ly curved,
broad-decked, easy-stairwayed past, she might be Queen Guinevere in the
convent at Amesbury. And her Lieutenant-Commander, most careful to pay
all due compliments to Admirals who were midshipmen when _he_ was a
Commander, leads a congregation of very hard men indeed. They do
precisely what he tells them to, and with him go through strange
experiences, because they love him and because his language is volcanic
and wonderful--what you might call Popocatapocalyptic. I saw the Old
Navy making ready to lead out the New under a grey sky and a falling
glass--the wisdom and cunning of the old man backed up by the passion
and power of the younger breed, and the discipline which had been his
soul for half a century binding them all.

"What'll he do _this_ time?" I asked of one who might know.

"He'll cruise between Two and Three East; but if you'll tell me what
he _won't_ do, it 'ud be more to the point! He's mine-hunting, I
expect, just now."

WASTED MATERIAL

Here is a digression suggested by the sight of a man I had known in
other scenes, despatch-riding round a fleet in a petrol-launch. There
are many of his type, yachtsmen of sorts accustomed to take chances,
who do not hold masters' certificates and cannot be given sea-going
commands. Like my friend, they do general utility work--often in their
own boats. This is a waste of good material. Nobody wants amateur
navigators--the traffic lanes are none too wide as it is. But these
gentlemen ought to be distributed among the Trawler Fleet as strictly
combatant officers. A trawler skipper may be an excellent seaman, but
slow with a submarine shelling and diving, or in cutting out enemy
trawlers. The young ones who can master Q.F. gun work in a very short
time would--though there might be friction, a court-martial or two,
and probably losses at first--pay for their keep. Even a hundred or so
of amateurs, more or less controlled by their squadron commanders,
would make a happy beginning, and I am sure they would all be
extremely grateful.

Where the East wind is brewed fresh and fresh every morning,
And the balmy night-breezes blow straight from the Pole,
I heard a destroyer sing: "What an enjoyable life does one
lead on the North Sea Patrol!

"To blow things to bits is our business (and Fritz's),
Which means there are mine-fields wherever you stroll.
Unless you've particular wish to die quick, you'll avoid steering