As the twilight deepened and melted into the light of a moon that was
but a day or two from the full--"bad luck for the _Lymptania_ convoy,
that moon," the captain had said as he noted how it was waxing on his
chart--I came down from the bridge and worked along from group to group
of the sailor men where, lounging and laughing, they sheltered in the
lee of funnel and boat and superstructure. The first one I pushed into
was centred round a discussion, or rather an argument, between two boys,
the one from Kansas and the other from Oklahoma, as to which had raised
the best and biggest corn in the course of some sort of growing
competitions they had once taken part in. Several others standing about
also appeared to have come from one or other of those fine
naval-recruiting States of the Middle West, and seemed to know not a
little about intensive maize culture themselves. I was just ingratiating
myself with this party by nodding assent and voicing an emphatic "Sure!"
to one's query of "Some corn that, mister, hey?" when I discovered a
cosmopolitan group (two Filipino stewards, the coloured cook, and three
or four bluejackets in sleeveless grey sweaters) collaborating in the
arduous task of teaching a very sad-faced white mongrel to sit up on his
haunches and beg. Or rather it was an elaboration of that classic trick.
On drawing nearer I perceived that the lugubrious-visaged canine already
had mastered begging for food, and that now they were endeavouring to
teach him to beg for mercy. At the order "Kamerad!" instead of sitting
with down-drooping paws, he was being instructed to raise the latter
above his head and give tongue to a wail of entreaty. He was a brighter
pup than his looks would have indicated, and had already become letter
perfect in the wail. "Kamerading" properly with uplifted paws, however,
was rather too much for his balance, at least while teetering on the
edge of a condensed milk case which was itself sliding about the deck of
a careening destroyer. The dog had been christened "Ole Oleson," one of
the sailors told me, both because he was "some kind of a Swede" and
because, like his famous namesake, he had tried to come aboard in "two
jumps" the day they found him perched on a bit of wreckage of the
Norwegian barque to which he had belonged, and which had been sunk by a
U-boat an hour previously. The men seemed to be very fond of him, and I
overheard the one who picked him up off the box to make a place for