it thrives on hardships
shared, and endures triumphant, as countless tales shall tell, down to
the gates of Death.

The Junior Watchkeeper's song was an old one--one that had stirred the
hearts of sailors no longer even memories with his audience. He sang
simply and tunefully in the strong voice of one who knew how to pitch
an order in the open air. When it was finished, he acknowledged the
tumultuous applause by a stiff little bow and retreated, flushing
slightly. The sing-song was over.

The officers were rising from their chairs, the A.P. at the piano was
looking towards the Commander for permission to crash out the opening
bars of the Anthem that would swing the audience as one man to its
feet. At that moment a Signalman threaded his way through the chairs
and saluted the Captain.

The latter took the signal-pad extended to him, and read the message.
Then he turned abruptly to the audience, his hand raised to command
silence. The last of the warm glow that lingered long in the northern
summer twilight lit his strong, fine face as he faced his men. There
was a great hush of expectancy.

"Before we pipe down," he said, "I want to read you a message that has
just come from the Commander-in-Chief. 'One of our destroyers engaged
and sank by gunfire two of the enemy's destroyers this afternoon.'"

A great roar of cheering greeted the curt message. The listening fleet
took it up, and in the stillness of the land-locked harbour the volume
of sound reverberated, savagely and triumphantly exultant.

The hills ashore caught the echo and tossed it sleepily to and fro.

Then, flushed with excitement and hoarse with shouting, they sang the
National Anthem to a close.

Altogether, it was a very noisy evening.

IX

CHUMMY-SHIPS

The Lieutenant for Physical Training Duties came down into the Wardroom
and sank into the one remaining arm-chair.

"I must say," he ejaculated, "the sailor is a cheerful animal. Umpteen
days steaming on end without seeing any enemy--just trailing the tail
of our coat about the North Sea--we come into harbour and we invite the
matelots to lie on their backs on the upper-deck (minus cap and jumper)
and wave their legs in the air by way of recreation. They comply with
the utmost good humour. They don't believe that it does them the
smallest good, but they know I get half-a-crown a day for watching them
do it, and they go through with it like a lot of portly gentlemen
playing '