned over with the full weight of the 
 gale on her starboard quarter, every stitch drawing^ — 
 yet she dragged. The seas ran past her as the surf 
 runs past a boat which is being beached. She seemed 
 to slip back upon them, to put down her counter as 
 though she would use it for a scoop. 
 
 As she drew near we saw that two men were at 
 her wheel, which seemed unnecessary until we saw 
 her yaw ; saw that her deck was white with a full 
 tide, precisely as her hull was white and scumbled 
 by the seas. She was so washed that it appeared she 
 must have spoken with a submarine ; but the coast- 
 guard refused this as he took in further messages 
 from her flags. He knew too much of submarines, 
 
THE RED ENSIGN 185 
 
 he said without speech, to be switched off the track 
 hke that by a mere stranger — a person obviously 
 belonging to the smug crowd known as " shore- 
 loafers." 
 
 " She's deep," he admitted ; " but, then, they're 
 all deep these days. Got to be. Got to carry a batty 
 of cargo if we're goin' to out them U-boats. Deep ! " 
 ■ — he shrugged it for my benefit ; " better be in a 
 destroyer an' 'a' done with it. You can batten them 
 down^ — but 'er ! " He closed his glass with a snap 
 and leaned forward, shaking one finger at the ship. 
 " Better get in out of it," he cried. " It's goin' to 
 blow, an' you ain't fit to stand it. Get away in out 
 of it, my son, an' 'av a sleep." 
 
 He did not say why she was unable to stand it, 
 but entered the telegraph-room to click out his news. 
 I recognised that he had told me exactly all that 
 could be expected. 
 
 The ship creamed on, slashing amid seas that drew 
 foam-pictures about her, precisely as about the rocks 
 we footed. She came abreast, all sail set, a sight 
 to inspire the painter, the poet ; then, with her 
 ensign slowly coming to the taffrail, she moved up 
 Channel, rolling sometimes, bending always, foam to 
 the eyes, foam rushing in her wake to strangle her. 
 
 Staring through my glasses I could see her crew 
 amid the deck wash, and farther aft it seemed was 
 splintered ironwork. In a,n hour only her royals and 
 top-gallant sails were visible ; in another the harbour 
 had swallowed her. Then, as I was interested, I 
 rode down to see her there, where she lay awaiting 
 the nation's pleasure. 
 
 Foam no longer hissed on either side of her. Her 
 sails \tere bundled rather than stowed ; her rigging 
 slack, her yards awry. I came near and saw a grimy 
 
186 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 side from which grass trailed and skippered in the 
 swell. As the water left it there came a long-drawn 
 hiss as of snakes, a succulent, spluttering sound in 
 the background. A boat occupied by four men 
 worked with scrapers and brooms when the sea so 
 willed it. On deck pumps were at work, handles 
 swinging without song. 
 
 I climbed the ship's gangway and reached the 
 poop. A tall, sun-browned officer took me round. 
 I tried to draw him out ; but he had little to tell of 
 the southern seas, less of strange lands — nothing, 
 indeed, but the reiterated decision to get out of it, 
 as he put it, as soon as the war was over. Then, 
 because it seemed essential, I asked him what sort 
 of passage he had had, and he threw back over his 
 shoulder : 
 
 " It wasn't a passage. It was hell." 
 " Submarines ? " I asked, judging I might. 
 " Not at first. Seas." 
 
 He looked up with that : " We are loaded down 
 these days worse than before. Have to if we are to 
 keep you fellows fed. . . . I'm not complaining. 
 I am just stating facts . . . and off the Horn we 
 were gutted — galley, engine-room, fo'c'sle, all swept 
 clean out of her. A longboat went when the house 
 went. It took off two of our hands with it ; two 
 others got splayed — but we mended them." 
 
 '' What about that hole ? " I asked, pointing. 
 " You don't mean to tell me the sea did that." 
 
 " What would be the use ? " he jerked. " No — we 
 got that about two hundred and fifty miles west 
 of this yesterday. W^e thought we were through the 
 danger zone and were beginning to crow^ — stupidly, 
 of course. Not that that had anything to do with 
 our getting plugged. That was chance, Joss — any- 
 thing you like. The beast happened to be there, and 
 
THE RED ENSIGN 187 
 
 we had no guns . . . afraid to ship them for fear of 
 the pacifists, damn them ! . . ." 
 
 He eyed me in a questioning fashion — not sure, 
 perhaps. 
 
 "I'd Hke to be at one of their meetings. I should 
 break something," he added suddenly. "So — er — 
 as we were in the beast's way, we got what for. Shells 
 — a sort of whizz-bang that made us squirm^ — then, 
 just as we were for throwing it up, along came one 
 of our patrols out of nowhere to join us. 
 
 " He lost no time. Saved us for what we are worth 
 . . . but he couldn't give us back our skipper and 
 two hands. Their numbers were up . . . and — oh, 
 well, I believe I have the pleasure of taking her home. 
 Won't be easy, either, now we are short-handed as 
 well as gutted . . . gives long odds to the U-boat 
 if we get caught on the home stretch." 
 
 He glanced around. The wind hummed high in 
 the rigging. 
 
 " I shall come out of her when I get there," he 
 said. " Find a job mine-sweeping, perhaps, for the 
 rest of the war. . . . After that, God knows. There's 
 no money in it . . . no future unless they alter 
 things , . . nothing to leave if we get caught. No 
 pension — nothing saved for those we leave behind. 
 That stings a man. It means either starvation or 
 charity for the wife and kids . . . unless . . . 
 unless you like to go hat in hand to your damned 
 owner and plead for his . . ." 
 
 He paused and looked me in the face. " Still 
 uncertain ? " I questioned. 
 
 " It doesn't seem quite fair, does it ? " he asked, 
 smiling. 
 
 And in the cabin we presently stood beside three 
 forms, rigid, silent under their coverings. Near at 
 
188 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 hand were the flags with which presently we would 
 deck them. 
 
 Again, when we were outside, he turned to me, 
 anger intensified by contact with his dead : 
 
 " I don't see why it should come to charity." (He 
 returned to that without apology.) " Weren't they 
 good men ? We brought the ship in because they 
 stuck it out . . . otherwise she would have been 
 down the cellar. . . . Why should they come on 
 charity ? Weren't they men ? " 
 
 He required no comment from me, but continued 
 in the biting tones of one who has considered long 
 under the stars, in the midst of a vast loneliness, 
 and has arrived at definite opinions. 
 
 " As far as I understand things, it just remains 
 for us to refuse to take ships out of dock," he said, 
 " to bring folk to their bearings. It would not be 
 much use any one else fighting. You would starve. 
 The Army would starve. The Navy couldn't help 
 you. . . . 
 
 " Very well. Then it is National Service we are 
 on, isn't it ... ? And if it is, why should the wife 
 and kids be compelled to accept charity when we 
 go up ; why should we be asked to accept charity if 
 we lose a leg or arm ; why, if we are taken prisoner 
 or interned, should the maxunum payment for wife 
 and little ones be a pound a week ? " The phrases 
 poured out now. He required no urging. " How 
 far will a pound go among three or four ? Our pay 
 ceases when our ship is sunk. Anything we may 
 receive after that is by the grace of some one or 
 other Society perhaps. 
 
 " My skipper hated the system — so do I : but 
 now he is dead, and those who are left must take it 
 or starve. . . . Fair, isn't it ? Calculated to bring 
 men flocking to run your ships . . . and, mind you, 
 
THE RED ENSIGN 180 
 
 where there is a pension, as in some of the big Hnes 
 there is, it comes to a man " — he swept the decks 
 with his hand^ — " by grace of his directors^ — not 
 because it is due." 
 
 He looked me in the face. " You asked my 
 opinion," he said more quietly, " and you have got 
 it. Stick it in your book or whatever it is you are 
 writing, if you can. Say I said it — and, in case there 
 are any galoots who think we are likely to strike and 
 let them starve, tell them that that part was just my 
 
 These things occurred during the first U-boat 
 campaign, and I have set them down as he desired 
 because they were true then, but never in the future 
 must be true. 
 
 There were those who, when war broke out, pro- 
 phesied a general tying up of shipping on the ground 
 that men would not be got to face the U-boat peril. 
 That was the German theory also. But the Merchant 
 Service speedily made plain its attitude. Even the 
 tragedy of Captain Fryatt failed to shake it. Men 
 tumbled over each other to get shipped. Torpedoings 
 failed to stop them. Frightfulness made them 
 keener, and when at length guns were provided, 
 although they saw them mounted on the taff rail 
 instead of the bow, the eagerness was intensified. 
 
 Out of all this a change has come. The nation now 
 understands its sailors as never before in history. 
 It is called the Merchant Navy to-day, but it will 
 emerge the National Marine, which will work in 
 some fashion as did that fine service we once knew 
 as the Royal Indian Marine . . . affiliated to the 
 Navy perhaps, but not governed by the Navy. It 
 must have its own Board- — its Minister, if need be ; 
 its own uniform ; its own honours ; its own standing ; 
 
190 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 its own Courts and pension schemes. Pangbourne 
 has come ; the Worcester, Conway, and Port Jackson 
 are still with us and should be able to provide for 
 the training of officers ; while the various existing 
 establishments can be made sufficient for the petty 
 officers and men necessary to man the ships. 
 
 No more stilettoes, no more ringletted organ- 
 grinders for the National Marine. Cabins instead of 
 barns, messrooms, crews who speak English — these 
 are some of the matters awaiting the end of the war 
 which the Merchant Service has earned. 
 
 Everybody has heard of the R.N.R. in these days ; 
 but once it was not so. They are the captains, officers, 
 and men of the mail services and liners of the Merchant 
 Service, whom we used to watch on Mount Misery 
 shooting the sun and talking azimuths, or, as quarter- 
 masters' and bo'suns' mates, answering to the whistle 
 of the officers. There was a day when these officers 
 used to take the head of the tables in the saloons 
 and were known to the passengers ; but since mail 
 ships became castellated structures, more like an 
 hotel than a ship, the officers have had their own 
 quarters, their own mess. 
 
 They are the men who were drafted into the Navy 
 on mobilisation, and are now known to the Senior 
 Service, half affectionately, half satirically, as the 
 "Curly Gang" and to '' G. F.," in his book on 
 naval doings, as " Sinbads." 
 
 Sinbad, as every one remembers, was a sailor, 
 and his twentieth century prototype should have 
 been competent to read the barometer without 
 making a fleet smile ; yet it seems he could not. 
 Perhaps that particular Sinbad was suffering under 
 the weight of his wiggle-waggle bands, but in any 
 case I am sure the Navy proved a competent coach. 
 
THE RED ENSIGN 
 
 191 
 
 Now the Curly Gang suggests ruffianism, though 
 in reahty it is just comment on the order which bids 
 him wear curHcues instead of plain gold bands on 
 his cuffs and on the shoulder-strap of his overcoats. 
 
 I fancy the R.N.R. like neither the sobriquet nor 
 the stripe. Undoubtedly the stripe hurts most. It 
 is the old badge at which we laughed years ago. We 
 called it a " plaited anachronism," and did not 
 dream it would ever see service jpari passu with the 
 broad bands and trim curl of the Navy in action ; 
 yet it has. In any case, it is too marked a variant 
 of the naval uniform for men who take their watch 
 on battleships, cruisers, T.B.D.'s, scouts or submarines, 
 turn and turn with officers of the R.N. And when con- 
 sidering it from the point of view of enemy treatment, 
 in case a man is made prisoner, it is still less wise. 
 
 The R.N.V.R. men, though as a rule they are not 
 sailors in the same sense as the R.N.R.'s, a^e scarcely 
 hit so hard. Apparently they do not count among 
 the Curly Gang, for their stripe is again different. 
 The R.N.V.R. is zig-zag, thus : 
 
 The R.N.R. curly, thus, like sennit : 
 
 Three rows of this curly arrangement means com- 
 mander, four captain ; but you cannot make gold 
 lace look neat when you crinkle it. How is it pos- 
 sible ? Even a steam hammer would fail here. 
 
 This question of uniform of the R.N.R. officers 
 was the only one on which any sort of feeling was 
 aroused. In all else the two services worked together 
 as one, vieing, if possible, one with the other in 
 recognition of each other's points. Nor did I come 
 
192 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 across any officer either in the R.N.R. or R.N.V.R. 
 who seemed likely to be unable to read the barometer. 
 
 What I did learn from naval officers, from admiral 
 to lieutenant, Avas a generous appreciation of the 
 work of both, of a desire to perpetuate the kinship 
 which had been reborn under the hammer blows of 
 15-inch guns and Q.F.'s. It had brought the two 
 services once more to the old comradeship of Eliza- 
 bethan wars. Then they stood as they stand now, 
 shoulder to shoulder in defence of the nation — in 
 defence of the right. Then they defeated, as to-day 
 they defeat, the enemy squadrons when they appear. 
 But one feature is eclipsed for all time. There are 
 no ding-dong fights. A scrap, as we term it, is to-day 
 an affair of minutes, fought between vessels which 
 often are dots to each other, 10,000, 20,000 yards 
 distant, and when it is finished the victor is alone 
 on the sea. 
 
 I like to remember these men of the R.N.R. as 
 I saw them working with their pals in the Navy. 
 Fine, sunny days stood over us just then ; " beef 
 trips," " stunts," and the long-drawn business of 
 attracting the enemy were in being. Sometimes the 
 ships came back cock-a-whoop, but more often 
 depressed after spreading toils which the Hun 
 refused to see. Often, again, with that reply on 
 their lips, I heard an admiral pass to Whitehall. 
 
 '' I had to turn back for the same reason as on 
 former occasions. Tell the First Lord." 
 
 Nothing more ; but behind this waiting and 
 watching is a strain which can scarcely be conveyed 
 by words, for those who order events. My admiral 
 had been up all night. He had been at work all day 
 before, and he was at work still. Truly man pays 
 for the depth and number of the stripes he" wears on 
 his sleeve. 
 
THE RED ENSIGN 193 
 
 I like to remember, in connection with these 
 days of sun and alternating mist, those men of the 
 R.N.R. who once more were in the Service I 
 have called my old Service. They are roaming the 
 seas still. They have shone in action and on patrol 
 duty. They gave us the splendid lesson early in 
 the war of what to do when a raider challenges. 
 The Ortega made answer : " Every one in the 
 stokehold." Strip, fire, wheel coal ; while on the 
 bridge they sought amidst the pinnacles and snow 
 fortresses of southern Cordillera for the entrance 
 to Smyth's Channel — took it at a bound and passed 
 its tortuous length, sounding, taking cross-bearings, 
 until Cape Pillar and the Magellan appeared. It 
 was conceivable, of course, that the Leipzig would 
 have gone down outside the fringe of islands he 
 dared not enter ; but he was not in Magellan and 
 the Ortega was safe. Other instances appear. The 
 history of the great Services which may be written 
 in the future should be, to those who follow us, 
 what Marryat, Anson, and Cook were to us. 
 
 Long days of intense interest were those when 
 sometimes a bay screened us, sometimes the fine 
 bends of a singularly beautiful river, sometimes the 
 North Sea with its constantly flickering light, its 
 grey-greens, its grey-yellows, and the heaving lumpi- 
 ness which set us rolling . . . days when Hun 
 raiders showered bombs from the skies and strove 
 to wipe us out ; but never, in all the long months 
 of my acquaintance, showed a prow to our shores, 
 fired a gun outside the wet triangle, or accepted the 
 challenge of live bait. 
 
 Men of the R.N.V.R., or the Royal Naval Volunteer 
 Reserve, are in rather a different category. They 
 are to be met not only on the ships, but at Admiralty, 
 
194 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 on the staff at various centres and as dagger-men, 
 specialising in some department of this omnivorous 
 war. Language claims some, science, chemistry, 
 wireless, decoding others, in addition to those who 
 are definitely assigned posts in the various executive 
 branches. 
 
 Here is a man with a red stripe running beneath 
 his zig-zag — he is a surgeon, often a mere boy ; 
 another with a white stripe below the gold — he is 
 in the paymaster branch, and may be a linguist ; 
 purple beneath the gold- — he finds his duty below 
 deck in the land of steam amidst the thrum of machines 
 running at enormous velocity ; pale blue — he is of 
 the naval instructors, and may be the terror who 
 frowns on the doings of that boy of yours who has 
 recently earned the white patch ... or he may be 
 engaged in translating sentences in Sanscrit or Arabic 
 or Czech ... or, most difficult of all, finding what 
 meaning lies behind certain words from the '' Gotter- 
 dammerung " of Wagner. 
 
 The R.N.V.R.'s are men who, in the piping days 
 we have lost, were yachtsmen, dabblers in sea lore, 
 boatmen, fishermen of the leisured brand ; men who 
 may still own a country house in addition to a yacht 
 and chambers in the Albany. They may be million- 
 aires ; but you would not think it possible if you 
 saw them going out in charge of a patrol-boat or 
 mine-sweeper, until by chance you heard them 
 speak ; they may be professors or dons or simple 
 persons who in the old days seemed too bored to 
 look happy ; they may be of any conceivable rank 
 or calling ; they may possibly have sunk even to 
 the depths in the production of belles lettres ; they 
 may be poets or historians or novelists — but they 
 have blood in their veins, youth on their side, a fine 
 recognition of their responsibilities . . . and some 
 
THE RED ENSIGN 195 
 
 of those who have gone from their ranks have left 
 the world poorer in all but that one quality which 
 they gave instantly — Example. 
 
 I have met them so wrapped that one could not 
 discover their rank ; so grimed that they looked like 
 coal-heavers, boiler-makers, any calling which is 
 dirty and laborious ; which causes lines to come 
 in the faces of the young, hardens their hands and 
 brings snapped orders. . . . But they have been 
 returning from patrol on the North Sea, or were weary 
 after long vigil over a submarine, or wet and be- 
 draggled after towing a stray mine till daylight per- 
 mitted its dispatch. 
 
 You remember, or have you heard, of the case of 
 that lieutenant of the R.N.V.R. who happened on 
 a drifting mine when he was in charge of a M.L. ? 
 
 It was blowing half a gale and night was drawing 
 its curtain over both mine and launch : a night of 
 North Sea rigour ; seas rolling out of the ineffable 
 blur of an horizon long ago vanished ; wind mourn- 
 ing ; the M.L. lurching, climbing, falling into the 
 holes which the seas had sucked out there in the 
 wilderness which was her beat. 
 
 Every sort of difficulty lay in the way of these 
 men, all odds on the mine. . . . But it is not wise 
 to leave a drifting mine at large. You may come 
 upon it next when it is a trifle submerged, hidden 
 by the spume ; or your pal may meet it and go up 
 in a second of red force ; or it may drift until it 
 reaches an estuary, creep up river, and frighten the 
 sleepers. 
 
 Usually a mine, when it is caught, is slaughtered 
 by rifle or Q.F. ; but that predicates daylight, some 
 degree of quiet, and here was none. Yet it had to 
 be captured, harnessed if you will, to the stern of the 
 M.L. and put out of action. 
 
 o 2 
 
196 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 A boat was lowered — pitched into the sea is the 
 phrase — from a craft so small as an M.L. and manned. 
 Two men pulling, one steering, the lieutenant in the 
 nose of her, line in hand. They rowed in the growing 
 dusk, came near and lay to. Only a fool would go 
 close to a mine in a seaway ^ — with a boat. A touch 
 on one of the grim horns w^hich stuck out, and the 
 end had come for boat and crew, a red flare, sudden, 
 tremendous-^and silence. But R.N.V.R., if he could 
 not read the barometer, could harness a mine. He 
 slipped over side, line in hand, and swam where a 
 boat dared not row ; he came to the slimed horns 
 of the thing, but could not touch them. One, pictures 
 him treading water, holding back from the drift as 
 the mine oscillated and bubbled in the foam, trying 
 to reach him, calling out to his boat's crew to keep 
 back — ^^and in a moment of exaltation reaching out 
 as the ring with which it is crowned swerved near. 
 Then one sees him reeving his line in it and swimming 
 back to his boat as a man swims from the shark 
 which he knows is upon him.- Years pass in those 
 moments. Laughter surges in upon you ; sweat 
 pours as you climb to your boat. Are you whole ? 
 Is the thing done ? What about that left arm ? 
 
 Then when you know it is done you sit down and rub 
 down, smoking the cigarette solne pal has stuck in your 
 lips, and would not change rank with your admiral. 
 
 I came upon a skipper of Scotland who wore His 
 Majesty's uniform and marched with me up and 
 down beneath the white ensign for an hour or more. 
 Before the war he had shot trawls and scooped fish 
 for the hungry ; now he scooped mines and shot 
 them for his country. 
 
 He was proud of the flag which flew overhead, 
 proud of his badge, proud that he had been told to 
 
^THE RED ENSIGN 197 
 
 speak freely to the Sassenach who accompanied him 
 and seemed puzzled by the vernacular ; prouder 
 when, at the end of our talk, he assured him he 
 " had gien naethin' ava." 
 
 He was right. He had not. A newspaper man 
 from the States might have drawn him. I think he 
 understood my English accent, as an American friend 
 once called it, as well or as ill as I understood his 
 braw Scottish. 
 
 I can see the twinkle with which that statement 
 of rectitude fell — the blue eyes half hidden, the strong 
 mouth broadening to a smile, the crisp sandy beard 
 and moustache which nearly hid his features ; and 
 I remember his answer when I asked what brought 
 him there sweeping for mines. He said that he came 
 fra Drumtochty ; but I felt that scarcely explained 
 it. I asked when he had joined up, and he said, 
 " Drumtochty lay to the east o' Nairn which maybe 
 I kenned wass on Moray Firth " — only the " r " 
 rolled — " ae long way no'th." 
 
 Even this did not answer my question, so I returned 
 to it by asking how long he had been sweeping mines 
 in the North Sea. 
 
 Again came the twinkle. " Sin th' war started," 
 he decided. 
 
 I expressed my appreciation of what I knew, from 
 others, were very gallant services. I said the country 
 was proud of the fishermen, and he looked up 
 astonished. 
 
 " There wass naethin' else a body could dae," he 
 explained, " seein' we wass no wim-men." 
 
 This was so obvious that I gave him his head and 
 he took me at once to look at his wireless cabin — 
 which was sown thick with shavings, sprinkled with 
 workmen plotting tables, shelves and drilling holes 
 for the apparatus which was to come. He pointed 
 
198 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 out where the operator would sit, how his chair 
 would be clampit, where the wires would come in, 
 how it would be possible to talk to the bridge, where 
 the operator would sleep when he had time, and what 
 it would all look like when it was finished. 
 
 Then we went to the bridge, where he explained 
 how orders were passed, where he stood when on 
 watch, where he slept, in the charthouse wheel-house 
 at odd times. The settee was a locker. He did not 
 say what was in it — because, perhaps, it is well to 
 leave something to imagination. He explained that 
 charts were not of much service, as he could find his 
 way, he and all other skippers worth considering, 
 by the colour o' the sea, an' the sound it made — he 
 called it yap. He showed me that it was mere 
 prejudice to be enamoured o' charts. If he did not 
 know where he was, an unlikely condeetion, he put 
 a lump o' lead o'er side an' feeled. He could find 
 his way about the North Sea as well as most folk 
 kenned hoo tae get ta the nearest public. What for 
 shouldn't he . . . had he no been sailin' an' galum- 
 phin' up an' doon its length an' its bre'th sin he wass 
 breeched ? 
 
 From that the descent to armament was a glissade. 
 He spoke figuratively in whispers. . . . Yon wass 
 ae bomb o' sorts — he did not explain which — that 
 wull make ae submarine gae up if it happens on 
 her . . . an' yon wass ae bom.b — he pointed to it, 
 leaning over the taffrail — which would make her gae 
 doon wi-oot the tricksy thing coming a-nigh haund 
 her . . . an' yon wass ae rifle wi v/hich ye put mines 
 oot o' the way. An' yon, he explained in a glorious 
 blend of Gaelic and Saxon, wass a machine gun o' 
 pairts which had dune thee trick, once, twice — maybe 
 twice, wi'oot turnin' ae hair. 
 
 But of his method of sweeping he said nothing. Who 
 
THE RED ENSIGN 199 
 
 was his opposite number when they headed the tide 
 for their catch was his secret. How he rigged his 
 sweep, kept it thrust so deep and no deeper . . . how 
 he knew when a mine was captured, how it came to 
 the surface, was between himself and his commodore, 
 and the less said to southern loons the better for the 
 Service. 
 
 I agree. Even those of us who handle the pen more 
 readily than the sword may put plans in our pockets 
 and fly to the place where the Pickelhaube can provide 
 us with our thirty pieces of silver. 
 
 We clambered from the gun platform and made 
 for the cabin, where he showed me his bunk, the 
 shutters he could draw when it was cold, the picture 
 of his wife and five bairns all grouped and in negligee 
 attitudes, the place where the charts were kept. 
 
 He showed me the engine-room, the platters and 
 cups of the mess, and sat me down vis-d-vis across 
 the small table while he opened his mind. The 
 carpenters had gone home to dinner. I listened. I 
 could do no less. 
 
 You see there had been one of those exhibitions of 
 frightfulness and stupidity which have come to be 
 termed a tip-and-run raid, and the papers were full 
 of certain damage which had been done to a town 
 in our neighbourhood. The cabbage patch there- 
 abouts had been holed a wee. ... I am giving his 
 version, but not his phrasing nor the modulations 
 and invective of his words^ — for these things are beyond 
 all power in written speech. ... It appeared, 
 further, and this was where the sting came, that a 
 deputation of mayors had gone to London to lay the 
 towns' case before His Majesty's Ministers. Some 
 poor folk, I gathered, " had been scratchit," pre- 
 sumably outside the cabbage patch, ''and, if that 
 sort of thing was to be happenin' an' men blamed for 
 
200 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 permeetin' it ... it wull be necessaire tae gie us 
 a loup more craft f'r patrol." 
 
 I pictured the small vessels strung out from Scapa 
 Floe to the Foreland and whistled. 
 
 " Hun'nards," he announced ; then with a swift 
 turn : " Hoo can ye help it ? If ae man builds ae 
 hoose on the end of ae pier stickin' oot into the 
 No'th Sea, an' fills it wi wummen an' childer, he's 
 like tae get scratchit . . . are we no at war? . . . 
 
 " An' hoo do they coom . . . hoo lang do they 
 stay ? Full speed tae the shallows is their game — 
 in ae fog for choice — stop ; blaze off the shells, an' 
 full speed back tae their holes — yaupin'. . . . Hoo 
 can ye stop it ? Ye canna. That's flat." 
 
 He showed signs of slowing down. I felt that the 
 moment had come to shake hands. He said he had 
 been verra pleased ta make my acquaint . . . and 
 left it there. 
 
 I followed my orderly who brought me to the 
 lieutenant who had plotted this chat. With him 
 I trailed down the sheds, looking at gear and the men 
 who patiently disentangled it ; watched girls deftly 
 turning out fuses and other weird methods which 
 have come into fashion for filling old Charon's boat ; 
 came to a standstill and learned that my skipper was 
 a V.C. But of his exploit the world was dumb. 
 
 I think that is typical of these men who jumped 
 from the trawl and driftnets into the red roar of 
 this war. Unprepared as the rest of us, they came 
 to their duties ; marched and crowed and swore and 
 joked, learning under the eye of an admiral how to 
 shoot ; how to sweep for mines, what part of the 
 devilish mechanism might be touched with impunity, 
 what part at a crew's peril ; how to blink signals, 
 flag-wag, salute and stand at attention . . . how to 
 honour the flag which for years all spouters " desiring 
 
THE RED ENSIGN 201 
 
 to impress the masses " termed a rag. What it stood 
 for. What was honour. What perfidy. 
 
 Shotley saw them drilhng, Lowestoft, Yarmouth — 
 a dozen ports facing the cold North Sea they knew 
 so well. Saw them making headway against the old 
 shibboleths, against the old hatred of discipline, 
 against laissez-faire and the stupid doctrines of a too 
 pungent Socialism. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 TRANSPORT 
 
 The Gathering of the Clans, — A Naval Screen, — A 
 Call from Cocos.' — " Emden.'' — The Cornstalks^ 
 Greeting. 
 
 Behind gnarled rocks which form the south- 
 western barrier of AustraHa is the harbour which 
 saw the gathering of our kinsmen in the Southern 
 Ocean : Albany its name ; King George's Sound 
 the waterway by which you approach it from the 
 sea. West and south of it are the rocks flung up deep 
 in the mist and steam of throes which hammered into 
 shape Terra Australis, To the east and north of it 
 the arid plains which fringe the Great Australian 
 Bight, the graves of pioneers, Coolgardie the golden 
 desert, and the '' great divide " of an island conti- 
 nent. West of it is Cape Leeuwin, the Lioness, 
 named after the ship of the Dutch navigator who 
 discovered it — a headland ranking with Cape Horn 
 for the strength of its gales and for the mountainous 
 swing of its seas. 
 
 The harbour has been termed the key of Australia,* 
 and you come upon it from the east without guessing 
 its extent. Breaksea Island nearly shuts the gate 
 upon it. Farther up the sound is another barrier 
 where the waterway dwindles to a few hundred yards. 
 The coast is but a series of capes and promontories, 
 mile beyond mile, black-slimed, stern as the Magellans 
 
 ♦ Sir Peter Scratchley. 
 
TRANSPORT 203 
 
 where Cape JPillar looks out upon the Pacific and holds 
 its seas in check. 
 
 You enter the strait which leads from the sound 
 and instantly are in a new world. Green hills confront 
 you, a long sloping valley which sweeps up and up 
 until it is lost in the blue distance of the Porongorup 
 Range. The bay smiles upon the town, the town lies 
 snugly facing it. 
 
 Until the great war spoke in terms which could 
 not be misread, Albany had seen no argosies to stir 
 its blood and raise the problem of sea-power. In 
 common with the other States, Western Australia 
 had been concerned with its trade and the question 
 of a white Australia ; but now it seemed possible 
 other nations envied it its acres, its place in the sun, 
 its open spaces, and would challenge the right of 
 those who held it. 
 
 With von Spec at large after various chasings in 
 the Pacific, the Emden, Konigsberg, and other cruisers 
 seeking beatification at the hands of an all-powerful 
 War-Lord, a new perspective dawned. Men began 
 to think. A glimmer of the Grand Fleet holding the 
 gate against German aggression came in. A sugges- 
 tion of the force that would be necessary to accomplish 
 this, far off as it was, crept in, and it was seen that 
 Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, and all the 
 jewels which go to make the Empire's Crown, were 
 screened up there amidst the mists and blizzards of 
 the North Sea. 
 
 Yet even then it was not entirely understood. 
 Weeks passed. The tale of hazard far off, expressed 
 in curt cables, enlightened no one. But kinsmen 
 were glowing already. They knew enough. They 
 saw the boys thronging to the recruiting booths, 
 heard the crash of preparation and guessed the rest. 
 
 Then one day ships began- to assemble in the bay 
 
204 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 below Albany and the townsfolk could look down 
 from their Marine Drive, marvel or not, as they 
 chose, at the fleet which slowly grew under their eyes. 
 
 Transports came in crammed to the rail with 
 cheering Anzacs, as they were presently called. 
 Cruisers which had never before been seen in Australian 
 waters arrived from dim space to protect them. The 
 fortifications of their wonderful harbour had been 
 overhauled, and soldiers who seemed to have sprung 
 from the sea were there to man the guns. Then, 
 upon the flat surface of the bay they knew so well, 
 other transports crammed with troops who might 
 not land crept in from the east ; boys in a rather 
 different kit,' but of the same hue, and a hat which 
 was not tilted on one side. These presently became 
 known for New Zealanders, and with them came 
 colliers that stole in deep and went out like tanks, 
 nose in air. \^ 
 
 And as the fleet grew the attendant fleet increased 
 in number and importance. There were launches, 
 water-boats, beef-boats, picket-boats — a crowd of 
 midgets all busy and clamorous with the throb of 
 war. And so, by slow degrees, men learned to under- 
 stand what they owed to the grey ships which rarely 
 are seen, seldom are heard, which held Germany 
 penned within the triangle of her own grey forts. 
 
 To the ends of the earth the power of the Fleet 
 was felt. Without it there could be no cruiser 
 squadron in the bay, no transports. South Australia, 
 Western Australia, Queensland, New South Wales, 
 Victoria, New Zealand would each be isolated from 
 the world and from each other. No movement of 
 troops over-seas would have been possible. Each 
 State would have required its men and its ships, and 
 would have succumbed in detail to the attack of 
 Germany. 
 
TRANSPORT 205 
 
 Instead of that here was an armada all cap-d-pie 
 to take part in the war in Europe ; von Spee turned 
 from the conquest of Australia by the British Eastern 
 Squadron acting in conjunction with Japan . . . 
 Japan the bugbear of Australian Statesmen, the one 
 possible enemy who, in old days, had dominated 
 Australian thought ; who must be tliAvarted, held off, 
 beaten if it came to that . . . and here was Japan 
 helping to pin down Germany. 
 
 It appeared presently that a Japanese cruiser was 
 among the ships lying in the bay. It was said that 
 she would form part of the escort and had but lately 
 returned from chasing von Spee in the Pacific. Now 
 he was bound east, and Japan considered it possible 
 Australia would hear of him. Afterwards it seamed 
 that this strange cruiser was bandying talk with 
 British cruisers, making bets as to who of them 
 would round up the Emden. The folk looked down 
 upon the ships commenting on these facts and saw 
 that certain of them were veriJ&ed. There, for 
 instance, throbbing at the pier, was a Japanese 
 picket -boat. Her crew had been seen about the 
 steps — Japs every man of them. The ship had been 
 seen by those who went out on steamers to cheer 
 the troops as they came in. Her flag, with the 
 curious oblique bars, was hoisted exactly as the 
 flags of England and Australia were hoisted each day 
 at eight o'clock. 
 
 It was a new world^ — a world once again in the 
 throes : rushed thither by the rush of Hun tribes- 
 men brandishing frightfulness and seeking a place 
 in the sun. 
 
 Australia had been apportioned, so it was whispered. 
 Estates had been mapped out and set against the 
 name of this or that magnate who itched for posses- 
 sion. Vons and would-be vons from the pack who 
 
206 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 helped the War-Lord win would come in when it 
 was all done with and take their toll in the German 
 way. The stutterings of countless manchen in 
 Australia's midst left no room for doubt on that. 
 
 Therefore the island continent thrilled and saw 
 visions of death and disablement wkh the equanimity 
 of men drilled to battle. The dominance which had 
 seemed possible was in the nature of peaceful pene- 
 tration ; but this new dominance and over-lordship 
 was to be forced upon them with all the engines of 
 war. Australia and New Zealand would lie as Belgium 
 lay after a month of it. The streets of Melbourne, 
 Sydney, Wellington, Hobart would echo to cries other 
 than those of picnic parties ; they would run red, 
 and the Germans who had lived on terms of friendship 
 with British citizens would help to strike. The 
 beautiful flag that was theirs would go down in the 
 onslaught, and the black Cross of Frightfulness would 
 take its place. 
 
 So much, after months of warfare in Europe and 
 the patient waiting of the Fleet which kept the Empire 
 whole, was discernible to those who dwelt beneath 
 the Southern Cross. From Cape Leeuwin to Torres 
 Straits, from Auckland to Dunedin, ran the phrase : 
 " The Fleet stands fast ; praise we the Fleet ! " 
 
 So Albany watched the coming of transport upon 
 transport, cheered them as they entered, cheered 
 them while they stayed ; saw the New Zealanders, 
 clean-faced men from that marvellous England of 
 the farther deep ; heard the bugles, heard the drums 
 . . . learned their meaning, knew that death and 
 wounds would ensue, and cheered the lads who faced 
 them. 
 
 Thirty-two transports lay in that land-locked 
 harbour the night before this twentieth century 
 Armada sailed. Sir Galahad was there, crusaders 
 
TRANSPORT 207 
 
 not a few, Desdichados, knights who kept their 
 visors closed you may be sure, New Chums aching 
 to see London again. Cornstalks who would see it 
 and die happy — all the world indeed, phrase it as 
 we will, ready to fight, and fall if need be, so that a 
 sight of the chalk cliffs and the little, patterned fields 
 of England had first been theirs. 
 
 Forty thousand men were there, with horse and 
 guns, ambulance, stores, forage, en route for England, 
 for the mud and slime of the Flanders front, to meet 
 Germany upon the battlefields of Europe^ — and the 
 sun smiled upon the bay that held them. 
 
 A fleet for the Hun to sink if he could reach it ; 
 troops on board, every button fastened, ready to 
 face Cape Leeuwin and such raiders as still remained 
 to be swept into the net of those who trawled — and 
 the sun, sinking behind the western hills, painted it 
 red, smiled upon it and went out. 
 
 Across the bay for 'the last time a bugle rang. 
 Flags came down. Lights went up. The blue ranges 
 of Porongorup would be there when the sun set 
 to-morrow ; but the men craning neck over rails 
 and booms would not see the shadows lengthen, nor 
 the light which stole across them when the sun went 
 down. They would be passing up a flat and rather 
 dreary coast, the Leeuwin astern, Cocos ahead. 
 Soldiers would be keeping themselves fit ; horses 
 acquiring the knack of walking on matting — busy, 
 every soul of them, and full of hope. 
 
 But Albany would be quiet now the ships were 
 gone — still, wondrously still, now that the coursing 
 torrent no longer sang of men and of arms. 
 
 There were those who remained awake all night 
 that they might be up to catch the first stir at dawn. 
 There were those who slept the last night they would 
 know of peace until their Galahads and Desdichados 
 
208 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 returned to cheer them. There were those who 
 recognised their sun had set for ever . . . but not 
 one who would have stayed the armada which 
 carried men seaward. 
 
 Secure in the knowledge that the Grand Fleet held 
 the gates barred, in triple column abreast, the ships 
 moved up the coast. A cruiser of the Imperial Navy 
 led the van, another brought up the rear. On either 
 hand two cruisers steamed in contact v/ith the troop- 
 ships, Japan leading on the starboard side, H.M.A.S. 
 Sydney on the port. They moved in stately formation 
 heading for the north, confident in their ability to 
 compass the errand on which they were set. Orders 
 came from the leader, promptings sometimes, signals 
 which recalled a straggler to the necessity of station 
 keeping. Now that leader was near at hand, now 
 sunk in haze — they doubted nothing. 
 
 The Leeuwin had been kind to them. D'Entre- 
 casteau and all the dim, iron headlands which once 
 had appeared to threaten were far astern. The sun 
 shone. It was clear. The iron rails on which men 
 leaned were hot to the touch. On the starboard hand 
 was a fringe of reefs, emerald and topaz in the glare, 
 and above it all the deep blue slope of heavens which 
 ringed them in. 
 
 Troops lined the rails in dog-watches of perfect 
 (juietude. They sang of the old home and of the 
 test which presently would be theirs. The slopes of 
 the Dandenong and delights of sailing up Rushcutter 
 Bay had never been more alluring. They sang the 
 song which pleads for aid to keep the home fires 
 burning, saw the sun sink, the stars peep out, the 
 mirror which carried them aglow with twinkling 
 lights — and went at the bugle's call to the troop deck 
 where they slept unstirred by doubt. 
 
TRANSPORT 209 
 
 The Argyleshire, one of the cracks, moved second 
 in the starboard line, packed with men and horses. 
 Gunners these of the Victorian contingent and their 
 teams. On her starboard hand was the Japanese 
 cruiser which had stirred chords at Albany and 
 elsewhere on her way thither. Unless you knew her 
 to be of the Land of the Rising Sun, you would have 
 passed her as British, so like was she in all externals. 
 
 For the first three days the armada hugged the 
 coast, as though loath to leave it ; but from Geo- 
 graphe Channel, or thereabouts, it headed away for 
 the Cocos. They would pass to the east and so keep 
 in closer touch with the squadrons which searched 
 for the elusive Emden. Meanwhile it spoke with 
 Australia when necessary, kept wireless under control, 
 and hummed over tropic seas immersed in the duty 
 of keeping fit. 
 
 " Stables " began the day for the troops on those 
 ships which carried horses. Barriers came down, 
 the teams were taken out, groomed and led round 
 and round the ship's decks on matting spread for 
 their ease. Space resounded with tramping hoofs, 
 the quick, surprised neigh of wild things amidst new 
 surroundings, to the capers of some, the dignified 
 champing of the less skittish. A brisk scene in the 
 brisk airiness of early morning, man and beast rollick- 
 ing in water, the hose hissing, popping, while the sun 
 grew steadily in power. Then garish day over all. 
 Rounds, inspections, drills, games, the sun nearly 
 vertical at noon, awnings flapping lazily where the 
 breeze caught them and the flat expanse which ringed 
 them all in scintillating in the hot air. 
 
 To Jackson of the Melbourne battalion, an officer 
 who had exchanged from home garrison duty to see 
 life with gunners in France, these early hours were 
 the most fascinating of the day. 
 
210 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 The ships trailed out in column of line abreast like 
 beads upon a string, the sternmost ships hidden by 
 the smoke of those which led. One had freedom for 
 a time from discipline, and could dabble barefoot in 
 the water that rushed from the hose. Then came 
 coffee and a slice of buttered toast, one joked with 
 the man who brought it, watched the gleaming sea, 
 and afterwards smoked a cigarette which the gods 
 had fashioned while one slept. 
 
 The Argyleshire moved so steadily through this 
 gorgeous stretch, the cruisers looked so ready to 
 intercept all hazard, the routine moved so sedately 
 now it was in being and Australia a memory, that 
 it seemed impossible war was out there in the north 
 and that they advanced to take part in it. 
 
 Then one morning as they drew near the Cocos, 
 Jackson, leaning over the rail, saw the Japanese 
 cruiser, which hitherto had shown no signs of mad- 
 ness, alter her course a whole handful of degrees, 
 and come foaming as though she would ram the staid 
 trooper. 
 
 He looked up. On the bridge a man was waving 
 flags in the orthodox way, and a signal climbing to 
 the short yardarm. The ship's officers were using 
 glasses. The captain standing rigid at the wing, his 
 eyes sidelong upon the cruiser. A group congregated 
 beneath the bridge. Comment ran up and down the 
 scale, in the short, clipped sentences of to-day. 
 
 " Got a bee in his bonnet," one joked. 
 
 '' Hari-kari looks more like it." 
 
 " Yep." 
 
 " Hallo ! What's come, to the Sydney ? " 
 
 The Sydney, far on the port bow beyond those 
 tiers of troopers, seemed to be smothered in smoke. 
 
 " Fire ? " one questioned. 
 
 " In her stokehold," quoth one who could read 
 
TRANSPORT 211 
 
 " She's drawing out of station . . . she's going hell 
 for leather on her own." 
 
 The Japanese cruiser, flags down, foam to her eyes, 
 came swiftly across heading for the Argyleshire^s bow. 
 The group looked up. The captain still stood as 
 before, his legs a little apart, his eyes sidelong on 
 the cruiser. 
 
 " She'll hit for a dollar," a lieutenant guessed. He 
 patted his tunic : " Got my safety on anyway." 
 
 But she did not hit. She skimmed the big trooper's 
 bow, smothered all hands with smoke poured from 
 her raked funnels, and danced into the sunpath in 
 the wake of Sydney. 
 
 An hour later it w^as seen that she returned ; but 
 the Sydney was then a mere blob of confused smoke 
 far away on the horizon, heading at full speed for 
 the Cocos. 
 
 Then suddenly an order went down the lines 
 which brought the ships to a standstill. They kept 
 station, but seemed content to loll upon the swell 
 and watch each other loll. Troops lining the rails 
 and staring out on companion troops knew there 
 was some reason for these things. Never before had 
 they stopped since leaving Albany. Rumours passed 
 and became charged with question ; and upon that 
 came the inevitable badinage. The old legend of 
 the rat in some high-press cylinder trotted its length 
 and was discarded; then some one announced there 
 was a prayer-meeting on the leading cruiser and 
 the padre desired quiet. It was Sunday afternoon 
 and very hot, that they all knew, but this legend 
 passed the way of others. Again suggestion fell from 
 one who had experienced the Red Sea in July. He 
 gave it as his opinion that the ships were halted to 
 let the breeze blow through them. Some one was 
 down with heat-apoplexy. He asserted, in evidence 
 
 p 2 
 
212 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 of this, a certain passage when coming down the 
 Red Sea a whole, gang were down with it, and 
 showed how the ship was turned about so that the 
 breeze might go through her and give life to the still 
 heat of the cabins. 
 
 So it went the rounds and in due course was 
 pulverised. It was Sunday, anyway, and the Sunday 
 theory held. On the troop deck countless variants 
 of the officers' talk passed for gospel. Dinner had 
 been one large question ; supper was worse. Then 
 came night, and it was seen that the ships no longer 
 carried sidelights, that the masthead light no longer 
 burned, and that the convoy had fallen out of line, 
 and was behaving, as the sailors said, like a blitherin' 
 menagerie. 
 
 Then again the engines moved ; the columns got 
 into shape and proceeded slowly as before. Routine 
 came in as though nothing had occurred to halt it ; 
 bugles gave orders, watches were kept, and the 
 solemn stillness of a tropic night fell on their march 
 towards England. 
 
 Stars overhead, stars lambent in seas which had 
 no swing, a star on next ahead, a star set on the 
 stern of each . . . and stars in the hearts of all 
 those who slept as they moved to aid the Motherland. 
 
 So the night passed. 
 
 There were those who heard gunfire in the morning 
 watch and those who snapped derision. It was seen 
 that the horses were fidgety, and there were those 
 who knew why. Sailors and officers were prodded 
 with questions which they answered in the time- 
 honoured fashion. 
 
 " It was the surf on the Cocos away out in the 
 west," said one, " hence the half-speed." " The Jap 
 had run out of oil," another announced ; " Sydney'' s 
 
TRANSPORT 213 
 
 callin' at the islands for a supply." Then one wizard 
 proclaimed that he had it from " signals " that a 
 message had come from Cocos reporting a tidal wave 
 that had swept the wireless station to Hades. This 
 he interpreted as the direct interposition of Providence 
 in the Kaiser's favour. 
 
 That made Australia smile. Cornstalk and New 
 Chum, Galahad and Desdichado, without exception, 
 decided the Kaiser " couldn't get within coo-ee of 
 his own old god, let alone a white man's." 
 
 So the morning opened on argument, the horses 
 were led to it, decks washed, squeeged, left to steam 
 and get dry, while the ethics of a national fetish 
 were drawn through the mesh. Australia would have 
 none of it. New Zealanders in an adjoining ship 
 sent a message laughing it to scorn. Even the 
 horses jibbed at the notion, and at noon looked for 
 their feed in distinct repudiation. 
 
 And there were those in closer touch with events, 
 men in far-off Singapore who heard, in the midst of 
 a morning talk with the wireless station these ships 
 approached, a sudden check, a cry for help and then 
 silence. The message came in a swift rush : 
 
 " Emden at Cocos landing armed party " — nothing 
 else. 
 
 To the operators at Singapore it seemed probable 
 that the landing party had arrived and taken 
 possession of the instruments. They sought verifica- 
 tion of this, but no response came through. Then 
 they called up H.M.S. Minotaur, nearly a thousand 
 miles distant, and gave in cypher the report they had 
 received, heard her relay it to Sydney, ploughing 
 her furrow beside the convoy, and turned their 
 attention again to Cocos. 
 
 These islands, now called upon to play their part 
 in the destruction of the Emden, were discovered in 
 
214 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 1609 by Captain Keeling, of the East India Com- 
 pany's service. From that time until 1823 little 
 was known of them until a certain Alexander Hare 
 established himself on the south-east island with a 
 party of Malays, which included a seraglio of Malay 
 women, of whom, apparently, he was lord. In 1826 
 Captain Ross, of the Borneo, visited the place and 
 the Malays put themselves under his protection ; 
 Hare left and Ross took his place. 
 
 Admiral Fitzroy seems to have been the next 
 visitor. He arrived in 1836 and found Ross living 
 peaceably with the natives, " who collected cocoa- 
 nuts for oil and oil from landcrabs." Again ten 
 years passed, when Sir E. Belcher came upon the 
 place and found Ross still there, but " living in a 
 miserable hovel, the Malay village being much more 
 inviting." 
 
 They are islands. Admiral Fitzroy tells us, 
 " where crabs eat cocoanuts, fish eat coral, dogs 
 catch fish, men ride on turtles, and shells are 
 dangerous mantraps. If anything more were neces- 
 sary to excuse the voyager being treated like the 
 old woman's son who talked to her about flying-fish, 
 it must yet be said that the greater part of the 
 sea-fowl roost on branches, and that rats make 
 their nests at the top of high palm trees." * 
 
 This is the early history of the Cocos or Keeling 
 Islands, which brought, by the perspicacity of a 
 wireless operator, the Emdcn to her last fight : 
 little islets in the midst of the Indian Ocean 
 smaller than the kindred group known as Chagos 
 i^rchipelago farther to the west' — coral reefs which 
 have grown until it became possible for birds to 
 find a lodgment ; then through long ages have 
 risen slowly, produced grasses, which have rotted 
 
 * Findlay, " Indian Ocean Directory," 
 
TRANSPORT 215 
 
 and produced even more grasses, always ascending 
 in the scale, capturing drift-weed from the sea, seeds 
 from which scrub has appeared, and finally, when 
 discovered, were green to the edge, beautiful with 
 palm groves, and already possible as a harbour 
 for those who sought hegemony in a new sphere. 
 
 How soon or how late, in the march of events 
 which made wireless stations a necessity, the north 
 island was fitted with its tall mast is unimportant. 
 Sufficient that it was equipped and able to send out 
 that message ; sufficient that Singapore, another 
 eerie far off on the rim of the world, was able to take 
 it in, decode it, and send it on to those who were 
 near. 
 
 Probably the most lonely place in the world is 
 that small islet in the Indian Ocean. It is just a 
 semi-circle of vegetation crowned by palms standing 
 perhaps twenty feet above the sea level : sea within 
 its central horse-shoe lagoon, sea all round it, 
 rolling to blot it out, to hide it as other islands have 
 been hidden. It is the only speck of land between 
 Christmas Island and Amsterdam which lies on the 
 edge of the rolling forties ; but it stands to face the 
 swell so that navigators may correct their chrono- 
 meters as they pass. 
 
 Singapore was as much puzzled by the silence as 
 the troops by that Sunday halt. It sought to re- 
 establish communication, but it was nine o'clock 
 in the evening of the fight before it became possible, 
 by using a discarded system, to get in touch once 
 more. Again it brimmed with pride when that 
 whisper came through, listened, and took in the 
 message for which the world waited. 
 
 "Been unable to communicate," it said naively. 
 '' Everything smashed. Emden engaged by British 
 cruiser. Result unknown. But the landing party 
 
216 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 have commandeered our schooner Ayesha. Report 
 us all well . . ." 
 
 Everything smashed ! Report us all well ! 
 
 It was as though a cyclone had passed over the 
 island and those who lay hidden bobbed up now it 
 was past. Later came other details which said in 
 effect that the schooner was a rotten old tub, leaky 
 as a sieve, and that her pumps were out of order ; 
 whereat again there were chuckles. But of the 
 Emden no further news came yet. 
 
 Those who had learned so much and who knew 
 the Sydney were in no sort of doubt as to the result, 
 and this was presently confirmed by Minotaur, who 
 had relayed the first message sent out frouj Singapore. 
 Sydney, said this authority, was engaged in a 
 game of long bowls. The Emden was cornered, but 
 fighting gamely. Sydney had bad luck at the start. 
 One of the first shells she received put her range- 
 finder out of action, so it took some time to get on 
 her target. Later the same authority said the raider 
 was up a tree — done in ; that her captain had run 
 her ashore and she was on fire fore and aft. The 
 Sydney, it appeared, was scarcely touched. 
 
 All this had occurred within earshot of the convoy, 
 yet nothing had been heard of it. Men speculated on 
 the Sydney's absence and deduced the fact that she 
 seemed keen set when she started. Some questions 
 were asked of the Jap, but she declined to be drawn. 
 Men guessed the Kaiser was at the bottom of it, 
 or his old god or both. Von Spee they knew was 
 safe. There remained only the Emden and Konigs- 
 berg . . . then in the half light of another day 
 came the news — Emden had been knocked out by 
 the Sydney. 
 
 How the world cheered that ! The air stirred at 
 
TRANSPORT 217 
 
 the sound. " Sydney had done it . . . Coo-ee ! 
 Off her own bat . . . Coo-ee ! Alone, without aid 
 of Imperial This or Imperial That. She had plugged 
 her, driven her ashore, made a bonfire of her, and now 
 was busy mopping up the mess. Coo-ee ! Coo-ee ! " 
 
 No wonder the Jap, over there, sulked. Stop ! 
 Who said she sulked ? No one. The flags which all 
 men can read gave the lie to that as Jap's message 
 was spelled out. " Hail, Australia ! " " That's the 
 talk ! Hail ! — Victorian hail ! The kind that pierces 
 corrugated iron roofs Dandenong way. . . . Sydney's 
 first smack ! Coo-ee !" 
 
 Cheers passed down the line as ship after ship got 
 in touch. Nothing now between Cocos and the Old 
 Country but the time occupied by their passage. 
 All plain sailing. Colombo, Aden, Suez, Port Said, 
 Gib. . . . London. So they figured it, chaffing, 
 cognisant of the removal of peril. Men naturally 
 taciturn, men from the back blocks, from the tracts 
 of Never-Never land joined shyly in the general 
 jubilance . . . the rest babbled. Were they not 
 boys ; and was not this the beginning of the Great 
 Adventure for each soul of them all ? 
 
 Queensland gripped hands with New South 
 Wales over the monosyllable " Shake." W^est 
 Australia, Victoria, New Zealand, South Aus- 
 tralia, Tasmania, all proffered the hand or the 
 boot, said " Shake " or " Put it there " in the 
 approved style. New South Wales had its fill of 
 shaking. It pictured George Street in the throes of 
 recognition, saw the mayor come out, to announce, 
 from the portico of Sydney Town Hall, those stirring 
 phrases of which he was master ; saw the effect ; 
 pictured the bars, the Domain, when night fell. 
 
 Then one morning when the Cocos were astern 
 the troops were told that the Sydney would be passing 
 
218 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 up the columns on her way to Colombo with prisoners 
 and a whole batch of wounded from the Emden . . . 
 that there was to be no cheering, no exultation over 
 a fallen foe — a hard saying which took much cogita- 
 tion from men honestly proud of their country's 
 fame. They w^ere unhappy over this order. There 
 were those who said it would not be obeyed. They 
 had no quarrel with the Emden's crew nor with 
 von Miiller, her captain, who seemed to be a bit of 
 a sport . . . but with Germany and the War-Lord 
 they had some quarrel. 
 
 The talk ran chiefly on what Fritz would do in 
 similar circumstances, and those who knew of Coronel 
 said definitely the wounded and prisoners would have 
 been left to drown or to the sharks. But you cannot 
 depress men who refuse to be depressed. They 
 waylaid messengers to and from the wireless room 
 and pumped without effect. 
 
 The sailor chaps, they decided, seemed to be top 
 dog. Chaff moved on wings between khaki and blue 
 serge. "Did the bloomin' operator know when the 
 bloomin' Sydney was coming along ? " — that was 
 the gist of khaki's question ; and the reply fell in 
 a similar key : " The blinkin' operator did know 
 when the slaverin' Sydney was coming, but he 
 wouldn't bloomin' well sell it to blinkin' Corn- 
 stalks ..." 
 
 Then Cornstalks got home. '' It took the Sydney 
 to knock the bloomin' Emden out anyway. . . . 
 Australia, sonny, not one of your Imperial Refrige- 
 rators, but a blinkin' Cornstalk." 
 
 '' Yah ! " commented blue serge, moving for the 
 bridge ladder, " Were would the Sydney 'av been 
 if our Fleet hadn't 'eld the ring for 'er ? Tell me that 
 an' I'm done." 
 
 He sprang up the ladder triumphant, a message 
 
TRANSPORT 219 
 
 in his wallet which said definitely when the Sydney 
 would pass. Kkaki moved away grinning to rejoin 
 his pals. 
 
 " Got it this time," he said. '' Saw it written all over 
 his face. I'dlike to drink his health in somethin' long." 
 
 " Smoke on the port quarter ! " roared a voice 
 from the top of a stall. " My shout ! "^ — the man 
 waved his hand. '' If it's her I win." 
 
 A crowd surged upon him accepting this : " If it 
 is, you do." 
 
 In half an hour there was no doubt about it. In 
 an hour the man climbed down to collect his sweep, 
 the Sydney drawing rapidly near. 
 
 They scanned her as she came up between the 
 starboard and centre lines of troopships, and a cheer 
 broke out on more than one densely packed vessel, 
 in spite of orders. They saw that she had been 
 mauled — the marks of battle on her sides and top 
 hamper. She was less trim than when she had 
 steamed beside them away there where now was 
 a gap. Her decks, were crowded too. Aft there under 
 the awning was a hospital which occupied the whole 
 quarter deck, and here wounded Germans peered 
 from cots and mattresses at the trim procession 
 they were to have stopped, and the hum of comment 
 swelled again into a roar, died down, swelled and 
 died. 
 
 She passed so swiftly up the line of ships that 
 in a moment, it seemed, she was gone- — the hour 
 they had prayed for past. She looked so strong 
 in spite of her scratches, so proud, in spite of her 
 towsled upper works, that the troops who watched, 
 thrilled because of her wounds. Sydney ! Sydney ! 
 The round world for Sydney ! . . . under their 
 breath the phrases leaped. Sydney ! Farewell ! 
 Good old Sydney ! Wait — by God ! — till we can 
 
220 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 get alongside and talk. . . . Wait ! Oh sons of the 
 Southern Cross ! . . . Cheer-o ! Sons of the premier 
 State ! . . . Cheer-o ! Cheer-o 1 
 
 So she passed, foam about her stem, foam trailing 
 away out there whence she came, passed, and the 
 convoy moved alone. 
 
 Then, when the dog watch was come and supper 
 tables cleared, the men climbed on deck, sat on 
 spars and rails to smoke and sing, jubilant still 
 because of the result of this first clash. Australia 
 had won. They sang of it as men do who have left 
 all that the world has given them ; each that he 
 might swell the train of those who fought for an 
 ideal. They sang in the minor cadence of those who 
 have moved in the back blocks, who have humped 
 their swag in Never- Never land, and stood to hold 
 up with a whip a charging mob of cattle ; men who 
 have had the plains for amphitheatre, the beasts 
 and birds for audience. 
 
 Then one who played a banjo climbed high 
 upon the fo'c'sle ladder and, sitting beneath the 
 awning, struck two chords and looked around. 
 
 " Sez you," he announced, it seemed in diffi- 
 dence, " by Henry Lawson." 
 
 And, when the shouts died down, sang : 
 
 " When you're camping on the mulga, and the rain is 
 
 falling slow, 
 While you nurse your rheumatism 'neath a patch of 
 
 calico ; 
 Short of tucker or tobacco, short of sugar or of tea ; 
 And the scrubs are dark and dismal, and the plains are 
 
 like a sea ; 
 Don't give up and be down-hearted — to the soul of man 
 
 be true, 
 Grin ! if you've got a mate to grin for, laugh and jest 
 
 and don't look blue ; 
 For it can't go on forever, and — ' I'll rise some day,' 
 
 says you. 
 
TRANSPORT 221 
 
 " Bother not about to-morrow, for sufficient to the day 
 Is the evil (rather more so). Put your trust in God 
 
 and pray ; 
 Study well the ant, thou sluggard. Blessed are the 
 
 meek and low. ^ 
 
 Ponder calmly on the liHes — how they idle, now they 
 
 grow. 
 A man's a man ! Obey your masters ! Do not blame 
 
 the proud and fat ; 
 For the poor are always with them, and they cannot 
 
 alter that ; 
 Lay your treasures up in Heaven — cling to life and see 
 
 it through, 
 For it cannot last forever — ' I will die some day,' says 
 
 55 
 
 you. 
 
 Minor chords followed, and upon them the clang 
 of the ship's bell striking the hour. 
 
 " Cling to life and see it through," sang the men 
 in chorus. " For it cannot last forever — ' I will die 
 some day,' says you ..." 
 
 5Vnd as the stanza ended the blare of a bugle rang 
 out, ordering all to prepare for it by sleep. 
 
 The starlit tropic night lay over a pulsing armada 
 with a touch which might have been a caress. 
 
 Again in this region of calm seas came garish day, 
 white-hot as from a furnace mouth. Far astern were 
 the Cocos Islands, where operators unearthed buried 
 instruments and set in order the wrecked plant. 
 Farther still, sidelong upon a reef at North Keeling, 
 the battered Emden lay amidst the splutter and 
 heave of the swell. It crept down upon her, slobber- 
 ing from the south-east to discover the extent of 
 her hurts and found her still, wedged upon the coral. 
 It climbed her side and entered jagged holes torn 
 in her frame and poured in with the resonant note 
 of water falling in a tank. It gushed upon her decks, 
 washing aw^ay relics of the fight, pushing amidst 
 
222 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 beams and broken machinery to reach her heart, 
 and, having attained it, found it still. 
 
 In myriad twistings and boiling eddies it came 
 up to lick at this monster which once had ► ridden 
 roughshod its waters, bruised its life, and by the 
 fire of its guns caused hideous death in the depths 
 of the sea. Now the sea feared her no longer ; the 
 molluscs and shell-fish clambered about her secret 
 chambers and rust was beginning its slow method 
 of decay. Nothing there but strange bodies, blue- 
 grey in the dim light, upon which shell-fish clustered 
 and sharks made fierce attack, all oscillating and 
 waving like fronds on the bottom of the sea. 
 
 Nothing that thrilled or showed fight all placid, 
 
 still as the wrecked guns and shields and pierced 
 funnels which lay farther off. Man, the death-dealer, 
 conquered by man and left to the fishes that they 
 also might challenge and die. Man, the omnipotent, 
 trampler upon things of less power, dead that fish 
 might live and continue to breed. 
 
 Then, as the armada moved up the slope from 
 under-world seas, rejoicing in freedom from attack, 
 other whisperings filled the air. At first these came 
 tentatively, then by slow processes arrived at asser- 
 tion ; but they were premature, born of a desire to 
 sail freely, to race, if need be, for the Mother Country 
 which awaited them. Far over in the south-west 
 another raider lurked — one which had caused vast 
 sweepings and concentration on the part of the 
 Imperial Navy. Australia had made light of it from 
 the outset. New Zealand had no doubt in her mind. 
 What was her name no one quite knew ; but she 
 would be knocked out somewhere, somewhen, sure 
 as eggs are eggs and the moon is not a green 
 cheese. There was some one looking after her. 
 
TRANSPORT 223 
 
 whoever she was. She had done mighty little in 
 spite of her freedom. The Emden had gone about 
 her business in a methodical fashion and had cost 
 us a million or so ; but this Konigsberg, if that was 
 her name, seemed to have spent her life crawling 
 from one hole to another. True she had come 
 upon the poor old Pegasus lying cleaning her boilers 
 in Zanzibar harbour and knocked her to smithereens. 
 But that was not fighting — despite the fact that the 
 Pegasus died fighting. 
 
 New Zealand recalled the mode in an earlier 
 generation. The Imperial troops were busy, as 
 usual, finding a new paradise for the surplus British 
 population, and was " up against " a pretty bad 
 streak of Maori offensive. Transport in those days 
 was even more difficult than it is now, and shells 
 took a lot of carrying. So in the thick of an engage- 
 ment the Maori general noticed that the British 
 artillery was quiet and discovered it was short of 
 ammunition. So they sent messengers under a flag 
 of truce to propose an armistice until the British 
 were ready to go on fighting. 
 
 But that happened before the Blonde-Beast had 
 come to his own and had begun to dream of Welt- 
 politik. Now he would spray death, if it were 
 possible, with a hose, and preferred to catch his 
 enemies unarmed when he could. 
 
 So the Konigsberg and her doings were discounted 
 in the transports ; but when later it was announced 
 that the Imperial Navy had caught her snuggled 
 up among the palms of the Rufigi River, and blocked 
 her in with sunken colliers while it sent home and 
 ordered special ships — ships of small draught called 
 monitors^ — Australia and New Zealand sang hymns 
 to the Old Country. 
 
 The Imperial Navy, as they always term our 
 
224 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 British fleets, could not reach the Konigsberg with 
 the ships on station. Too much draught, it appeared. 
 Good ! So they blocked her exit and sent home to 
 build something that could ! That showed the breed. 
 It showed something more. It proved to the world 
 and his aunt that the Imperial Navy could do 
 most things, and those things it could not do it 
 would tackle if ordered. 
 
 They sang on that theme in the dog watches as 
 they pushed over silent seas heading for Colombo. 
 They sang as men do who are free from care, whose 
 hearts are sound, who have faith in the Cherub 
 theory, but would on no account pass under a ladder 
 in Collins Street if there remained a way round. 
 
 The seas were free. That was the whole point 
 of their jubilation. The Imperial Navy had given 
 its word that the convoy should be unmolested, 
 and already, before half the trip was accomplished, 
 the seas were swept for its passage. Literally that 
 was so . . . for a vessel jammed in the delta of a 
 river, outside which prowled a very efficient guard, 
 can scarcely be termed dangerous. 
 
 Von Spec, it is true, was still at large ; but he 
 was somewhere on the other side of the world with 
 the Imperial Navy smarting to get even with him. 
 The troops gave very little consideration to von Spec 
 now both the Emden and Konigsherg were accounted 
 for ; but they remembered those who had cheered as 
 they passed through Melbourne, Sydney, and Adelaide 
 and prayed the news might reach them. 
 
 So they passed from under the Southern Cross and 
 found new constellations burning over them : stars 
 which the Greeks had named ; stars as brilliant as 
 any of those they had known. 
 
 Instead of a and ^ Centauri pointing eternally to 
 
TRANSPORT 225 
 
 the Cross there appeared in days to come pointers 
 which wheeled for ever about Polaris. It was a 
 long time before they discovered Polaris, and when 
 they did they laughed him to scorn, so small was 
 he to have earned so great a name ; so insignificant 
 to mark the pivot on which the great world turned. 
 
 Colombo saw them halted a while on their march, 
 the Sydney once more their companion. Aden 
 twinkled a welcome as they crept past the Asses' ears, 
 sent out coal to greet them, little niggers who dived 
 from dug-out canoes, and heat as from the pit. 
 They remembered as they lay in the bay that some 
 one had pointed out a headland with a flowing 
 Arabic name which meant " The Cape of the Winds' 
 Death " * ; and now they recognised its truth. For 
 no wind stirred and the sun threw rays which pierced 
 all awnings, took what air there was, and flung it 
 down for them to sample. 
 
 Then again the procession formed up and they 
 passed into the Red Sea, which they found damp 
 in its southern half and cool in its northern ; stared 
 at Jebel Musa, and decided it was uninviting in 
 comparison with the coast line about Zafarana on 
 the other side. There they could see the desert and 
 ranges of low hills which glowed pink at sunrise 
 and threw into vivid contrast the blues and greens 
 of the Gulf of Suez. 
 
 They crowed when at length they dropped anchor 
 in the bay ; for here they heard for the first time of 
 the Battle of Falkland Islands, which was fought and 
 won while yet Suez and the Canal upon which they 
 were soon to dig was far on the horizon. 
 
 So, forty thousand Australian and New Zealand 
 troops came from down under, resting on an arm of 
 * Ras Aluleh. 
 
226 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 the Imperial Navy. They were of the first who 
 trusted to it ; but not the last. It was, indeed, 
 but the beginning of that vast movement of men 
 which has been carried out by the combined naval 
 and merchant fleets of Great Britain — an organisa- 
 tion which to the end of 1917, as Lord Jellicoe tells us, 
 was responsible for the transport of fourteen milUon 
 men at a cost of less than three thousand lives.* 
 
 When it is recognised that immense numbers of 
 these troops are convoyed through the Mediter- 
 ranean, which is the happy hunting-ground of 
 submarines, and that every month of the war adds 
 to the number and proficiency of these under-sea 
 craft, it must be conceded that the Navy has kept 
 its word. 
 
 ♦ 2,700. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 JUTLAND AND AFTER 
 
 Trailing Skirts.~The Wet Triangle.— The Fight.— 
 Clishmaclaver . 
 
 '' to the perpetual dis grace of public justice, 
 
 The Honourable John Byng fell a Martyr to 
 
 Political Persecution, March 14, 1757 ; 
 
 When Bravery and Loyalty were Insufficient 
 
 Securities 
 
 For the Life and Honour of 
 
 A Naval Officer." 
 
 {Inscription on Admiral Byng^s tomb, Southill, Beds.) 
 
 It is very doubtful whether many of us know 
 anything of Admiral Byng beyond the dates as 
 recorded in history. 
 
 There certain facts are found stated in terms of 
 the least common measure : 
 
 1756. Minorca taken by the French. 
 
 1757. Admiral Byng shot for cowardice. 
 
 One can see little in these announcements to stir 
 the imagination of youth. The wonder is that Admiral 
 Byng's demise crept into the tabulation of events with 
 which we were bored. 
 
 But in later years the incidents, seen through the 
 eye of history, take something from the stigma 
 thrown on a brave man's memory. 
 
 " In 1756," it states, " Admiral Byng was appointed 
 to command the fleet sent to relieve Minorca, at that 
 time threatened by the French. The British Government 
 had received ample notice of the preparations made by 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 the French King, but utterly neglected the warning, and 
 at length hastily despatched ten ships, so badly equipped 
 that they had to put into Gibraltar to obtain a supply 
 of provisions and to refit. There Byng learned that the 
 French had already landed 19,000 men in Minorca, 
 supported by a powerful fleet, and that the whole island, 
 except Fort St. Philip, was in their hands. A Council 
 of War was held which decided that it was impossible 
 in these circumstances to relieve the Island. Byng, 
 however, ' made an attempt to open up communications 
 with the Fort, but failed. An action followed with the 
 French fleet, which ended in a drawn battle, and Fort 
 St. Philip capitulated. 
 
 " A furious clamour immediately arose in England ; 
 and the Ministry decided to sacrifice Byng, in the hope 
 of averting public attention from their own imbecility 
 and gross negligence. He was accordingly superseded 
 and sent home under arrest. The Government journals 
 employed the vilest arts for the purpose of inflaming the 
 minds of the populace against the unhappy Admiral, 
 and inducing them to clamour for his blood. He was 
 tried by court-martial, 28 December, 1756, and found 
 guilty of not having done his utmost to destroy the 
 French fleet and sentenced to be shot, but unanimously 
 recommended to mercy on the ground that he had failed 
 solely from an error in judgement. 
 
 " Strong representations were made in his favour from 
 various quarters, and even, at the instigation of Voltaire, 
 from the French general, Marshall Richelieu ; but without 
 avail. The iniquitous sentence was carried into effect 
 at Portsmouth on the 17th of March, 1757. 
 
 " He met his fate with the courage of a hero and the 
 resignation of a Christian."* 
 
 From this, it appears, the hounds were in full cry ; 
 that " popular clamour " was sufficient, and was 
 supreme even then. The sacred flame of a people 
 who knew nothing but what they were told of the 
 circumstances was all powerful. King Demos, stirred 
 by politicians, had no doubt at all on the matter ; 
 
 * James Taylor, D.D., *♦ Universal Biography " Vol. I. 
 
JUTLAND AND AFTER 229 
 
 therefore Admiral Byng was shot for not compassing 
 the impossible. 
 
 Democracy is an instrument of many voices, and 
 all of them clamant. The Latins tell us that the 
 voice of the people is the voice of God ; but it may 
 be they were thinking of the Delphic oracle. In these 
 years of war and trial it sometimes appears that 
 freedom of speech and the liberty of the Press, which 
 run comfortably together in harness, are well on the 
 .way to become intolerable. 
 
 Not very long ago it was calmly proposed that 
 democracy should depose its King, and with him the 
 whole paraphernalia of royalty. A great paper 
 printed the letter, and in another column printed a 
 leader telling the writer he was a clever man, yet 
 nevertheless he was a fool. The English people, it 
 decided, loved royalty. 
 
 At that moment the war was not going very well 
 for us here in the west. Russia was doddering into 
 the hands of those who have slain her. The Czar 
 and his family had been deposed, and amidst general 
 trumpeting we had approved of the action of 
 democracy. 
 
 Voltaire said : "If there were no God it would be 
 necessary to invent Him." And so we, who are of 
 the English, say : "If there were no King it would 
 be necessary to invent him." Except among a 
 certain section of the community, the British people 
 are loyal to their King and will fight for him whenever 
 it pleases the wreckers to stand by their guns. As a 
 matter of fact the nation, so far as the unclamant 
 section is concerned, is quietly preparing for certain 
 events which seem to be in the way of decision. As 
 in the old sullen days of 1910 — 14, when, stirred by 
 the " hen roost " doctrine, the country was within 
 
230 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 an ace of civil war, so now ; but the cause will not 
 be Ireland. It will be the cause of England, Scotland, 
 and Wales, who have faced the burdens of war without 
 flinching and are ready, if need be, to fight yet again 
 for ideals. 
 
 The essence of trailing your skirt through the 
 Wet Triangle is that you do it in such fashion as to 
 persuade your enemy to tread on it. You pose as an 
 unfortunate section of the Fleet entirely without 
 support, sent out no one knows why, to pry into 
 enemy secrets . . . but the main thesis is that you 
 must appear, if the enemy comes out, to be caught 
 napping. You must even simulate, by turning tail, 
 that you will run away. 
 
 It is a dreary business, and usually unproductive. 
 The North Sea is dreary at any time ; but never so 
 wholly and monstrously dreary as now, when, as 
 you trail, the crews are at gun stations, the navigators 
 strung by the exigencies of mine-fields, and the whole 
 business looms as endless. 
 
 As a rule, even before Jutland, you saw nothing 
 but the grey sea, the grey clouds, the gulls ; and 
 these you could have seen at any time more com- 
 fortably from your base. You knew that in all 
 probability the Germans were quite alive to your 
 procession, of the skirt you trailed, of the support which 
 lay farther off waiting to hear a rip — that the Germans, 
 being at all events as wily as we are, would refuse to 
 see the skirt. 
 
 If he thought he could pounce out, rip it and get 
 back unmauled, he would do it with all that airy 
 grace and Kultur of which he is master. He is trained 
 to take advantage of conditions. It is thus he 
 accomplishes those " tip-and-run " affairs which 
 produce such a boiling of words. He comes under 
 
JUTLAND AND AFTER 231 
 
 the cover of a black night at full speed, discharges 
 at random a score of shells which may or may not 
 reach British homes, and scuttles back. It is like 
 taking out a steam-roller to crush a cockleshell. It 
 scares the gulls and kills fishes ; its excuse, if there 
 be one, is that it is used subtly to hearten the German 
 people . . . what would you have, seeing we are at 
 war ? 
 
 But in this matter of skirt-trailing it is not the 
 skirt that troubles your Germans ; it is the support 
 which he surmises is there to keep it in position. 
 That honestly troubles him, not because he fears to 
 run risks, but because he refuses with a smaller fleet 
 to take great risks. For this reason the skirt-trailers 
 usually draw a blank, often are handicapped by 
 weather which would blacken the character of any 
 sea, and get back to their base in no fit temper to 
 read stupid comment on their " inaction." 
 
 The fleets, before Jutland, steamed thousands of 
 miles in the hope of dragging Germany to battle ; 
 they swept the Heligoland base, threaded channels, 
 and strove by every artifice known to sailors to lure 
 the fleet still called the German High Sea Fleet into 
 the arena to face the music. And Germany stood 
 in the maVket-place complacently listening to orators 
 who told them the British had been pushed off the 
 seas. . . . One supposes it is what they desire to 
 believe. The French would call a statement of that 
 kind camouflage, but until quite recently the British 
 spoke of it as a lie. 
 
 Now on May the 31st, 1916, Sir David Beatty was 
 trailing the skirt, very much as Nelson used to trail 
 his off Toulon, when he hid his line of battleships 
 and sent in a bunch of frigates to ask Villeneuve if 
 he were ready for a talk. The Wet Triangle was in 
 
232 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 a placid mood, Sir John Jellicoe doing his best to 
 be in touch and hidden at the same time, a very 
 difficult problem in modern war. He was to the 
 north of the cruiser squadron led by Sir David Beatty 
 ready with a fleet which would crush the German 
 Navy, if it took the bait, and leave the seas free 
 indeed. In quiet weather seaplanes and Zeppelins 
 can be more active than in rough ; so the distance 
 which separated the two sections of the British Fleet, 
 roughly sixty miles, could be covered at twenty-five 
 knots in an hour and ten minutes, if they steamed to 
 effect a junction. 
 
 The afternoon watch was in being, the weather 
 hazy, and Admiral Beatty moving up from the west 
 towards the shoal ground off the north-west coast 
 of Denmark known as Jutland Bank. His appearance 
 in those waters appeared casual ; but as a matter of 
 fact he was engaged with Admiral Jellicoe in carrying 
 out a combined sweep of the North Sea. It had often 
 happened. Often nothing had come of it, but at 
 2.30 on this day a message came through from one 
 of Sir David Beatty's scouts reporting the presence 
 of enemy ships to the eastward. 
 
 Instantly all suggestion of accident vanished ; the 
 Battle-Cruiser Fleet was set humming at full speed 
 in the direction indicated. At 3.30 those on the 
 leading ships made out a group of five battle-cruisers 
 flying the German flag, steaming to the north. On 
 lighting the British Fleet the Germans turned tail 
 and made for their base ; which is precisely what 
 was to be expected, seeing the great superiority of 
 the British. 
 
 It is possible, of course, that the five cruisers were 
 out to trail a skirt for the trailers ; in other words, 
 it may be that the mission of the Germans was to 
 lure the British Battle-Cruiser Fleet into the arms 
 
JUTLAND AND AFTER 238 
 
 of von S cheer, who was at that moment moving 
 with his High Sea Fleet on the same course as that 
 from which Sir David Beatty had pushed his cruisers. 
 
 To attack in these circumstances was a risk ; but 
 it was just one of those risks that any British admiral 
 would take without hesitation — especially when for 
 months the war at sea had been in the condition of 
 stalemate. Admiral Beatty had no doubt at all 
 what he must do. He turned south when the Germans 
 turned south, and, running on a parallel course, 
 engaged them at long range. He continued to close 
 until the High Sea Fleet was sighted steaming to the 
 support of its Cruiser Squadron. 
 
 The Germans had just shown him what they would 
 do in such a situation ; but Admiral Beatty was of 
 sterner quality. He was there to bring the German 
 Fleet to action, to get his teeth into it and cling on 
 until the Commander-in-Chief could come down and 
 form a junction ; and he did so in spite of the known 
 fact that the coming High Sea Fleet was powerful 
 enough to overwhelm him. 
 
 If he had turned, as the Germans turned on sighting 
 him, he might have lost touch : the High Sea Fleet, 
 having saved its cruisers, or what was left of them, 
 might have returned to its base. The junction with 
 the Comrnander-in-Chief at which the admiral was 
 aiming would have taken place in the air. The 
 Germans would have escaped. Yet every minute he 
 continued on this southern course Admiral Beatty 
 was increasing the distance between himself and 
 Sir John Jellicoe. But — and this is the crux of the 
 whole business — he was mauling Germans, getting 
 his teeth into the flank of an enemy so elusive that 
 it appeared he would never stand. 
 
 A leader who knows what he wants, and has the 
 courage to carry it through when the opportunity 
 
2^4 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 occurs, is a leader of the type we love in this country, 
 and it may be that Sir David Beatty knows it. But 
 the leader who can calmly steam in the face of annihila- 
 tion because he conceives it to be his duty, is one 
 before whom the British people may uncover without 
 shame. 
 
 The thunder of guns, the crash of bursting shells, 
 the smoke from funnels and from screens ; the deadly 
 rush of destroyers and submarines ; the reek and 
 shock of giants speaking with 13-inch and 15 -inch 
 guns is so tremendous that one is amazed that men 
 can encounter it and remain sane. There are no 
 dug-outs on the decks of a battleship^ — the men in 
 the turrets are screened, it is true ; but those who 
 direct events are on the bridge and in the control, 
 with nothing between them and the shells but 
 mattresses slung to the rails to keep off splinters. 
 
 So the ships of Admiral Beatty's squadrons headed 
 " into the jaws of death, into the mouth of hell," to 
 do their duty for England. Then came a moment 
 when to proceed farther meant annihilation without 
 compensating losses to the enemy, and the order 
 went out to turn sixteen points. The limit of safety 
 had been passed ; the ships would now return, 
 drawing, if Joss were kind, the Germans in their 
 train. The cruisers which had been heading south 
 now turned also, and with the High Sea Fleet con- 
 centrated their fire upon our ships. 
 
 One imagines it was then the chief losses occurred, 
 but I have no means of verifying this. But you may 
 take it that when a ship is turning on her helm she 
 presents a larger target to the gunners ; she is 
 pivoting, in a sense, moving in a certain direction 
 through the arc of a circle, and the moment is 
 dangerous. It was essential, too, that it was done 
 at once, for every minute decreased the distance 
 
JUTLAND AND AFTER 235 
 
 between the opposing fleets, increased the visibihty 
 and the chance of direct hits. 
 
 So the Battle-Cruiser Fleet came round and headed 
 in such a direction as would permit the Commander- 
 in-Chief to effect a junction. It steered to the north- 
 ward, trailing the skirt once again, and this time 
 with the whole German Fleet yapping and thundering 
 at its heels. 
 
 Only in this fashion, it had been decided, was it 
 possible to compel the Germans to stand and fight. 
 If you corner a rat, or a cockroach, the odds are 
 either will fight. If you get between a man and his 
 home, no doubt he will fight to the iast. ... It 
 was the only sure way of getting the thing done, 
 unless we are to sit tight and win without fighting — 
 if that be possible. 
 
 So the two British Fleets pounded to join forces, 
 Admiral Beatty heading north. Admiral Jellicoe 
 moving at full speed to meet him. Of course they 
 were in touch by signal, the mysterious folk known to 
 the lower deck as " the angels " * busy with codes. 
 Each admiral knew exactly what the other was doing ; 
 engine-room staffs were straining every nerve to beat 
 their own records. You can picture these giants as 
 alive, hissing through seas to catch the slippery 
 Teuton, imagine the strain, the tense waiting for 
 minutes to pass, and the anxious brains of those in 
 command noting the fleeting moments, the declining 
 light. 
 
 Meanwhile the Germans pounded north in chase, 
 certain, apparently, that no Grand Fleet was on 
 the horizon. 
 
 One of the main difficulties in this war is that the 
 opposing fleets are concentrated in a puddle, and 
 that the Germans, who have no wish to take 
 * Wireless operators. 
 
236 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 great risks, always fight, patrol, or manoeuvre close 
 to their base. It was easy so to slip home when, as 
 in this instance, it became necessary. Horn Reef, 
 to the north of which this battle was fought, is but 
 eighty-eight miles from Heligoland. The Firth of 
 Forth, the nearest British base, is about three 
 hundred and seventy miles west of Horn Reef. It 
 can be seen from this that the German claim to have 
 driven us off the seas is camouflage of a very pro- 
 nounced order. Plain men would term it a lie, but 
 the Germans are supermen, which accounts for some 
 things we have seen and heard. 
 
 At twenty-five knots the German Fleet could be 
 within shelter of their mine-fields in three hours or 
 less — a calculation which must depend on their extent. 
 At the same speed it would take the B^ritish Fleet 
 fifteen hours to reach home — what other proof is 
 necessary to point the situation must be left to 
 kultured Germany ? 
 
 It must be conceded that it is hard on men who 
 have succeeded by blood and stress in drawing their 
 enemy out of his hole to recognise the approach of 
 forces over which no admiral has any control, that 
 may dish him at the last moment. Yet that was 
 even now on the way to hamper the movements of 
 the Grand Fleet. It is harder still to know that, 
 because the enemy escaped annihilation, there should 
 arise that clamour among people who know, or knew 
 then, nothing of the conditions, which ended in the 
 old days in the martyrdom of Admiral Byng. 
 
 Macaulay tells us that " no man is so merciless as 
 he who, under a strong self-delusion, confounds his 
 antipathies with his duties." It is posssible this is 
 the case with those critics who, seated comfortably at 
 home, have no phrase harsh enough for those by whose 
 gallantry alone they are able to smoke and talk. 
 
JUTLAND AND AFTER 237 
 
 What happened exactly at this stage of the Battle 
 of Jutland will, I suppose, be debated through the 
 coming years with all the virulence we usually spare 
 for those who win for us a splendid security. But 
 here, in justice to those who fought, it may be re- 
 iterated that when the junction was effected between 
 the two sections of the Grand Fleet, and Admiral 
 Jellicoe by his masterly handling had placed himself 
 across the line of German retreat, the afternoon was 
 gone and the evening come — a North Sea evening, 
 hazy in lifting and falling patches, the sun screened, 
 smoke and the aftermath of shell fire aiding it. 
 
 It was six o'clock before Admiral Hood, who had 
 been dispatched by the Commander-in-Chief with 
 the third Battle- Cruiser Squadron, arrived and 
 magnificently placed his ships in line ahead of the 
 hard-pressed Battle- Cruiser Fleet under Admiral 
 Beatty. And the visibility was poor sometimes, and 
 sometimes fair. 
 
 In spite of this junction the German Fleet, still with 
 an immense advantage in numbers and guns, con- 
 tinued to press to the north, but at 6.15 Admiral 
 Scheer sighted the approaching Grand Fleet, and 
 at once turned to the east to avoid the trap which 
 had been prepared. The action continued. Only 
 the direction was changed. The nutcrackers were 
 closing . . . but so, too, was the day. 
 
 At eight o'clock the Grand Fleet was across the 
 threshold leading to the German base, and Admiral 
 Scheer was preparing, with Hipper, to stave off the 
 coming attack. Every move of the German hereafter 
 was in the direction of home, of saving his fleet. To 
 keep the British Fleet from closing in he sent out 
 a cloud of destroyers and light cruisers — vessels 
 which added to the density which was growing by 
 smoke screens, and to the dangers, in that half-light, 
 
238 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 of torpedo attacks. These tactics, combined with 
 the lack of visibility, undoubtedly saved the German 
 High Sea Fleet. The attack was carried out with 
 a courage and dash which make one wish that, in 
 other fields, the German sailor had aimed, not only 
 to beat us, but to win our respect. 
 
 So the battle roared and thundered. Specks on 
 the horizon belched flame at which opponent specks 
 aimed. At this time there should still have been 
 two hours of daylight ; but with characteristic 
 malignity the mist patches grew till the North Sea 
 and its currents dominated the situation. And under 
 cover of it came the German screen of cruisers and 
 destroyers, the light cavalry of the sea, with torpedoes 
 and gunfire to hold back the British line. To greet 
 them and render their efforts nugatory the British 
 destroyers moved out. 
 
 At nine o'clock the official report of the action 
 states that visibility was bad, and we may take it 
 that, when men had accomplished what those of the 
 Grand Fleet had accomplished, it was bad indeed. 
 Sufficient to rob them of that overwhelming victory 
 which had almost been within their grasp. Sufficient 
 to make those who had striven and fought for it 
 despair. A question of an hour or two. A question 
 of being able to see. At a moment when all those 
 with whom I have discussed this action are unanimous 
 in saying that the German gunnery had gone to 
 pieces. Time and daylight — those are the elements 
 which robbed the Grand Fleet of perhaps the greatest 
 victory the world has seen. 
 
 Then came night. Giants in armour groping in 
 the dark. Light cruisers and destroyers out on their 
 own, flitting hither and thither in the dark. Fighting 
 in spite of their all-day vigi), seeking out enemy 
 destroyers, cruisers, battleships if the gods so willed ; 
 
JUTLAND AND AFTER 239 
 
 fighting mists and screens of smoke ; dazzled by a 
 glare one minute, blind the next ; fighting the night 
 through without lights ; flashing their little signals 
 of identification ; avoiding collision, wreckage ; guns 
 busy, mouldies slithering, fighting with all the flair 
 and deathless instinct of the British sailor. 
 
 Drakes, Collingwoods, St. Vincents ; Shotley, 
 Portsmouth, Chatham, Devonport — all were there, 
 •all were in it. Busy with red flame in the business 
 of annihilation. Busy with death and wounds flung 
 haphazard among them. Busy aiding each other, 
 towing the cripples, fighting the flames, mending 
 machinery . . . fighting for God and England, that 
 we who do not fight and often question the ethics 
 even of defence, may live and continue to till our 
 cabbage patch. 
 
 II. 
 
 On the morning of the 1st of June, it is stated in 
 Admiral Jellicoe's report, " the British Fleet re- 
 mained in the proximity of the battlefield . . . the 
 enemy, however, made no sign, and I was reluctantly 
 compelled to the conclusion that the High Sea Fleet 
 had returned into port." 
 
 Some folk called this Kismet, others Joss, and the 
 papers seemed inclined to pat the Navy's scarred back. 
 But the Navy set its teeth, questioning what moun- 
 tains remained to be climbed. 
 
 Perhaps a week later and the hounds were in full 
 cry. 
 
 To trouble people honestly anxious to follow the 
 movements of our sons a report appeared which 
 gave the impression of defeat, when all the world 
 knew we had won. 
 
 That is a mistake of the kind which is very 
 
240 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 difficult to explain — yet explanation appeared, and, 
 with it, clishmaelaver . . . anything you choose to 
 term it. 
 
 So much has been written on the subject that it 
 seems unnecessary to enter here more fully into that 
 statement. Talk is illusive. So is proof. It is 
 bedded on truth with a spring-mattress of lies. 
 Where it comes from no one appears to know ; but 
 it is circumstantial. It is very sure of itself — very 
 sure of its facts, as it terms them. Charge and 
 counter- charge appear in the drapings of knighthood 
 and are discovered to be drabs. 
 
 The attack on men, unable by the rules of their 
 Service to reply, warms and invigorates those who 
 attack. Badinage, innuendo, heckling, follow in 
 a House which should have learned wisdom. News- 
 papers fan the flame. Again and again during this 
 war the phase has presented itself. One is at once 
 puzzled by it and unable to assign a cause. We seem 
 to be on edge ; yet, when we meet and talk, nothing 
 is farther from the truth. We are calm, even jocular, 
 in the midst of the ghastliest war the world has known. 
 Murder stalks us as we walk the street, as we do our 
 work, as we sleep. Murder tracks our shipping. We 
 learn of torturings more cruel than those devised 
 by the Inquisition ; of the use of poison-gas which 
 produces effects so far-reaching and terrible that 
 those who understand are aghast at the consequences. 
 We know of the slaughter of men daily in thousands ; 
 we know of our burden of debt, of our difficulties with 
 regard to food, and we are inclined, generally, to 
 make the best of it, even to joke. . . . But if a " tip- 
 and-run " raid gets home on the coast, fires shells 
 for half a dozen minutes, and slips back in the teeth 
 of a blizzard, or a fog, or such foul blackness as the 
 raiders may choose, we scream, if not in words, thep 
 
JUTLAND AND AFTER 241 
 
 in intent : " What is the Navy doing ? " " Is the 
 Navy asleep ? " . . . And only the other day letters 
 appeared, the burden of them the same, but set to 
 a pitch that only a shell can produce : "Is there 
 no one who will avenge us ? " 
 
 One is concerned naturally for the agony of those 
 who have been hit nearly ; one can gauge the 
 state of mind of those who see the effect of shell 
 fire or bombs in their homes, and pass with bowed 
 head before the despair which called forth those 
 letters, but has not the Navy given its toll ? It is 
 impossible to pass without comment the paper or 
 journal that prints such cries. Those who produce 
 newspapers are not the kind of people who are 
 afflicted with nerves, or spasms of any sort. What 
 they print they print deliberately, having taken 
 counsel with their own courage. They may think 
 that letters and comment of this kind do good. 
 Perhaps they may have other reasons for printing 
 them ; but in a rather long acquaintance with the 
 world I am not inclined to think the thing is an 
 accident. It all bears on one point. So and So, it 
 has been decided, M.G. Once we wrote these things 
 plainly if we wrote them at all ; but now, it seems, 
 we are content to Morse our aim, without the know- 
 ledge of Morse. At all events the clamour continues, 
 until So and So H.G., if one may invent a new 
 hieroglyphic. 
 
 The Press is a very potent factor in the nation's 
 life. What would become of us either individually 
 or as a nation if the Press were hamstrung is a 
 question for the nation to decide . . . but when 
 one sees, as one must, unless blind, things like this 
 hawked for folk to buy, " Bomb Berlin to Blazes," 
 and remember that it comes from the quarter, 
 which bid us, in the anxious days of July-August, 
 
242 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 1914, fold our hands, in a sentence, equally raucous 
 which said " To Hell with Serbia ! " one is inclined 
 to smile ; but when great papers stand side by side 
 with clamour and demand of His Majesty's Govern- 
 ment that " The public are entitled to know " why 
 So and So is kept in office, and why So and So is not 
 deposed, the matter becomes more serious. 
 
 The first damages the cause of national unity by 
 attracting with its headline the ignorant and the 
 curious ; the second damages the thinking sector by 
 the inferred slur it throws out. The nation lacks big 
 men, it is said, and, it appears, the nation, aided by 
 the Press, or vice versd, if you will, hounds big men 
 out of office if they fail to do anything spectacular to 
 please it. 
 
 Where is this to end ? 
 
 The troubles from which the nation is suffering 
 are due to the fact that it refused to prepare for war. 
 Ministers refused to warn it ; some went farther 
 and boldy challenged Lord Roberts when he stood 
 to warn it. In spite of that it is impossible to acquit 
 the country of ignorance. Military service, con- 
 scription, what you will of preparation, was anathema 
 in its eyes. The Press to a large extent took a serious 
 view of the situation ; but the country was content, 
 smug and very full of the joys of motoring. The 
 cloud on the horizon was not Germany, but Ireland ; 
 not Bernhardi and his nostrums, but the Suffragettes 
 and the various consciences. Nothing else mattered. 
 These things would be squared. There was no need 
 to worry over either of them. National sanity would 
 prevail even if the Commons and the Lords played 
 the fool . . . but Germany ! My dear man, there 
 is no such thing as Germany in the sense you speak 
 of. Germany is intent as we are on maintaining 
 peace . . . "amateur-strategists," like Lord Roberts, 
 
JUTLAND AND AFTER 243 
 
 may say what they will, but you will never persuade 
 the nation to believe that Germany wants war. . . . 
 
 It proceeded farther, as we know. And at length 
 war came. 
 
 A nation which refused to prepare, which would 
 go to jail and there hunger-strike to obtain freedom 
 rather than accept military service in any form — 
 if we may believe the various doctrinaires — should 
 be willing to take punishment without squealing at 
 the Navy by whose gallantry alone it has breath to 
 squeal. 
 
 Europe is not free of the bestial Hun. France 
 and Belgium, Serbia, Roumania, Italy^ — all have felt 
 the horror of contact with the Blonde-Beast of 
 modern Germany ; but England is free, untouched 
 by the world-criminal, and, by the grace of those 
 who steam, trailing skirts up and down the Wet 
 Triangle, likely to remain untouched. 
 
 England was unready, Russia recovering from her 
 Japanese adventures, France occupied with her 
 " affaires " — that is why we are at war ; why Germany 
 was able to seize the Belgian ports which she now 
 uses to harbour the craft with which alone, at sea, 
 she can strike us. It was because we were unready 
 that the Navy was tied in the early days of this 
 struggle. Invasion was very near then — only the 
 Navy held it back. 
 
 Mark the messages that went out from Germany 
 when England declared war, and gauge the German 
 consternation. . . . 
 
 " Return immediately to New York. . . . Return 
 to Monte Video, Buenos Ayres, Rio de Janeiro, 
 Valparaiso, Callao." " Return to Lisbon, Trieste, 
 Barcelona, Constantinople. . , . Return at once." 
 
 And Germany's merchant ships, greyhounds, 
 
 a 2 
 
244 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 cruisers of the merchant service and cargo-boats 
 made haste to obey . . . because the British Fleet 
 was moving from the Solent to take up the positions 
 assigned to it in the North Sea. 
 
 It is the only sign of confusion in the whole machine- 
 planned war of Germany, the only signal that the 
 unexpected had happened. Henceforth Germany's 
 merchant fleets would be under lock and key to the 
 countries which interned them. Henceforth, except 
 as pawns in the game, Germany could not use them. 
 They were tied up fast to the quay walls. 
 
 And, in a sense, the British Fleet was tied also. 
 It could wait and watch. It could burnish its shield, 
 keep fit, build new types, trail skirts about the 
 shallow waters of the North Sea, but it was, and is, 
 almost impossible to bring the German Fleet to 
 action.* The German Fleet, acting on the same 
 principle as the German field force when checked on 
 the Marne, had dug itself in — and, in spite of some 
 heroical talk, it was not possible to dig it out. 
 
 In the years which preceded war it had been 
 possible to render war impossible. A little plain 
 speech would have gone far to sober the Junkers 
 and their leaders. It would have helped to sober 
 England. The flourish of Germany's sword was 
 plainly seen from Algeciras onward to Zabern and 
 beyond.* He would be wilfully blind who missed it. 
 It provoked plain speech, if ever brandished trucu- 
 lence can be said to aim at clearing the air ; but no 
 answer was forthcoming, and this in spite of the 
 fact that certain treaties were in force. 
 
 The question for Germany was whether Great 
 Britain would abide by them, or would she squirm 
 out as she did in '64 and '70 ? That was the crux 
 
 * This was written before the revelations of Prince Lichnowsky 
 which certainly prove it. 
 
JUTLAND AND AFTER 245 
 
 for Germany, and Germany saw in our posturings 
 and squabblings very potent reasons why we must 
 squirm out. It could not conceive a country rising 
 above her troubles and drawing the sword in defence 
 of an ideal when obviously what army she had was 
 at loggerheads over the question of Ulster. It could 
 not understand that behind all the rapier play of 
 Ministers and their assailants lay a sense of justice 
 other than that for which they fought. It could not 
 imagine an England, dusty and smothered in verbiage, 
 dropping her briefs, and buckling to her girdle the 
 sword she had forsworn. 
 
 Hence the chaos, the one chaos, in Germany's 
 machine-like advance on France — her merchant 
 service lost to her, her colonies lost, her trade at a 
 standstill ; the British Fleet throttling her ; the 
 Englander she hates, and at whom for years she has 
 sneered, standing in the mud, one against three, one 
 against five as it came to be, standing "sticking it," 
 as men say, while K. of K. and those others built up 
 an Army. ^ 
 
 Are these things true ? And if they are, is it 
 necessary to continue this strangely un-English 
 campaign ? 
 
 Is it essential for the nation's existence that 
 speakers and Press alike should for ever be girding 
 at this, that, or the other admiral, general ; that 
 leaders of one section or another of what is known 
 as the working man should incessantly demand new 
 versions of what we are fighting for . . . why So and 
 So is in office when everybody knows he is a dunder- 
 head, why the Huns got through last night, and 
 what are we going to do with the fools who let them 
 through ? 
 
 Is it essential that democracy should always be 
 shrill and provocative of smiles ? Is it necessary to 
 
246 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 threaten and shout what will happen to morrow or the 
 next day if food is not forthcoming for each sanctified 
 worker in this or that or the other district ? Is it 
 wise to belabour in the Press, in the House and on 
 the platform, officers who happen to be in command 
 of sections where raids will certainly come unless 
 we bar the Straits of Dover with booms and mines ? 
 Is it quite gentil, shall we say, to bespatter the War 
 Office with quite so much abuse (" the soulless and 
 brainless War Office " is a sample), to sneer at the 
 officers who are seen in London, to hold " Red-Tabs " 
 and " Cuthberts " and " uniformed indispensables " 
 up to contempt daily and hourly ? 
 
 Have any of them hurt those who squeal, or is it 
 democracy's way to " Yah ! " when it sees a man 
 trim and in uniform ? We complain of the censor- 
 ship. It seems to me we should complain of licence. 
 
 A little while ago it was Lord Kitchener who stood 
 silent to take the burden of jeers. Again a little 
 while, and it was Admiral Bacon and the doddering 
 Dover patrol . . . then it was Sir Douglas Haig and 
 Sir William Robertson and Admiral Jellicoe ... a 
 dozen others. 
 Why? 
 
 And if there be a reason, what method is there 
 in it ? 
 
 The men in the trenches do not shout and jeer at 
 the " Red-Tabs " whose duty it is to order attack 
 or defence. The men of the Fleet would make it 
 uncomfortable, if I know them, for the man who 
 dared to belittle Lord Jellicoe on the mess deck. 
 The men of the Merchant Service and fishing patrols 
 are not hot gospellers out for scalps ; and they, of all 
 those who fight our battles, are the men we might 
 expect to cry out. . . . Have they not fought without 
 guns, made it possible for ships to move on the high 
 
JUTLAND AND AFTER 247 
 
 seas, starved and died in open boats that we may 
 continue in comfort ; yet we hear no verbal cudgel- 
 lings from them. 
 
 To come from the calm atmosphere of the Grand 
 Fleet and the various naval centres into this jargon 
 is perplexing. Those who have visited the trenches 
 tell the same story. There is nothing of it anywhere 
 but here. 
 
 None from the soldiers, none from the sailors, none 
 from the Merchant Service . . . none from that 
 vast section of the people which is not making money 
 out of the war. . . . Then is it not possible for those 
 who shout to preserve their balance also ? 
 
 We are at war. The end of it trails afar off, and 
 in spite of the clamour the soul of a people stands 
 fast. To-morrow, it may be, we shall not be here 
 to watch the ebb and flow of battle. Giant machines 
 wing out to sting us whether we work or play : 
 whether we face the sun or the stars, smile or weep. 
 There is no place in these islands where to-morrow, 
 or the day after to-morrow, enemy craft may not come 
 to rake us into the cinder-heap of our past. 
 
 We read, write, sleep, visit theatres, eat, drink, 
 and strive to be merry ; yet over us is ever the 
 stalking-horse of Force preparing fresh slaughterings. 
 For four years we have been at war, and spouters of 
 sedition should be under lock and key ; but they 
 remain with us, free to shout, free to shower benisons 
 on those of like mind. Some talk in the House as 
 though we sat in camera and the dome which is over- 
 head kept from our enemies all talk. They snarl 
 and edit gossip even as in those days when we warred 
 with Home Rule, talked glibly of civil war or mil- 
 lenium, and planned how to make the rich poor the 
 poor rich. 
 
248 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 Yet to-day, when the nation is at war more certainly 
 than ever in history, when races confront one another 
 with the implements each have forged, the talk goes 
 on ; the profiteering, if it be profiteering, goes on, 
 and the untutored grow weary, impatient of their 
 leaders and snarl with their masters. 
 
 The difficulties of life stand over these folk. The 
 " missis " is hit, the " kiddies " are hungry. It is 
 the fault of this lord, this general, this admiral, say 
 the particular papers they read. If men of this type 
 are in the swim of it, who shall stand against them ? 
 Anarchy could make headway, one whispers ; then 
 anarchy has it. Revolution could set things right — 
 then ho ! for revolution. The chatterers chatter, 
 the printers print, and the people listen and read. 
 Some of the stuff is mere gossip, some of it innuendo, 
 while elsewhere is what is known as straight talk 
 given with double-leaded headlines. " To hell with 
 this, that or the other ! " shouts one swollen tipster 
 pondering a circulation which shall beat all records. 
 
 " Strike now ! " cries another, subtlety to the fore, 
 " Strike hard — the moment is at hand ! " '' Demo- 
 cracy wins ! " " The People rule ! " . . . the invita- 
 tions to riot trail off into blasphemy — as is seen. 
 
 Yet we are at war, working superbly with all the 
 energy and vim of a nation stung to the depths by 
 the handlers of Force. We are at war, yet we stand 
 with the casuists pondering quibbles. All the world 
 rings with our praise ; only in our midst are the 
 sounds of obstruction. 
 
 War is our atmosphere, our meat and drink, day 
 in, day out. We hear the guns. The earth quakes 
 listening. We see our trains of wounded ; we know 
 of the acres of little wooden crosses planted out there 
 in the mud-flats of Flanders ; we know of the sailor's 
 leaden toil, the toll he has paid . . . but the nation 
 
JUTLAND AND AFTER 249 
 
 stands firm, its teeth bared for war^ — war till our 
 peace shall be won. War — the bloody arbitrament 
 of Force, without which the nation had died. War- — 
 the one word to thrust down the throat of the pedant, 
 the quibbler, the theorist — war, war — nothing but 
 war. 
 
 For an ideal it was ours ; for an ideal it remains 
 to our hand : for our children ; for the safety of 
 " our most gracious Sovereign . . . and his Domi- 
 nions, and a security for such as pass on the seas 
 upon their lawful occasions." For the love of our 
 country we are at war. Because of its green fields 
 we are at war ; because of its lakelands, its hills and 
 dales, and the forests which inspired us to live for 
 ideals. 
 
 Because of the thousands who work and are tired ; 
 because of women and girls bent with toil ; because 
 of men too old for the field whose hours are spent 
 in service ; because of those who construct ships and 
 guns and shells and ammunition . . . ; because of 
 the vigil of the North Sea and the splendid spirit 
 of our fleets ; because of our soldiers, knee deep in 
 the mire of Flanders ; because of the vast sacrifice 
 we have made, and continue to make, it is ours to 
 fight on, to fight; as one people ; to fight with our 
 leaders so that men may learn that Force is anathema, 
 a thing accursed by God and all that race of men 
 who stand now, shoulder to shoulder, warring for an 
 ideal. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THOSE WHO FIGHT 
 
 The Grand Fleet. — Mist and Shine, — Control, — War 
 Aims of the Sailors, 
 
 " The prophets prophesy falsely and the priests bear 
 rule by their means ; and My people love to have it so ; 
 and what will ye do in the end thereof?" — ^Jeremiah 
 V. 31. 
 
 The Grand Fleet was at anchor in a roadstead far 
 in the north ; grey ship beyond grey ship lying still 
 in a curtain of mist. Glimpses of sloped foothills 
 escaped at intervals, crags stood out of the fleeting 
 gauze, and there appeared those dazzling gleams of 
 colour so loved by Peter Graham, with the gulls 
 soaring high on the wing, dipping low, scrambling 
 for food. And from them came the cry we know 
 and love — piercing, insistent. Otherwise silence 
 ringed the roadstead as with a wall. 
 
 From the heights by the bridge the ships looked 
 like the toys with which years ago we played and 
 fought small battles on a cardboard sea. They lay 
 so still they might have been the painted ships of 
 our historied past with Drake and Nelson brooding 
 over them. Grey line and silver gauze, trembling 
 here aslant the hills in gleams, retiring there in 
 shadow. Grey shape and silver steam, motionless 
 the one, vibrant the other ; but all blended, silent, 
 only the gulls alert. 
 
 Launches, picket-boats, cutters crammed with men 
 
THOSE WHO FIGHT 251 
 
 like dots, moved slowly trailing thin tracks, busy 
 with the unending sacrifice of the sea. A little collier, 
 grumpy, and cocked by the nose, drifted out of the 
 farther mist and came down the Firth slashing at the 
 water with a propeller that scorned immersion. She 
 made no sound, gave out no horn note, no hiss of 
 progress, no thud with a screw obviously at grips 
 with the sea, the tide and a thrust block buried in 
 her vitals. Only when she had passed was sound 
 audible ; the beat of her blades upon the sea came 
 up then, solemn, like a drum. 
 
 A light breeze drove in from the east and with it 
 the mist became dense. The crags retired. No 
 gleams appeared upon the sea or down the farther 
 hillsides. The little ships which were so great, one 
 by one retired from sight ; only the mist was left, 
 silvery, damp, peopled by gulls. 
 
 Far off was a great city awhirl with its business, 
 trams whirring, newsboys shouting, caterers busy, 
 the business of printing in full swing . . . profiteers 
 and pacifists, all of them at work. Nearer was a 
 naval base which had sprung into full being at the 
 call of a people unready for war ; its tin houses and 
 blocks of offices ; its puddled roads quaking to the 
 throb of engines drawing huge trucks, trollies, all 
 the paraphernalia of equipment essential to the 
 life of a fleet. On the one side a long point of land, 
 slippery and uneven, trailed from the clouds, leaning 
 out like a finger pointing to the sea which lay beyond. 
 
 The air became more charged with mist. The 
 tide swept up from a vanished horizon, drawing 
 outlines in foam the colour of scum. A dull boom 
 shook the air, a thud, heavy, as of a mine. It 
 came across hills with the echo of a sob, and 
 instantly, it seemed, a destroyer moved through 
 the haze going to the gates of the sea. She made 
 
252 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 no signal, sounded no horn, but passed like a wraith 
 by the finger of land and was gone. 
 
 In the morning I came from the station in an 
 Admiralty car up the long, winding, switchback 
 road which led to the base. The sun shone now, 
 but the wind, still in the east, rippled up the slope 
 with a touch of winter ; yet August reigned and 
 the trees were green to the tips. I asked the officer 
 who had come to meet me what had happened last 
 night just off the port, and he said : 
 
 " More bacon and eggs gone to the bottom. Fritz 
 got home his pill and we got home ours." 
 
 " A slice of luck," I said, " for us also. I wish one 
 could send that to the papers." 
 
 " Can't be done," he decided. " I wish it could 
 . . . but you see if we reported it Fritz would know 
 what boat was operating here and that she was 
 gone. Out would come another. As it is, Fritz has 
 to wait. He waits a long while, and the uncertainty 
 gets on his nerves. He gets scared, and by-and-by 
 when relatives begin to ask questions he tells lies. 
 They tell lots, for we sink 'em in bunches . . . but 
 then, you see, that doesn't count for much, as they 
 build 'em in bunches as well." 
 
 I asked what boat had gone down, and he said : 
 
 " A Dutchman . . . perhaps fifteen miles off the 
 port. Escort with her too ; but on the other side. 
 Doesn't seem to have struck him there was another 
 side. He was just beginning to practise on the crew 
 — spurlos versunkt, you know— when the escort 
 rounded the bow and scuppered him. Went clean 
 through him. You should go down the dock and 
 see her nose ! " 
 " Crew saved ? " 
 " A couple." 
 
THOSE WHO FIGHT 253 
 
 " And the Dutchman ? " 
 
 " Except those killed by torpedo all taken off the 
 escort by the destroyer you saw going out." 
 
 " It was as thick as a hedge," I said. " How they 
 can find their way so slick puzzles me." 
 
 " We have our system," he laughed. " It isn't 
 a bad old gadget " ; and there he left it asi:he car 
 turned into a small wired-in space, in the centre of 
 which was one of the low corrugated-iron and timber 
 buildings which are known as tin houses. 
 
 A broad verandah, of the stoep order, stood between 
 the small garden and headquarters. A flagstaff, taut 
 and trim, flew the naval ensign at the peak and an 
 admiral's flag at the masthead. A couple of blue- 
 jackets and a sentry came to attention as we alighted, 
 and my companion led the way acknowledging the 
 salute. 
 
 •' We're dead on time," he said. " I shall leave 
 you with Flags, and he will take you to the Com- 
 mander-in-Chief." 
 
 "Is this where you work ? " I asked. 
 
 " And sleep," he laughed ; " it's better than it 
 was. You should have seen us the first year." 
 
 " And the C.-in-C— does he live here too ? " 
 
 " Rather . . . it's not a bad old shanty when 
 the sun shines. Come in^ — I'll introduce you." 
 
 I looked at this optimist. He was quite serious^ — 
 no camouflage within a mile. One could no more 
 doubt that fresh, young face and keen blue eyes 
 than one could doubt the sea. 
 
 He entered a small room, bulkheaded from the 
 passage and a farther room which opened off it. 
 Here I was left with my new guide to shed my over- 
 coat, hat, gloves, cane, and prepare for the ordeal. 
 
 You see, although I knew something of the Navy 
 and had been guest on various ships and at various 
 
254 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 messes, hitherto during my wanderings I had not 
 visited the Grand Fleet but worked up to it. Wherever 
 I had stayed the question had been put to me, '' Have 
 you seen the Grand Fleet yet ? " or " Are you going 
 to the Grand Fleet ? " And always I had said, " No — 
 but I am on the way there." I had heard, too, the 
 unvarying comment, " Lucky man ! " or " By George 
 I envy you ! " — so had come to know that even those 
 engaged daily and hourly in this fight looked upon 
 the Grand Fleet as the supreme power, the one thing 
 to see before you die. 
 
 I was aware also that, in spite of my passes and 
 credentials, it depended entirely on the Commander- 
 in-Chief, the late Admiral Sir F. T. Hamilton, whether 
 I were permitted the honour of going off, bag and 
 baggage, to some giant of the sea, which perchance 
 had fought at Jutland. So you may be sure my 
 pulses tingled. I was keen, not for an hour or so 
 under strict marching orders, but for days, or weeks, 
 if possible, so that I might grow accustomed to the 
 strange life, of which hitherto, in various corners of 
 the world, I had managed to obtain gleams. 
 
 I was chatting with the flag officers present — 
 envying them their chances, if you will ; seeing them 
 as cadets at Osborne in the sun-warmed south, and 
 gauging their march to this — ^knowing well the trial 
 presently would be behind that door. 
 
 It came without a hint of warning from the flag- 
 lieutenant. He looked round, said " Ready ? " 
 I signalled assent. He opened the door, entered, 
 closed it. In two minutes he returned and I followed 
 him within, heard the door click as he retired. 
 
 At the far side of a low, square room was a desk 
 set in an angle of the wall facing windows which ran 
 from side to side. Charts were pinned at hand, 
 doubtless with little ships clinging to those areas 
 
THOSE WHO FIGHT 255 
 
 under their control — I could not see. Behind the 
 desk I saw a slight, grey-bearded officer, wearing the 
 uniform of an Admiral of the Fleet and a string of 
 ribbons, rising to greet me. He came forward with 
 hand outstretched, met me midway, took my hand, 
 and walked with me slowly to the window. Here he 
 halted and leaned back against the drawing-desk which 
 ran beneath the window, speaking quietly of Sir Douglas 
 Brownrigg, the letter he had sent, and searching me 
 with so keen a look that my wits were easily nowhere. 
 
 The full light of a brilliant day was upon me : 
 his own face in shadow. I wished to see what his 
 eyes said, but they said nothing. He was very quiet, 
 yet he held me prisoned. 
 
 I don't know that I can recall any searching more 
 kindly or thorough in my days, though while on my 
 wanderings I have had to face many. He said 
 without words : "Here is a stranger, with credentials, 
 it is true ; but things happen even with those who 
 can pull big wires." I had told him I wanted to go 
 out and stay on one of the ships. He asked how 
 long, and I said, while he gripped me : "As long, 
 sir, as you will give me leave to stay." 
 
 Then he walked back with me, stood a moment 
 thoughtful. " A week do ? " he asked, and the 
 smile that accompanied the question made me giddy. 
 Of course I said it would be heaven, at which he 
 smiled more broadly. " Some of them don't appear 
 to think so " seemed to be behind that smile ; but he 
 did not say the words. 
 
 In another five minutes I was outside the door, 
 elated as when I emerged from my last examination 
 with the "bluepaper" signed, sealed, and delivered 
 for which I had fought. 
 
 A launch nuzzled the end of a pier waiting to take 
 
256 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 me off, when I reached the edge of the Firth. The 
 sea sparkled in sunlight, and tiny white curls out 
 there where the ships lay told me the breeze was 
 fresh. 
 
 Until this moment I had imagined the Fleet ; but 
 now it lay spread out in glorious panorama, grey 
 shape towering beyond grey shape ; squadron beyond 
 squadron, both up and down that stretch of scin- 
 tillating water. The Firth was at its best, the hills 
 clear, a blue sky where yesterday a mist had lain. 
 There were the battleships, there the screen of 
 cruisers and destroyers which moved with them 
 when under way. Pricking the blue were the strange 
 tripod masts with their armoured tops and controls, 
 like giant crows' nests perched high above the deck. 
 Beyond were more tripods, more masts, some 
 crowned with a flag, others with a rainbow hoist 
 flicking in the breeze — some talking serenely with 
 arms which swung to and fro, making all conceivable 
 angles ; others quiet, without flags except for the 
 ensign which stood out aft. 
 
 Lanes of ships from the " duty trot " squadron 
 out there, small against the eastern sea line, to the 
 giants standing motionless under the hills of Scotland 
 far up the Firth — all gleaming in that radiant day, 
 guns pointed, lean and menacing for offence. And 
 down the lanes, or up, moved the picket-boats, 
 duty-cutters, barges pulled by bluejackets, carrying 
 to and from the shore supplies for the Fleet. 
 
 In twenty minutes I was alongside the flagship 
 and for the first time acknowledging that a mammoth 
 may be beautiful. Her name * was so well known 
 that all the world has trembled at her adventures. 
 In the early days she came very near the ditch, as 
 
 * Queen Elizahtth, 
 

THOSE WHO FIGHT 257 
 
 sailors say, in an adventure wholly heroic but 
 impossible. 
 
 Tennyson's lines haunted me as I climbed her 
 gangway thinking of this — 
 
 " Theirs not to reason why, 
 Theirs but to do and die," 
 
 then I was on her deck, her long guns pointing out 
 overhead, gleaming in the sunshine, and cognisant 
 of a group of young officers keeping their watch as 
 in the old days when quarter-decks had more space. 
 
 They must get very sick of seeing importunate 
 strangers armed with passes, who come upon them 
 to pry into their life. If they do, they hide it very 
 delightfully. They are the quintessence of kindliness, 
 thought, and geniality. One cannot imagine them 
 trying to hide things about which even among them- 
 selves they do not talk. As a matter of fact, naval 
 officers brandish no air of mystery. They say of 
 such and such a subject : " Ah ! that's one of the 
 things we don't discuss." There are no verbal 
 subtleties in the matter. Osborne and Dartmouth 
 have done their work well, not only as to the theories, 
 but as to the facts which go to make good citizens. 
 
 I was already in the hands of a lieutenant, as like 
 my companion on the way to the Commander-in- 
 Chief as one pea is like another ; and with him I was 
 going downstairs to see the Captain of the Fleet, 
 Commodore Brand. 
 
 On the threshold I halted, struck, as I had been 
 on crossing the quarter-deck, by the beauty of this 
 cabin. I use the word intentionally, for I know ships 
 and am accustomed to the stereotype cabin of com- 
 petition. This was square and open in some way 
 to sunshine. It was filled with light and warmth 
 from big open ports — homelike. Flowers were on 
 
258 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 the table, ornaments, books, cigarettes, exactly as 
 in well-kept chambers in town. A bunk or sleeping 
 place of any sort was invisible. A fireplace was 
 there, radiating sunlight from its brasses, easy- 
 chairs, comfort ; and as I entered the Captain of the 
 Fleet met me, as all did when I came upon them, 
 with a genial phrase and — the cigarette -box. 
 
 I am afraid I sampled many cigarettes in my 
 wanderings and gave few away. I should have liked 
 to remain in that room the whole morning, effaced, 
 utterly forgotten, so that I might have worked out 
 the theories of governance which must come to 
 one fresh from the laxity and brawl of great towns. 
 The room, you see, where a man sits and works or 
 gives orders is invested with an atmosphere from 
 which new comers cannot escape — ^from which, 
 indeed, some of us do not seek to escape. 
 
 This cabin appealed to me as did the sitting-room 
 of a commodore on the East Coast with whom I 
 talked one night when guns were booming over the 
 ^ea and a bitter wind howled at us from the north- 
 east. That room held me, so did the commodore 
 and his trophies won from sea and air ; relics of 
 crushed U-boats, of blazed Gothas and Zeppelins 
 fashioned at his desire into ornaments and things 
 of use. All were so finely wrought that one turned in 
 astonishment to find still other marvels culled from 
 bombs and the devilish and wonderful mechanism 
 by which they are detonated. 
 
 It was there I saw rare books and glass that would 
 make a collector shiver ; which made me shiver for 
 their safety, there on that exposed sea-front where 
 streets of houses were empty, scores with the windows 
 blown in, some wrecked for all time. 
 
 I pointed this out, and the commodore said : " Of 
 course they are beautiful. I keep them by me 
 
THOSE WHO] FIGHT 259 
 
 because they are beautiful. . . . Some night perhaps 
 a shell will come iji and smash the lot — me with them. 
 . . . Well, we shall go together, and I shall have had 
 the delight of living with them to the end. 
 
 " War is so ghastly that a man must put aside the 
 hermit's cowl. I shall not go sooner for their presence, 
 . . . but when the hour strikes. So, too, will you, 
 and all either of us can do will not alter that. . . . 
 Besides," he added, " it makes us forget sometimes 
 what is going on all round us. It keeps one sane, if 
 you like . . . able to carry on." 
 
 I agreed. I think, too, that the room which held 
 us must have been imbued with the spirit and soul 
 of the great man who lived in it. 
 
 So here on this super-Dreadnought, as we have 
 come to term what replaces the man-o'-war of our 
 youth. She had been through the Dardanelles 
 stunt, as it is irreverently called, and had been 
 enveloped in smoke and flame there as well as 
 at Jutland. How, then, was it impossible that 
 nothing could be read of her stress, of the impact 
 of shells, of the mines and torpedoes she had escaped, 
 of the rattle of 'quick-firing guns — perhaps even 
 there in the sunlit room we occupied ? The dent 
 caused by a shell sets the mind roving in other fields 
 than those concerned entirely with strain and 
 impact. Visions of those blinded or maimed arise 
 , . . and in the background the effect of it all on 
 homes, on the masses, on those who cry for peace 
 where no peace can come. 
 
 You understand, naturally, that these suggestions 
 scarcely arrived through the medium of our talk. 
 One cannot enter a stranger's room, and begin by 
 visualising events and individuals, without, on a 
 battleship, coming in contact with a Marine carrying 
 a fixed bayonet. For that reason, if for no other, we 
 
260 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 talked, as the Frenchman said, ''in order that we 
 might conceal our thoughts." What else is possible ? 
 Even in peace time there are conventions. 
 
 And upon our talk came the^admiral to hearten 
 me for further effort, shall we say, by speaking of 
 an effort of the past. I shall not soon forget his 
 brisk words of praise, nor the kindliness which made 
 him seek me out to speak them. 
 
 Then arose a discussion between admiral and 
 commodore as to where I was to go. It seemed to 
 resolve itself into a toss-up. The notion was to get 
 me where people knew something more of books 
 than those others. It appeared immaterial to me, 
 because, you comprehend, there are as many kinds of 
 books as there are ships at sea, and the only kind 
 that count are those which people do not read. 
 
 The curious part about this- question of which ship 
 was to be my home is that when T had made my 
 number I found in the wardroom * a young officer 
 who knew me and would have been able to vouch, 
 at all events, for my identity had my passports 
 failed. The difference resulting is exactly similar 
 to that of a new comer arriving in town with intro- 
 ductions or without, but accentuated by the fact 
 that this was a super-Dreadnought of the B Squadron 
 of the Grand Fleet, and the country was at war. 
 
 In the wardroom that night we dined with folk 
 who might have stepped directly from the pages 
 of "Naval Occasions." "Bartimeus" requires no 
 recognition from me ; yet I like to remember the 
 day when first I became acquainted with him. It 
 was in the lounge of an hotel at Hindhead. We had 
 just finished tea and I was seeking something to 
 throw me out of the rut. Then, on a side -table, 
 I saw this book " Naval Occasions," opened it 
 
 * H.M.S. Conqueror. 
 
THOSE WHO FIGHT 261 
 
 with simple indifference, sampled it, as one does 
 something one does not know, pocketed it, and got 
 away quietly to enjoy myself. I owed that debt 
 to "Bartimeus," and I am glad to pay it — for I 
 succeeded in being late for dinner. 
 
 The note of a bugle blared across the flats and 
 instantly men sprang to the hatchways. The sun 
 had gone, and in place of it was a thin mist which 
 for hours had kept us prisoners when we had decided 
 on a cruise. 
 
 Now something had happened, perhaps, to free us. 
 I came out with the rest and heard a voice shouting 
 " Anchor stations " somewhere above us, followed 
 by " Tumble up ! Shake a leg ! " 
 
 The lower deck shivered, expecting a bath. 
 " Saltash luck ! " some one ejaculated, passing on 
 the stairs ; and then, as though in confutation of it» 
 a voice proclaimed : " Why, it's clearing ! Cheer- o ! " 
 
 This was true. The beads of moisture strung out 
 along rails and ridge-ropes quivered and dropped 
 in a new light. Shadows appeared on the wet decks, 
 men were busy with squeegees and swabs, the arms 
 of a semaphore were swinging without pause ; the 
 windlass already at work bundling in chain. I saw 
 the padre moving up and down a quiet section of 
 the deck and joined him. We talked of discipline, 
 the necessity that exists, even now, that it should be 
 recognised, until the squadron was under way. Then I 
 climbed to the bridge. 
 
 The promise of sunlight seemed likely to go no 
 farther. It was thinner, as we say at sea^ — that 
 is, we could see our next astern always, and at inter- 
 vals the whole squadron ; the foothills we could see, 
 but the heights had their cap on — a streaming white 
 mist which was of the clouds. 
 
262 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 A fleet of modern warships is wonderful in any 
 light ; but when the mist creeps down and flickers 
 in patches upon x the waters it is a picture at once 
 of sterling quahty and marvellous control. 
 
 Not one of those battleships carried less than a 
 thousand men, some more. A thousand individuals, 
 each of them imbued with hopes which are common 
 to all, aspirations which may or may not be accom- 
 plished, a desire for the end of this ghastliness and a 
 resolute decision that it can only be reached through 
 war. 
 
 Discipline teaches many things besides toeing the 
 line. Through discipline of body you obtain disci- 
 pline of thought : you learn to reason clearly. 
 
 Make no mistake about it. Sailors and soldiei^ 
 understand exactly what we are fighting for. They 
 know that if a draw, as it is called, were forced upon 
 us we should lose our freedom. They know, as 
 only those can who are immersed in the duties 
 entailed by war, that when we took up arms we 
 did so because it was better to fight Germany in 
 company with our Allies than to fight her when 
 those Allies were crushed. They have seen the 
 German machine at work and know that for once 
 the politicians were right when they refused the 
 advice of those who would have had the nation 
 squirm out. They understand something, too, of 
 the difficulty of fighting under democratic leading, 
 but are sufficiently inured by discipline to com- 
 prehend that one man can lead where a dozen 
 will only palter. 
 
 Much has been said of the democratisation of the 
 Army and even, tentatively, of the Navy, but those 
 who see at long range the wobblings of democracy 
 understand the fallacy of it. They work in the Fleet 
 under an autocracy which is nearly unlimited, and 
 
THOSE WHO FIGHT 263 
 
 they know that by no other process could battles be 
 won, fleets practised, supplied, or kept fit. 
 
 Autocracy can concentrate on its objective without 
 considering the advice of a score of wire-pullers all 
 in leading strings to the party system. A man who 
 is an autocrat, who is in command, may be fallible, 
 but he has reached his position through a process of 
 elimination which has rejected the unfit. On the other 
 hand, you have the sum of a score or a hundred 
 fallibilities, each of which has climbed to power by 
 the exercise of argument practised so glibly that 
 presently each stands uncertain of the truth. 
 
 The autocrat moves alone, or in conjunction with 
 two or three proved efficients. If he falls, he falls. 
 But the odds are against his falling when he is pitted 
 against messieurs les doctrinaires , folk with glib tongues 
 who prostrate fact before theory, quake at the notion 
 of force, and shake impotent words on those who 
 adopt it. 
 
 Part of the day, as we moved out through the mist, 
 I spent with my lieutenant friend creeping about 
 the turrets and the machinery that works both 
 turrets and guns. I was shown what happened 
 if I pulled this lever, what occurred if I pressed the 
 other. I saw the tubes and pistons and heard the 
 hiss of pressure which enabled a man to swing and 
 tilt those ponderous guns with as much ease as 
 if they had been dumb-bells. Yet I confess I came 
 away with a feeling of appalling ignorance. 
 
 It was the same when I was shown the working 
 of quick-firer guns in Commodore Tyrwhitt's flag- 
 ship. The captain of marines explained each move- 
 ment, how to sight, how to find the range, what to 
 do when the control gave you an order, and demon- 
 strated part of it. He explained the special juice 
 
264 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 which manipulated the various parts and what to 
 do if she was rolHng gunwale under, and I came 
 away with the feeling of one lost in a maze. The 
 truth is the modern gun is every whit as complex 
 as the modern ship. That is why gunners and sailors 
 used to take six or seven years in the making. How 
 much a novice in machinery would be able to carry 
 away would harm no one but himself — especially if 
 he were put into the hands of a lecturer who was 
 word-perfect and swift of speech. 
 
 After we had done with the turrets and turned off 
 the juice which worked them, I was taken into a 
 part of the ship which is honestly eerie, where you 
 want to be afflicted with no imagination lest you 
 see ghosts of a quality not entirely diaphanous. 
 
 It was my first visit to the magazine of a great 
 ship, curious and interesting beyond words. To my 
 companion it was commonplace : but he happened 
 to be a gunner. I confess the descent gave me an 
 inkling of what the place must be. We scraped 
 through manholes, obtained a key at a certain place, 
 descended perpendicular ladders of the kind one 
 imagines must be in use in Hades, in a stillness 
 so profound that to breathe seemed unwise ; came 
 past weird curtain things of the kind of cloth the 
 gun crews wear in action, things that closed softly 
 as you entered and gave you the impression of 
 being lost, hidden away for all time in some refrigerat- 
 ing chamber where no sound could come. 
 
 Then when we had reached the inner heart of the 
 ship and were moving about among rolls of cordite 
 and shells with red noses which peered out from 
 countless racks, and felt that quiet was the one 
 essential, it was startling to hear the clash of the 
 ammunition hoist and the cage which came for shells 
 — startling to see the rolls of cordite slung about ; 
 
THOSE WHO FIGHT 265 
 
 and one became anxious to get outside the place so 
 that it might be possible to breathe without fear 
 of producing catastrophe. 
 
 Of course I am speaking figuratively in these 
 matters. What I wish to impress is that a sense of 
 catastrophe is present to the mind- — not exactly in 
 the sense of fear of accident, but by the realisation 
 of the enormous embodiment of force grinning at 
 you all round. You realise for the first time, I 
 think, what it must mean if a shell bursts anywhere 
 in the neighbourhood of a magazine. And if you 
 are holding in your arms perhaps seventy-five 
 pounds of cordite, it does not impress you with its 
 impotence if you are told it will only burn quite 
 slowly, and that if it takes fire it is no use to sit on 
 it or try to smother it, for it likes smotheration. 
 
 As a matter of fact you feel you are in the wrong 
 box and don't very much care how soon you get out 
 of it. That is why imagination is not of much 
 service in a battleship. Perhaps the silence adds 
 to the impression, the appliances on every hand for 
 swift obliteration of all this deadliness. " You can 
 flood the magazine in so many seconds," said my 
 friend, " by turning that lever," and instantly I 
 set myself to puzzle out where the "you" would be 
 if flooding became essential. 
 
 The mist of half-knowledge was infinitely more 
 burdensome to me than the mist which lay over 
 the squadron when we emerged. I required a smoke 
 after that experience, and, as the heutenant was 
 free to see I came to no harm, we discussed cigarettes 
 together while the squadron steamed at full speed 
 past a target and demolished it with concentrated 
 gunfire. 
 
 That gave me an inkling of what occurred at the 
 Battle of Tushima, where the Japanese fleet lay 
 
266 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 waiting the approach of Rodjesvensky's forlorn hope, 
 and I asked what weight of metal was represented 
 by the vessels acting in control. He made a rough 
 calculation and told me something enormous in 
 thousands of pounds. " Of course," he added, " we 
 are using sub-calibre now ; but I am giving the 
 fighting weight . . . No, I agree, I shouldn't care 
 to be in range of the squadron to-day. I should 
 expect to be scuppered." 
 
 Control. 
 
 That in more senses than one is the aim of captain 
 and admiral, petty officer or boy, standing in his 
 strange and inquisitorial shroud behind a gun-shield 
 in battle. Without concentration of fire a fleet may 
 spend its force in the air ; therefore, we who speak 
 openly of individuality have perfected control and 
 made it subjective to individuality. Without single- 
 ness of purpose neither battleship nor admiral can 
 obtain the full value of armaments. All orders 
 emanate from one who is supreme. If in his judgment 
 it be necessary to move whither our fathers have 
 gone, the fleet obeys. There are no tongues raised 
 in clamour, no talk, no argument, no leader of this, 
 that or the other section of those ordered^ — for in the 
 Navy men have learned that obedience is the first 
 duty of citizenship, that without it is chaos. 
 
 It is only when the enemy has gone to pieces that 
 individuality can safely be set loose ; and then only 
 on the understanding that each commander is in 
 command. 
 
 Imagine the chaos of an unordered fight with 
 modern warships and their attendant units — ^the 
 scramble for personal glory or personal belief ; the 
 rush hither or thither; the talk and gesticulation 
 which would ensue perhaps on hustings at present 
 comfortably out of sight ; the wrack and turmoil of 
 
THOSE WHO FIGHT 267 
 
 a Navy out of control morally as well as actually — 
 but you cannot imagine it. Lack of control is 
 chaos ; chaos is disorder, a shapeless mass. You 
 cannot conceive a Navy in that guise. 
 
 Deep in the heart of all battleships is a room known 
 as the transmitting station, where I spent some hours 
 both in the heat of battle practice and when the 
 ship was steaming. It is said that the captain and 
 the chief yeoman run the ship, and I have testified 
 to what 1 have seen ; but in action there is another 
 factor, the transmitting station, without which I 
 question whether she could be fought. It is a room 
 perhaps twelve feet long and five feet wide, filled 
 with tubes and brass and copper mouthpieces which 
 yawn eternally and seem to leer. It is papered 
 with coils of insulated wire and tubes, studded with 
 plugs, buttons, levers, and electric plant. It is a 
 sort of witch-chamber into which are whispered the 
 secrets of a fight, messages from the gun-turrets, 
 control, bridge, and the crews of this or that station 
 put into communication with unseen fighters by men 
 sitting on stools and wearing " flash " helmets against 
 possible shells. 
 
 Here the various officers of control work blindly, 
 as do the men in the engine-room and stokehold 
 beyond^ — hear little but the gong signals, the voices 
 calling through tubes from the world of light and 
 air they have left. Here, too, they obey orders 
 acknowledge whisperings, watch pointers, known as 
 indicators, which twist and beckon, whilst others 
 silently confirm and carry out in a sweating heat all 
 the knowledge they have acquired in their climb 
 from Osborne. 
 
 Discipline tells here as no other power could. 
 These men are doing at length, for you and me and 
 
268 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 all who live in comfort here, just that for which 
 during long years they have prepared. They are 
 the brain and the co-ordinating machine of the 
 ship, and they go to their little spring-back stools and 
 sit there quietly in an atmosphere of oppression, which 
 alone is a burden during the ghastliness of a modern 
 sea-fight. If the bridge goes which controls this 
 control, if the control, which is sometimes called the 
 fighting-top, comes crashing from its tripod of steel, 
 another jpoint d'appui i^ secured, another officer takes 
 the place of admiral or vice-admiral, and the whisper- 
 ings, the gong strokes, the silent indicators go on ; 
 the co-ordinators continue to co-ordinate until the 
 end, when in a vast surge of fire the giant ship reels 
 and takes her last dive. 
 
 In Nelson's day there was scope for individualism ; 
 but now that individuals have been merged in the 
 machine there is room for obedience only. Nothing 
 less — even when men stand on the brink of the pit. 
 Nothing less — unless you are prepared to put the 
 safety of an individual before the safety of the 
 country which gave him birth. 
 
 We stand to-day once again in need of plain speech, 
 of a man who will lead the nation without truckling 
 to the party system, a man who will stand forth and 
 speak openly of the nation's peril. 
 
 The country fumes with impatience in certain 
 known areas because it is called upon to face priva- 
 tions which it terms " the limit." Leaders of various 
 units who find themselves powerful, harangue and 
 gesticulate with " war aims " for their text. The 
 papers they favour pat them on the back and seem 
 inclined to press class against class. "Ninety 
 something per cent, of those who are fighting for us 
 belong to the wage-earning class," one announces 
 
THOSE WHO FIGHT 269 
 
 with a push at the patriotism of those who are not 
 wage-earners. Men club together to evade service 
 of any sort but the service for self. They defy 
 government by a thousand subtle manoeuvres. 
 Others realise a conscience to which hitherto they 
 have been strangers. Some blithely commit an offence 
 the punishment of which is prison, but having learned 
 the " woman- trick " go on hunger strike and emerge 
 in due course triumphant if thin. Men who are in 
 the position of legislators stand up in their place in 
 the House and hector Ministers who, it appears, are 
 not urgent to be embroiled. 
 
 All this is the negation of government and a direct 
 incentive to those who quibble. Sailors understand 
 these posturings. They know what they have been 
 called upon to endure. They know that if it had not 
 been for the Fleet, luckily mobilised and ready, and 
 the imperishable First Seven Divisions, the British 
 people would have been treated to the same slaughter- 
 ings, ravaging, and concentrated bestiality as the 
 Belgians, French, Serbs, and all those who stood to 
 defend their motherland from brute force. They 
 know precisely what kind of fight could have been 
 organised, if Germany had been able to get through ; 
 how many Englishmen would have suffered the 
 penalty of taking up arms and trusting to a brassard ; 
 how the women and children and homes would have 
 suffered. They know, because they have been in 
 contact with the Blonde-Beast since August, 1914. 
 And they know the cry that would have gone up to 
 the stars if the Navy had failed to hold the gate 
 against invasion. 
 
 " But," they ask, " why am I singled out to fight 
 for people who refused to prepare and therefore are 
 the first cause of this war? " Because from motives 
 of patriotism, or a hatred of towns, I chose to enlist, 
 
270 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 and I, who am an officer, chose to go to Osborne, 
 is that any reason why you who are -equally fit should 
 refuse the duties of citizenship ? They put the position 
 very plainly, these sailors who are accustomed to 
 discipline. They say there would have been no war 
 if National Service had been adopted ; no war if 
 Ministers had spoken plainly when the War-Lord was 
 brandishing his sword. They see no difference in the 
 contending parties. Unionist, Liberal, Conservative, 
 Radical — all refused to touch this question either of 
 defence or definite pronouncement ; and they see that 
 war was the outcome — France overrun, Belgium a 
 desert, the British nation in danger of what is called 
 starvation. 
 
 They knew of that tortuous scheme, hatched in 
 Germany and taken to the hearts of British states- 
 men, called euphemistically the Declaration of 
 London, knew that it was within an ace of ratifica- 
 tion, that it hamstrung the Navy in the early days 
 of the war. They have seen ships stopped, sent into 
 port laden with merchandise which was contraband, 
 released and set humming for the neutral who was 
 Germany in being. They have endured rigours and 
 hardships in silence, have seen their messmates suc- 
 cumb to them in the ordeal of patrol duty, and they 
 have continued resolute. 
 
 They have seen their comrades of the Merchant 
 Service compelled by our lack of armaments, and to 
 appease pacifist or neutral, to go to sea without guns, 
 and have watched through a haze of dull anger the 
 slaughter which followed. They have seen them in 
 their boats, corpses some, torn with shell-fire others, 
 mad from contact with the grim sea and grimmer 
 foe, and have carried some to their ports, put others 
 over-side, and have remained resolute in their decision 
 to break with Germany, all things German, man or 
 
THOSE WHO FIGHT „^ 271 
 
 boy, woman or child ; to render them no honour, to 
 shut out the cheap nastiness with which hitherto we 
 have been deluged. 
 
 But now there comes a hint of action, born of 
 what subterranean force they do not know, which 
 shall place the German on a footing of equal citizen- 
 ship with the British people. Sailors do not dabble 
 in politics, but they read of those who do. They 
 are a long way from the heart of the thing and see 
 more clearly in consequence. They are concerned 
 at the trend of all this talk. They know nothing of 
 agreement by " self-determination," for they are 
 but recently enfranchised and are very credulous 
 as to the result. They scent argument and are trained 
 neither for the hustings nor the law courts. 
 
 They saw that men who should be at the front or 
 in the Fleet were permitted to demand revision of 
 the terms upon which they engaged. Heard of men 
 earning eight, ten, and twelve pounds a week ; knew 
 of the profiteers, the thousands engaged in subtly 
 abstracting from the national purse sums which 
 seemed fabulous. 
 
 And they remembered, among other things, that 
 the war was three years old before any increase of 
 pay was granted to seamen, any help given for the 
 wife and kiddies at home, and that when it came it 
 had no likeness to the grants which had been made 
 in other spheres. 
 
 They remembered, too, that when the Boer War 
 came to an end we " retrenched " those whom we 
 no longer needed, and that the nation, by its silence, 
 seemed to acquiesce. They knew of the pride that 
 filled us when at length we wore down the opposing 
 forces — saw men who had given up everything to 
 enlist broken now in health and at the end of their 
 tether ; told them to buck up, that the country 
 
272 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 would see them tended. But the country which had 
 wrung them dry took no further heed of the matter. 
 It sat down to count the cost and to cut its losses. 
 
 The nation knew that its action was mean ; but 
 it was glamoured by those who laboured to prove 
 that justice was done. We were tired of war and 
 wanted to get back to our comforts. We refused 
 to believe we were mean. We shut our eyes on the 
 cry of those who had suffered and pretended we did 
 not hear. 
 
 We are constantly reminded in the Press and 
 elsewhere that when the men come home from the 
 fronts they will come with new ideals, new notions 
 of their worth, and a general condemnation of the 
 conditions which prevailed in the early years of this 
 century. That seems to be accepted as just. 
 
 But there is another side — the sailors' side, Navy 
 and Merchant Service. The majority of these men 
 will not come home, in the sense that Tommy and 
 his officers will return from the front. They are 
 sailors and will remain sailors. They are the men 
 upon whom the nation relies when it is in a tight 
 place. But for these men and their equivalent in 
 the old Army the nation would not now exist. The 
 country would be a shambles similar to France and 
 all those countries like Serbia and Belgium which 
 have been wiped from the map. 
 
 Are sailers prepared to acquiesce in a new edition 
 of the state of affairs which led to this war — to the 
 hectoring of this section of voters, this section of 
 pacifists, this atrophied contemptibility or that, 
 who knows nothing of governance or discipline but 
 aims at leadership ; which prevents the wise 
 accumulation of war material in peace time lest we 
 should in producing ammunition produce war ; 
 
THOSE WHO FIGHT 273 
 
 which prevents sanity and plain speech ; looks to 
 the register and forgets the men who will be sent 
 out to face death ? 
 
 Are they prepared to continue their devotion to 
 a nation which forgets their existence until it becomes 
 necessary to fire the guns ? Are they prepared to 
 be tied again by things called "declarations," by the 
 new specific and heal-all called " self-determination," 
 or " our war aims," or indeed, any of the nostrums 
 now on the dissecting table for the production of an 
 unstable peace ? Are they agreed that it is wise to 
 acquiesce in a system which permits a man to refuse 
 to fight for his country and differentiates against those 
 who volunteer ? 
 
 There are many problems in the air, many thoughts 
 stirring in the brains of those who have fought. 
 
 There are thousands of men now serving in various 
 sections of the Fleet who, when the war ends, will 
 come back as those will who fight in the trenches, in 
 Palestine and in Macedonia. They are men who were 
 called to the colours in July, 1914, reservists, volun- 
 teers by the thousand, " dug-outs " from here and 
 from over- sea, who, in countless instances, have lost 
 all they possessed, house, farm, money, and have 
 earned wounds or shattered constitutions in place of 
 it. There are the fishermen who came in to fish for 
 mines instead of fish. There are the men of the 
 Merchant Service, the Bottle-fillers of a nation which 
 knew little of their existence and cared less in pre- 
 war days. There are the countless doctors and pay- 
 masters, harbour officers, liaison officers who will come 
 back — all of them with first-hand knowledge ; all of 
 them bitten by war ... a war which need not have 
 been. 
 
 Are we to suppose they will barter their experience 
 
274 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 and sit down with the pacifist, the profiteer, the 
 countless throng who are making money out of the 
 war and " having the time of their lives " ? Are we 
 to presume they will accept the pacifist minimum that 
 there shall be no punishment for Germany, no word 
 of reproach, no restitution for murder on the high 
 seas and arson on land ; none for the rapine and 
 sacrilege and bestial desecration — crimes ordered by 
 an all-powerful War-Lord and delighted in by a nation 
 of ghouls ... no restitution for women and children 
 and men flung piecemeal upon the sea, shelled in open 
 boats, stripped and made to stand on the narrow 
 deck of a submarine while the commander went below, 
 flattened his nose at a conning-tower scuttle, and 
 watched the sight when the boat dived ... no resti- 
 tution for the murder of Lusitania and her baby 
 victims, none for the Persia, the Arabic, the Ancona, 
 the hospital ships and a thousand beside ? No 
 apology, no white sheet ... no punishment. 
 
 Are the Macdonalds and Snowdens and Morels of 
 this world to be the persons who shall decide what 
 are to be the war aims of the British nation . . . are 
 the Dominions to be shut out of the discussion^ — ^the 
 men who have fought — ^in order that there may be 
 no exacerbation or humiliation of Germany ? 
 
 For myself I am content to believe that Germany 
 may be safely left to her throes ; that some day 
 when we are hard pressed a man will stand forth 
 and make an end of the quibblers, even as Cromwell 
 made an end of those who talked from benches in 
 the Long Parliament of other days. 
 
 I have seen the Fleet in being, its calm and 
 disciphne, the manner of those who lead it, the 
 attitude of those led. 
 
 It is the same Fleet that I have seen assembled at 
 
THOSE WHO FIGHT 275 
 
 Spithead for pageant, quiet, strong, and very sure 
 of its strength ; the same that I have met at sea, at 
 Malta, Gibraltar, East, West, South. It is of the 
 same breed as when in days of trial it steamed, under 
 the command of Admiral Hornby, cleared for action, 
 through the Dardanelles ; the same that stood for us 
 when it became necessary to bring Indian troops to 
 the assistance of Turkey ; which flung down the 
 walls of Alexandria and held the ring while America 
 dealt with Spain. 
 
 I have seen it in all lights, and it is fine in each, 
 in all climes, and found it adaptable in each ; in rough 
 and smooth seas ; in mist, rain, the blackness of a 
 gale ; rounding up slave dhows, scorching in the 
 Red Sea, panting in the Gulf, and always I have 
 found it the quintessence of resource. 
 
 It does not talk. It is a bad hand at argument. 
 It finds some amusement in reading of those who 
 do both. It is occupied to-day in a war which is 
 the equivalent of half a dozen wars : yet the burden 
 which lies upon it is but a synonym for the victory 
 it will achieve. 
 
 And if not victory — ^then death, so that honour 
 remain to it for all time. 
 
 That is the naval way. 
 
 T 2 
 
276 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 Gathering the Devil's Grapes. 
 
 Ever seen the Sweepers, punching through the brine, 
 Rusty httle Sweepers that cKp the tethered mine ; 
 Chatted with the skipper walking on her bridge, 
 Screened your eyes and blessed her when she nosed 
 it in a ridge ? 
 
 Guns upon the quarter and guns on fo'c'sle head, 
 All tricked out with ensigns to earn their daily bread ; 
 South about from Los'toft to Inner Gabbard tongue, 
 I saw the Fleet go steaming with sweeps between 
 them strung. 
 
 Seas came up from south-east, the wind, at half a 
 
 gale. 
 Sneezing thro' the rigging with snow and sleet and 
 
 hail ; 
 Sands lined white with spindrift, buoys flung hard 
 
 a-lee. 
 Tucking noses under as though they feared the sea ; 
 
 For mines were in the Fairway, the Ship's way, the 
 
 King's way. 
 And all the traffic turned from Sunk to Ald^brough 
 
 Napes; 
 While Cottier of the ''Mount's Bay,'' the old, converted 
 
 "Mount's Bay," 
 Was moving down with strung wire to clip the dcviVs 
 
 grapes. 
 
 Midway down the Channel with Shipwash Sands 
 
 abeam. 
 Fleet strung out for battle and churning up the 
 
 cream, 
 Dodger, out to starboard, signalled he had found 
 Drift mines sagging brawly and opened for a round. 
 
THOSE WHO FIGHT 277 
 
 Banged the fo'c'sle head gun and banged the skipping 
 
 shell, 
 While Cottier signalled over to give them merry Hell, 
 And crept along with taut wire, buried in the brine, 
 Keen to make a clean sweep and let the Dodger shine. 
 
 Dark came on them early and still the mines were 
 
 free. 
 For shooting from a platform that's licked by every 
 
 . sea, 
 Shooting in a blizzard with every finger numb, 
 Is not the same as footer or shooting from a scrum. 
 
 Wet and sore and bleeding they dodged the ding-dong 
 
 night. 
 Lying on their beam ends with snow to paint them 
 
 white ; 
 Lurching in the tideway, losing sticks and boom, 
 Climbing now to Heaven, now lurching to the tomb ; 
 
 For mines were in the Fairway-, the Ship^s way, the 
 
 King's way. 
 And all the traffic turned from Sunk to Aid' trough 
 
 Napes ; 
 While Cottier of the "Mount's Bay,'' the old, converted 
 
 ''Mount's Bay," 
 Was moving down with strung wire to clip the devil's 
 
 grapes. 
 
 Then out upon the seas there peeped a blear-eyed 
 
 dawn. 
 And Cottier sent his message to reap ^the devil's 
 
 spawn. 
 To reap it of the mountains that curled and licked 
 ^^ and grew. 
 Leaping in the shallows as fast the spindrift flew. 
 
278 THE NAVAL SIDE 
 
 So Dodger out to starboard started with his gun, 
 Blazed a mine instanter and touched the horns of one 
 Lying near his counter, unseen amidst the spume. 
 That hurled him up to glory upon a smoky plume . . . 
 
 Splayed the little Dodger, slimly, in a squall, 
 
 Cut and bashed and squat her before a man could 
 
 bawl ; 
 Threw her forth in fragments, coal and steel and 
 
 skin^ — 
 For Sorters up in Heaven to shape and mould and 
 
 pin. 
 
 Then boats upon the Highway, the Ship's way, the 
 
 King's way. 
 And all the traffic held from Sunk to Ald'brough Napes, 
 With Cottier of the ''Mount's Bay," the old, converted 
 
 ''Mount's Bay," 
 Standing up to steer them and search the floating shapes ^ 
 
 The seas came at them headlong with hiss and curl 
 
 of spume, 
 A squall rose high above them with flakes to dim the 
 
 gloom, 
 To palsy them and 'fright them, and hide the things 
 
 that swirled 
 Here away, there away, upon the sea-crests hurled ; 
 
 It hailed the new-found ginger, it yapped and raved 
 
 and swore. 
 It towered in the blackness — ^they plied the ashen 
 
 oar ; 
 It took them by the throttle, it strove with tyranny 
 To open wide the door which stood for them in 
 
 limine. 
 
THOSE WHO FIGHT 279 
 
 A voice wailed in the chaos, " Ahoy ! Ahoy ! " it 
 
 cried, 
 And Cottier of the Mounfs Bay came round with 
 
 oars that pHed ; 
 Drove his cobble sidelong, drove her cheering strong. 
 Out on the booming swatchway, out where seas were 
 
 long. 
 
 Saved a Dodger 'prentice lad, a boy whose leg was 
 
 torn. 
 Took him in and stopped the flow like surgeon-healer 
 
 born, 
 And crept about with snowflakes sizzling in the wash 
 Of seas and blood and spindrift amidst the gloom and 
 
 slosh. 
 
 Then back upon the Mounfs Bay to pray and carry on. 
 Back to wrestle grimly, to watch and warn and con — 
 To stick it in a blizzard in spite of messmates lost, 
 To dredge the German toadstool with which the way 
 was crossed. 
 
 And ready on the Mounfs Bay to give the word and 
 
 dredge. 
 Three days and nights of giant's work with every 
 
 boat on edge, 
 Steadied by an Admiral, a Fisherman at home. 
 Gentle with the childer but stern upon the foam ; 
 
 Till " Clear upon the Highway, the Ship^s way, the 
 
 King's way,'' 
 By wireless thro' the gale, ^^ from Sunk to Ald'brough 
 
 Shoal," 
 And Cottier of the ''Mount's Bay," the old, converted 
 
 ''Mount's Bay," 
 With ensigns at half-mast filed in past Lo'stoft mole. 
 
Press Opinions of Works by Edward 
 Noble 
 
 " The Edge of Circumstance." — " Neither Mr. 
 Kipling nor Mr. Conrad has produced a story of the sea 
 more enthralling or more convincingly true." — Bookman. 
 
 " This is a book of altogether remarkable and out- 
 standing merit. It is a novel of a sort which does not 
 always reach the reviewer, even once a year. It is a 
 piece of literature." — Athenceum, 
 
 " Waves of Fate." — " ... And what is it made of, 
 this story with the salt of the ocean, the hiss of sprays 
 and the whistle of wind stamping its pages with the real 
 sea-faring life of to-day, especially on board a wind- 
 jammer ; flesh and blood characterisation ; life with 
 its natural plots — those currents of effort that rise and 
 set across each other, making plot and counterplot that 
 are too simple and too subtle for mere sensationalist to 
 handle ; dialogue that is true to the characters — which 
 is crisp and sparkling, yet natural ; some bitter satirical 
 truths on literature, art and music ; a satire in the shape 
 of a nautical trial on the collision, two real and most 
 lovable children, limned with a freshness that is child- 
 hood itself; and the whole warped together in a deft, 
 workmanlike manner," — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 " The Grain Carriers." — " It ought to take its place 
 among epoch-making books, like 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' 
 and ' The Jungle.' " — Manchester Dispatch. 
 
 " A story intensely fascinating and moving in itself, 
 an eloquent, accusing voice makes itself heard." — 
 Bookman. 
 
 " It is an epic of heroism, with a dirge-like note running 
 through its splendid texture. In fact, the story, while 
 in nowise losing value as a story, is a masterly study of 
 its particular subject." — Daily Chronicle. 
 
282 PRESS OPINIONS 
 
 " It does not take a seaman to be impressed by this 
 book. It has the very spirit of the sea in every page. 
 You taste brine as you read, and you shiver in the icy 
 wind as you sit by the fire. Mr. Joseph Conrad is equalled 
 here if not excelled. In spite of the talk of ' parrels ' 
 and other fearful wild-fowl unknown to landsmen one 
 lives through and understands every inch of the ghastly 
 and pitiful fight made by the Padrone. It is a novel with 
 a purpose, and a grim one. Never yet has so fierce a 
 sledge-hammer attack been made on the conditions of 
 the British Merchant Service on board grain-carrying 
 ships. However good his cause may be, Mr. Noble 
 never drags it in with damage to his style. His book is 
 strong and alive — tragic, horrible, but inspired." — 
 Observer. 
 
 " Lords of the Sea." — " Mr. Edward Noble looks 
 out upon the world of shipping with something of the 
 air of Balzac surveying Paris. His vision is wide. He 
 is very sure of himself ; he has a quick and penetrating 
 eye. He gives to his reader the sense that he sees and 
 understands it all. One gets the feeling from this book 
 that he is a shipowner in a large way, with nervous 
 imagination and a fine literary power. . . . The great 
 merit of the book is the vastness of its suggestion. All 
 those little, tiny figures pulling wires and speaking down 
 tubes are in front of the great background of commerce. 
 The book is like the hymn of Liverpool. It is more 
 intelHgible when it deals with ships and operations than 
 when it tries to explain the moving of the human heart. 
 It is especially eloquent when it tells of the North Atlantic 
 ... of the Ailsa Craig's passage to and from New York. 
 Mr. Noble writes magnificently. There is no other word 
 for it. Mr. Conrad did something of the same kind in 
 ' Typhoon.' Mr. Noble's work ranks with that master- 
 piece." — J. M. in Manchester Guardian. 
 
 " Chains." — " Mr. Noble has earned a well-deserved 
 place among those who tell in vigorous, biting phrase of 
 raw humanity, struggling with itself or with Nature in 
 the wild places of the world, and in one or two of his 
 stories of the sea he has levelled his lance at abuses. . . . 
 Despite the author's graphic gift of narrative, Betty and 
 
PRESS OPINIONS 288 
 
 her doings do not rouse us to any great excitement. Nor 
 is it here that Mr. Noble has his lesson. That is to be 
 found in the kernel of the book — ^four chapters in its 
 centre which give a vivid and terrible insight into the 
 practices of the ' white slave ' traffic in a South American 
 town. Mr. Noble's sincerity is unquestionable ; but the 
 book is not of course one for the young person." — The 
 Times. 
 
 " Dust from the Loom." — " The theme of this story 
 is one of the oldest, but so adroitl3^ manipulated that its 
 interest never flags, and one does not realise even dimly 
 what an old, old theme it is, after all, uhtil one has reached 
 the end. So it would not be fair to disclose the plot. It 
 is enough to commend the tale for its instant, strong 
 appeal to those primitive emotions in all of us, which 
 thrill us and make us want to laugh and melt us to the 
 sentimental mood. And this result is really due to 
 certain tricks of style ; the style of Mr. Noble's writing 
 is at once incisive and picturesque, vehement and at 
 the same time restrained. Nor does the book lack humour. 
 In Liseta we have yet another variant of the old serving- 
 woman, but she is none the less original for that. A 
 case-hardened reviewer confesses to having read this 
 book through at a single sitting — and it is quite a long 
 book — and to have found refreshment and entertainment 
 in every page of it." — Bookman. 
 
 "The Bottle-Fillers."— " Our first thought after 
 reading this compelling story of the sea was the pity 
 that it would not be read by the public who get their 
 bottles filled at the risk of the best men the nation breeds. 
 That, even if read, would the public believe it ; but 
 somehow we believe they will, as the nation is at last 
 aware of the value of our Merchant Service, and are now 
 inclined to look on a sailor as a brother man. The story 
 deals principally with the subject of deck-loads, and in 
 this book we are shown how these are found to be the 
 cause of numerous disasters and the careers of many 
 promising officers blasted through no fault of their own 
 by that awful bugbear of an officer's life, * The Black 
 List.' For years in the Nautical we have thrashed out 
 the question of deck-loads, but here, in ' The Bottle- 
 
284 PRESS OPINIONS 
 
 Fillers,' the subject is invested with some romance 
 attached to it owing to the living presence of men and 
 women. One paragraph of many we feel we must quote : — 
 ' O'Hagan walked with disaster shadowing him, dogging 
 his steps. He knew, if others do not, that there is no 
 Order for bravery at sea, no Star, nothing comparable 
 to the V.C. of the Army. He knew of course that the 
 Royal Humane Society's Medal was a possible incentive, 
 if incentive be required. He knew, too, of the chrono- 
 meter-balanced watch of Lloyd's and the Board of Trade, 
 of the stereotyped presentation and silly speeches ; but 
 he knew of no Star. 
 
 " ' " Foreign countries can find a Star for their sailor 
 heroes," he commented, tramping, head sunk, for the 
 rainbow funnel ; ' ' the German Emperor can summon 
 officers of his Mercantile Marine to Berlin, and bestow 
 with his own hands the German Star for bravery at sea ; 
 but authority in England is averse to the bestowal of 
 high orders or honour on men of her Mercantile Marine ; 
 and the Foreign Office has been known to add its thunder." ' 
 
 " We trust this book will be read by those * plaster 
 saints ' who sit at home comfortably, taking little heed 
 of the men who carry food to our tables, and that their 
 'thoughts will go over the waters to these brave fellows, 
 making ' stay-at-homes ' wonder if such things really 
 exist." — Nautical Magazine. 
 
 " I doubt if anything of its kind has ever been better 
 done than the latter half of this book, which is, indeed, 
 masterly." — J. E. Patterson in Daily Chronicle, 
 
 "It is as grim and powerful a tragedy of the sea as 
 any we have read." — Athenceum. 
 
 " What Balzac did for Paris, Mr. Noble achieves for 
 the men of the Merchant Service. He reveals to our 
 land-locked imaginations, with the unerring fidelity of 
 a master, the life and mind of a hidden world. It is 
 sailors of the Denis O'Hagan type, the captains courageous 
 of the sea who have given their quota of blood without 
 quivering, upon whom we depend for our daily sustenance. 
 These splendid fellows are the Bottle-fillers of the nation. 
 The debt we owe to them is all too rarely acknowledged. 
 Perhaps Mr. Noble's stirring narrative, so intensely vivid, 
 so irrefutably true, may help us to reaUse its magnitude. 
 
 " Denis O'Hagan engages our sympathy from the first 
 
PRESS OPINIONS 285 
 
 page to the last. Quick of temper, as befits an Irishman, 
 he may be ; ever ready to fight and without subtlety. 
 But his is the tough fibre, the bluff vigour, the resolute 
 decision, and the resource which, embodying a type, have 
 made England mistress of the seas. Breathlessly, for 
 the story is alive in every paragraph, do we follow the 
 brief career of this young shipmaster on the Sphinx, the 
 tragedy attending that ill-starred vessel, the fight for 
 honour which captain and mate make in vain before the 
 court of inquiry, its sequel, and the vindication of the hero. 
 Listen to the Bottle-filler, as, oblivious of his counsel's 
 advice, he blurts out the truth before the naval assessors. 
 They had accused him of giving way to temper : — 
 
 " ' I want you to understand the position, sir. I want 
 you to recognise that a man is not made of cast-iron 
 because he happens to be in command. You see, our 
 deck cargo had broken adrift, and I was rather put to 
 it to secure it. You can never be certain what will 
 happen when your deck-load is slithering about. Then 
 two of our poor devils had got smashed up while trying 
 to secure it . . . and I had to mend them. It isn't easy 
 to explain what this means ; but you must understand 
 that it was blowing a gale and the seas were sweeping 
 over us. A man could not move across the deck without 
 running the risk of being washed overboard or knocked 
 silly.' 
 
 " Never were the ancient sea virtues more rigorously 
 tested or more heroically vindicated. Mr. Noble compels 
 us to be proud of our Mercantile Marine. His tribute to 
 the unruffled stoicism of its members, wrapt in the 
 fascinating garb of fiction, is a timely rebuke to our 
 indifference. Nor is this tale, so patiently real and so 
 penetrating in its perception, without its service to 
 authority. Some of the factors with which it treats, the 
 load-line and deck-load for example, may belong to. the 
 dormant past ; but if it helps shipowners, as well as the 
 public, to realise the pressing need for reform in many 
 departments of our carrying trade, the purpose of ' The 
 Bottle-Fillers ' will have been accomplished." — Daily 
 Telegraph, 
 
 " The novel with a purpose, we are told, is the self- 
 conscious offspring of the pretentious intellectual. So 
 it often is, if we attach a modish significance to the word 
 
286 PRESS OPINIONS 
 
 ' purpose.' But give it its obvious meaning, and I will 
 go so far as to say that no novel without some kind of 
 purpose — moral, aesthetic or social, and, at best, all three 
 in unison — is worth sixpence, much less six shillings, 
 and that one of the curses of this generation is a surfeit 
 of fiction without any purpose at all. Mr. Noble's new 
 book, then, is a novel with a purpose. It is the most 
 legitimate tradition to dramatise man in conflict with 
 and the prey of fate. Nowadays, when the man in 
 possession so frequently usurps the prerogative of fate, 
 and a more vindictive fate, the novelist is surely only 
 preserving the continuity of the orthodox by giving his 
 destiny a residence in Park Lane. In ' The Bottle- 
 Fillers ' the shipowner Sharum wields a scorpion fate 
 over the head of Captain O'Hagan of the Mercantile 
 Marine. Sharum induces O'Hagan to invest £500 in his 
 ship, the Sphinx^ without mentioning that she is heavily 
 mortgaged. The captain loses the Sphinx in a gale owing 
 to the extra weight of a deck cargo. His certificate is 
 suspended for six months, thanks to Sharum's discreet 
 agents, and he is black-listed at Lloyd's. So the captain 
 starves and loses his child . . . this in the bald scaffolding 
 of a review is the substance of Mr. Noble's story . . . 
 The book as a whole has power at the helm and sincerity 
 and con'vdction at the prow. If its psychology is rather 
 obvious, it keeps away from mechanical conventions, 
 and its purpose, as it should in a well-regulated novel, 
 rather intensifies than encroaches upon the descriptive 
 qualities." — Harold Massingham in Daily News. 
 
 " Outposts of the Fleet." — " Mr. Noble, as you may 
 remember, is the author of ' The Bottle-Fillers,' which we 
 published last year and of which the Globe said, ' it is 
 real salt and spindrift, the sea as the sea is when a living 
 is being wnmg from it.' This new book from his pen 
 deals not with the saucy fleet of battleships and destroyers, 
 but with the Merchant Service ; with the adventures 
 of British tars with German submarines, cruisers and 
 mines ; and with the little tramps, without which the 
 British cupboard would be bare. Do you remember the 
 call of the sea and the thrill of that passage in ' The 
 Light that Failed ' where Dick listens to the throb of a 
 great ship working down Channel ? There is the same 
 
PRESS OPINIONS 287 
 
 thrill in one of Mr. Noble's stories, ' Torpedoed.' We get 
 a picture of a liner pushing for the East, leaving a track 
 of foam beads in her wake . . . glum, soundless, save 
 for the thud of her engines. There is a faint cry in the 
 darkness. The captain knows the tricks of the merciless 
 submarine, but rather than take the chance of leaving 
 a handful of men, and possible women, adrift in an open 
 boat, he swings his ship and heads for the light ; what 
 follows is for those who would read." — From the Piper, 
 Boston, Mass. 
 
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