s sighted by several of her
companions. One of them reported her to the authorities, but, being
busy at the time, said he did not think himself justified in hampering
himself with a disabled ship in the middle of an action. It was not as
if she was sinking either. She was only holed foreward and aft, with a
bad hit in the engine-room, and her steering-gear knocked out. In this
posture she cheered the passing ships, and set about repairing her
hurts with good heart and a smiling countenance. She managed to get
under some sort of way at midnight, and next day was taken in tow by a
friend. She says officially, "his assistance was invaluable, as I had
no oil left and met heavy weather."

What actually happened was much less formal. Fleet destroyers, as a
rule, do not worry about navigation. They take their orders from the
flagship, and range out and return, on signal, like sheep-dogs whose
fixed point is their shepherd. Consequently, when they break loose on
their own they may fetch up rather doubtful of their whereabouts--as
this injured one did. After she had been so kindly taken in tow, she
inquired of her friend ("Message captain to captain")--"Have you any
notion where we are?" The friend replied, "I have not, but I will find
out." So the friend waited on the sun with the necessary implements,
which luckily had not been smashed, and in due time made: "Our
observed position at this hour is thus and thus." The tow,
irreverently, "Is it? Didn't know you were a navigator." The friend,
with hauteur, "Yes; it's rather a hobby of mine." The tow, "Had no
idea it was as bad as all that; but I'm afraid I'll have to trust you
this time. Go ahead, and be quick about it." They reached a port,
correctly enough, but to this hour the tow, having studied with the
friend at a place called Dartmouth, insists that it was pure Joss.

CONCERNING JOSS

And Joss, which is luck, fortune, destiny, the irony of Fate or
Nemesis, is the greatest of all the Battle-gods that move on the
waters. As I will show you later, knowledge of gunnery and a delicate
instinct for what is in the enemy's minds may enable a destroyer to
thread her way, slowing, speeding, and twisting between the heavy
salvoes of opposing fleets. As the dank-smelling waterspouts rise and
break, she judges where the next grove of them will sprout. If her
judgment is correct, she may enter it in her report as a little
feather in her cap. But it is Joss when the stray 12-inch she