nights at sea,
weather-bitten, clear-eyed, trained down to the last ounce. One, with
whom I had played golf on the New England hills, carried his clubs in
his hand and invited me to have a game with him. Another, who apologized
for not being dressed at noon on Sunday--he had made the harbour at
three that morning!--was taking his racquet out of its case, preparing
to spend the afternoon on the hospitable courts of Admiralty House with
a fellow captain and two British officers. He was ashamed of his late
rising, but when it was suggested that some sleep was necessary he
explained that, on the trip just ended, it wasn't only the submarines
that kept him awake. "When these craft get jumping about in a seaway you
can't sleep even if you want to." He who has had experience with them
knows the truth of this remark. Incidentally, though he did not mention
it, this young captain was one of three who had been recommended by the
British admiral to his government for the Distinguished Service
Order. The captain's report, which I read, is terse, and needs to be
visualized. There is simply a statement of the latitude and longitude,
the time of day, the fact that the wave of a periscope was sighted at
1,500 yards by the quartermaster first class on duty; general quarters
rung, the executive officer signals full speed ahead, the commanding
officer takes charge and manoeuvres for position--and then something
happens which the censor may be fussy about mentioning. At any rate,
oil and other things rise to the surface of the sea, and the Germans are
minus another submarine. The chief machinist's mate, however, comes in
for special mention. It seems that he ignored the ladder and literally
fell down the hatch, dislocating his shoulder but getting the throttle
wide open within five seconds!

In this town, facing the sea, is a street lined with quaint houses
painted in yellows and browns and greens, and under each house the kind
of a shop that brings back to the middleaged delectable memories of
extreme youth and nickels to spend. Up and down that street on a bright
Saturday afternoon may be seen our Middle-Western jackies chumming with
the British sailors and Tommies, or flirting with the Irish girls, or
gazing through the little panes of the show-windows, whose enterprising
proprietors have imported from the States a popular brand of chewing-gum
to make us feel more at home. In one of these shops, where I went to
choose a picture post-ca