Next morning I was at service in a man-of-war, and even as we came to the prayer that the Navy might “be a safeguard to such as pass upon the sea on their lawful occasions,” I saw the long procession of traffic resuming up and down the Channel—­six ships to the hour.  It has been hung up for a bit, they said.

    Farewell and adieu to you, Greenwich ladies,
    Farewell and adieu to you, ladies ashore! 
    For we’ve received orders to work to the eastward
    Where we hope in a short time to strafe ’em some more.

    We’ll duck and we’ll dive like little tin turtles,
    We’ll duck and we’ll dive underneath the North Seas,
    Until we strike something that doesn’t expect us,
    From here to Cuxhaven it’s go as you please!

    The first thing we did was to dock in a mine-field,
    Which isn’t a place where repairs should be done;
    And there we lay doggo in twelve-fathom water
    With tri-nitro-toluol hogging our run.

    The next thing we did, we rose under a Zeppelin,
    With his shiny big belly half blocking the sky. 
    But what in the—­Heavens can you do with six-pounders? 
    So we fired what we had and we bade him good-bye.

SUBMARINES

I

The chief business of the Trawler Fleet is to attend to the traffic.  The submarine in her sphere attends to the enemy.  Like the destroyer, the submarine has created its own type of officer and man—­with language and traditions apart from the rest of the Service, and yet at heart unchangingly of the Service.  Their business is to run monstrous risks from earth, air, and water, in what, to be of any use, must be the coldest of cold blood.

The commander’s is more a one-man job, as the crew’s is more team-work, than any other employment afloat.  That is why the relations between submarine officers and men are what they are.  They play hourly for each other’s lives with Death the Umpire always at their elbow on tiptoe to give them “out.”

There is a stretch of water, once dear to amateur yachtsmen, now given over to scouts, submarines, destroyers, and, of course, contingents of trawlers.  We were waiting the return of some boats which were due to report.  A couple surged up the still harbour in the afternoon light and tied up beside their sisters.  There climbed out of them three or four high-booted, sunken-eyed pirates clad in sweaters, under jackets that a stoker of the last generation would have disowned.  This was their first chance to compare notes at close hand.  Together they lamented the loss of a Zeppelin—­“a perfect mug of a Zepp,” who had come down very low and offered one of them a sitting shot.  “But what can you do with our guns?  I gave him what I had, and then he started bombing.”

“I know he did,” another said.  “I heard him.  That’s what brought me down to you.  I thought he had you that last time.”