he concertina solo began.
As has been indicated, Private Mason could play the concertina. In his
rather tremulous hands it was no longer an affair of leather and wood
(or of whatever material concertinas are constructed), but a living
thing that laughed and sobbed, and shook your soul like the Keening.
It became a yearning, passionate, exultant daughter of Music that
somehow wasn't quite respectable.

And when he had finished, and passed his hand across his moist forehead
preparatory to retiring from the stage, they shouted for more.

"Church bells, Nobby!" cried a hundred voices. "Garn, do the church
bells!" So he did the church bells, as the wind brings the sound
across the valley on a summer evening at home, wringing his shipmates'
sentimental heartstrings to the limit of their enjoyment.

"Strewth!" ejaculated a bearded member of the audience when the turn
was over, relighting his pipe with a hand that shook. "I 'ear Nobby
play that at the Canteen at Malta, time Comman'er-in-Chief an' 'is
Staff was there--Comman'er-in-Chief, so 'elp me, 'e sob' like a woman.
. . ."

The reminiscence may not have been in strict accordance with the truth,
but, even considered in the light of fiction, it was a pretty testimony
to Private Mason's art.

The last turn of the evening came an hour later when the slightly
embarrassed Junior Watchkeeper stepped on to the stage. His appearance
was the signal for another great outburst of enthusiasm from the men.
He was not perhaps more of a favourite with them than any of his
brethren seated on the chairs below; but he was an officer, obviously
not at ease on a concert stage, only anxious to do his bit towards
making the evening a success. They realised it on the instant, with
the readiness of seamen to meet their officers half-way when the latter
are doing something they evidently dislike to help the common weal.
They knew the Junior Watchkeeper didn't want to sing, and they cared
little what he sang about, but they cheered him with full-throated
affection as he stood gravely facing them, waiting for a lull.

It is just this spirit, of which so much has been imperfectly conveyed
to the layman--is, in fact, not comprehended in its entity by
outsiders--which is called for want of a better term "sympathy between
officers and men." It is a bond of mutual generosity and loyalty,
strong as steel, more formidable to an enemy than armaments;
strengthened by monotony and a common vigil,