It was all over very soon. The nearer trawler was almost hidden in smoke, and presently, when we got ahead of her and to windward at a range of about 1,500 yards, we noticed a white thing fluttering in her mizzen rigging. It was a shirt, as we discovered afterwards, and a signal of surrender, so we ceased firing at once and ran down to her to pick up the survivors.

The further trawler, meanwhile, had been sunk by the destroyer ahead of us, the crew having abandoned her beforehand in two boats.

We steamed fairly close to our fellow and lowered a boat, for we could see all the survivors standing up with their hands above their heads. The ship herself was in a deplorable state. Shell seemed to have burst everywhere, and one of the first which struck her had cut a steam pipe in the engine-room and had stopped the engines. Clouds of steam were coming from aft, her upper deck was a shambles, and she was badly holed and on fire. She was still afloat, though sinking fast.

Our boat went across and brought back those that remained of her crew. There were thirteen of them all told, including the skipper, and of the men one was badly, and four more slightly, wounded. Nine had been killed outright.

Then occurred rather a pleasing incident. Our men, a long time before, were going to do all sorts of desperate things to any Germans they got hold of. They were full of the Lusitania business, bomb dropping from Zeppelins, and the treatment of our prisoners. But when the time came there was a complete revulsion of feeling. They were kindness itself, and when the prisoners came on board the seamen met the seamen and escorted them forward like honoured guests, while our stokers did the same for their opposite numbers.

We took all necessary precautions, of course, but the Germans were very well behaved and gave us no trouble at all. They were a particularly fine and intelligent-looking lot of men, and presently, when the wounded had been attended to, our fellows were filling them up with food and cocoa on the mess-deck. They seemed very pleased to get it, and judging from what one heard afterwards, they had evidently expected to be manacled, leg-ironed, and fed on biscuit and water. But our men did the best they could for them; gave them food, clothes, and cigarettes. The Germans were profoundly grateful, but couldn't quite understand it.

Their skipper, a reserve officer who spoke English like a native, had served as an officer in British ships, and seemed a good fellow. He was pleased to be congratulated on his plucky fight; but it was rather pathetic all the same, for he had been cut off practically at his own front door.

"You came upon us so suddenly and so near home," he said, looking at Sylt which was only six or seven miles away. "We had not a chance to do anything."

He told us that he had been in the wheelhouse of his trawler when the show started. One of our first shell passed through the glass windows within a foot of his head without bursting, and the very next did the damage in the engine-room. He ran down there to see what could be done, and this must have saved his life, for while he was away another shell burst in the wheelhouse and put about twenty holes in his greatcoat which was lying on the settee. I saw the coat and the holes when he came on board, and noticed it had the ribbon of the Iron Cross and that of some other decoration in the button-hole. He showed me his Iron Cross and was very proud of it, but what he got it for I did not gather. He seemed rather secretive about it. The other decoration, with a red-and-white ribbon, was the "Hamburg Cross," which is given to all officers and men belonging to the town who get the Iron Cross. I believe the other Hansa towns follow the same custom with their braves.

One thing about the skipper which struck me favourably was that he seemed very keen on the welfare of his men. The poor fellow who was badly wounded had been hit in the back, and three or four pieces of shell were still inside him. He must have been in terrible agony, but was very brave and did not utter a sound. An operation was quite out of the question, and as the poor chap was obviously in great pain our Surgeon-Probationer put him in a hammock on the mess-deck and gave him morphia. Soon afterwards the skipper asked to be allowed to visit him, and when the Doc. next went forward he found him swabbing the patient's brow with icy cold water to bring him to! The Doc. was rather peevish about it.

But to get on with the story of what happened. The trawler was sinking, but not quite fast enough, so we finished her off with a couple of lyddite shell on the waterline. In the meanwhile, as you probably know, for it was officially announced at the time, two destroyers had been in collision. The rammer crumpled her bows up a bit, but could still steam, but the ship rammed was rather badly damaged, and had to be taken in tow. It was in the middle of this operation that many hostile seaplanes, stirred up like a wasps' nest by our 'planes earlier in the morning, came out and started dropping bombs. None of them came very close to us,—the bombs, I mean,—but we saw a string of five fall and explode practically alongside one destroyer, and heard afterwards that there had been a free fight on her upper deck to secure as trophies the splinters which dropped on board. We were all using our A.-A. guns, and though we did not actually hit any of them so far as we could see, we made them keep up to a height from which accurate bomb-dropping was an impossibility, so nobody was hit. But nevertheless it was unpleasant, for no sooner had they let go one consignment than they went home again, filled up afresh, and came back for another go. They were bombing us off and on for four or five hours, so far as I can remember, and we counted seven or eight of the blighters in sight at once, so it was "embarras de richesse" so far as targets went.

We weren't going very fast, for the damaged destroyer could not be towed at a respectable speed on account of her injuries, and at about five o'clock in the afternoon the glass had gone down a lot, and the wind and sea started to get up from the westward. The prospect was not altogether joyful. We had heard the two trawlers shouting for help by wireless before we sank them, and knew that the German seaplanes had probably seen and reported an injured ship being taken in tow. (This afterwards turned out to be the case, though, according to their communique, the seaplanes claimed to have bagged her with a bomb, which was not so.) Moreover, Heligoland was a bare sixty miles away under our lee, so the chances were L100 to 1/2d. that the Huns would come out during the night and try to scupper the lot of us. It was with some joy, then, that we found there was a pretty strong supporting force within easy distance. In fact, we actually sighted them at about 6 p.m.

The weather grew steadily worse, and by sunset there was a pretty big sea and a fresh breeze, both of which were increasing every minute. The poor old ship in tow was making very heavy weather of it, while even we were pretty lively. But things got worse, for by ten o'clock, and a pitch dark night it was, it was blowing nearly a full gale. The sea, too, had got up to such an extent that there was nothing for it but to abandon the damaged destroyer. It was easier said than done, for the sea was too big for lowering boats, and the only other alternative was for some other craft to go alongside her and to take the men on. I did not see the business myself, but believe another destroyer put her stem up against the side of the one sinking and kept it there by going slow ahead, while the men hopped out one by one over the bows.

It was a most excellent bit of work on the part of the salvor, for with the two ships rolling, pitching, and grinding in the sea, and in utter darkness, it required a very good head and cool judgment to know how much speed was necessary to keep the bows just touching, and no more. If they had come into violent contact the rescuing ship might have been very badly damaged. I believe they had to have several shots at it, before they got every man away, but though two fell overboard in jumping across, they pulled it off all right without losing a single life. The only damage to the rescuing ship was a little bit of a bulge on the stem just below the forecastle, but this did not make a leak or impair her efficiency in any way, and she went about for months afterwards without having it straightened. They had every right to be proud of their honourable scar!

The poor old ship which had to be abandoned was then left to her fate, and nobody saw the end of her.

It must have been at about this time, though we did not see it, that some hostile destroyers came upon our light cruisers, or rather, our cruisers happened upon them. What took place I don't quite know, but the Huns were apparently sighted quite close, and our leading ship, jamming her helm over and increasing speed, rammed one full in the middle and cut her in halves. It must have been an awful moment for the poor wretches, for the stern portion of the destroyer sank one side, and the bow part went rushing on into the darkness at about thirty knots. The men on board her could be heard yelling, but it was quite impossible to do anything to save them as other enemy destroyers were in the neighbourhood and the sea was far too bad for lowering boats.

Nothing else of interest took place during the night, except that the weather got worse and worse. The next morning, when we were steaming against it, we were having a terrible doing, and it lasted for about twenty-four hours, until we got under the lee of the coast. The sea was one of the worst we had ever experienced, short and very steep, and we couldn't steam more than about eight knots against it. The motion was very bad, the ship crashing and bumping about in a most unholy manner, and we were all wet through and rather miserable. No hot food, either, for the galley fire had been put out.

The prisoner who had been badly wounded died early next morning. The Doctor said he might have lived if the weather had been good, but the motion finished him, poor fellow. He was buried at sea, the German officer reading the burial service.

We eventually got back into harbour and disembarked the prisoners, and never was I more pleased to get a decent meal and a little sleep. Aunt Maria, having so many nephews, has just sent me another fountain pen, the third since the war started. Also a pair of crimson socks knitted by her cook. The pen will be useful.

Do you want any more cigarettes? You never acknowledged the last lot I sent, you ungrateful blighter, and at any rate I think it's high time you wrote me a letter. Your last one was a postcard.

Forgive this letter of mine if it is a bit disconnected, but it's the best I can do at present.

Well, the best of luck and may you not stop a Hun bullet or a bit of shrapnel.

Yours always, T.



THE FOG

The Rapier was an old destroyer, one of the 370-ton "thirty-knotters" completed in about 1901. She burnt coal and was driven by reciprocating engines, instead of using oil fuel and being propelled by new-fangled turbines, while 23 to 24 knots were all she could be relied upon to travel in the best of weather. She had a low, sharp bow and the old-fashioned turtle-back forward instead of the high, weatherly forecastle of the later destroyers, and in anything more than a moderate breeze or a little popple of a sea she was like a half-tide rock in a gale o' wind. In fact, except in the very calmest weather, she was a regular hog, for she rolled, pitched, and wallowed to her heart's content, varying the monotony at odd moments by burying herself in green seas or deluging herself in masses of spray.

Her small bridge, with its 12-pounder gun, steering wheel, compass, and engine-room telegraphs, was placed on the top of the turtle-back and about 25 feet from the bows. It acted as a most excellent breakwater and took the brunt of the heavier seas, and how often the Rapier came back into harbour with her bridge rails flattened down and her deck fittings washed overboard, I really do not know. It was a fairly frequent occurrence, for war is war, and they kept the little ship out at sea in practically all weathers.

Even in harbour, when her officers and men were endeavouring to obtain a little well-earned sleep, she sometimes had an exasperating habit of rolling her rails under and slopping the water over her deck, and then it was that Langdon, her lieutenant in command, wedged in the bunk in his little cabin in the stern, and driven nearly frantic by the irregular thump, thump, crash of the loosely hung rudder swinging from side to side as the ship rolled, rose in his wrath and cursed the day he was born.

But whatever he thought in his heart of hearts, he would not hear a bad word against his old Rapier in public. She might be ancient; but then she had done "a jolly sight more steaming" than any other craft of her age and class. She might burn coal in her furnaces instead of oil-fuel, and every ounce of coal had to be shovelled on board from a collier by manual labour, whereas, in an oil-driven destroyer, one simply went alongside a jetty or an "oiler," connected up a hose, and went to bed while a pump did all the work. But Langdon never could endure "the ghastly stink" of crude petroleum, while coal, though dirty, was clean dirt. The Rapier might have old-fashioned engines, but with them one ran no chance of developing that affliction of turbine craft: water in the casing, the consequent stripping of blades off the turbine rotors, and a month or so in a dockyard as a natural concomitant. Moreover, everybody knew that destroyers with reciprocating engines were far and away the easiest to handle.

So, from what Langdon said, though it is true that he may have been rather prejudiced by the fact that she was his first independent command, the fifteen-year-old Rapier was a jewel of fair price. The powers that be perhaps did not regard her with such rose-tinted optimism, but for all that, were evidently of the opinion that she was still capable of useful work, and kept her constantly at sea accordingly.

Exactly what her function was I had better not say, but she always seemed to be on the spot when things happened, and had assisted at the "strafing" of Hun submarines, and had been under fire a great many more times than some of her younger sisters, many of whom were craft at least three times her size, eight knots more speed, and infinitely better armed and more seaworthy.

So it was not to be imagined that the Rapier, ancient though she was, suffered from senile decay.

* * * * *

"Curse this weather," the Lieutenant muttered, wrinkling his eyes in a vain endeavour to see through the murk. "We've been forty-eight hours on patrol, and now we're due to go into harbour this beastly fog comes down and delays us. It IS the limit!"

Pettigrew, the Sub-Lieutenant, agreed. "We shall have to coal when we arrive," he observed mournfully. "That'll take us two hours, and by the time we've finished, made fast to the buoy, had our baths, and made ourselves fairly presentable, it'll be two o'clock. I take it we go to sea at the usual time this evening, sir?"

Langdon nodded. "Bet your life!" he said with a sigh. "We shall be off again at eight p.m. I was looking forward to having a decent lunch ashore for once," he added regretfully, "but now this beastly fog's gone and put the hat on it. Lord! I'm fed up to the neck with the grub on board!"

"Tinned salmon fish-cakes for breakfast," murmured the Sub. "Curried salmon for lunch, and tinned rabbit pie for dinner. My sainted aunt! The Ritz and Carlton aren't in it!"

The skipper laughed.

The fog had come down at dawn, and now, halfway through the forenoon, the weather was still as thick as ever; so thick, indeed, that it was barely possible to see more than a hundred yards through the white, cotton-wool-like pall. It was one of those breathless, steamy days in mid-July. The sea was glassily calm, while the sun, a mere molten blot in the haze overhead, whose heat was unmitigated by the least suspicion of a breeze, was still sufficiently powerful to make it most uncomfortably warm. Altogether the torrid clamminess of the atmosphere, and its distinct earthy flavour, reminded one irresistibly of the interior of a greenhouse.

It was the sun who had been guilty of causing the fog at all. His rays had saturated the earth with warmth the day before, heat which had been given off during the cooler hours of darkness in a mass of invisible vapour. Impelled slowly seaward during the night, the heat wave, if one can so call it, had eventually come into contact with the colder atmosphere over the water, where, following the invariable law of nature, it had condensed into an infinite number of tiny particles of moisture. These, mingling and coalescing, had formed the dense masses of vapour which hung so impalpably over the dangerous, thickly populated sea-areas in the closer vicinity of the coast. Further afield, seven or eight miles away from the shore, there was nothing but a haze. More distant still the sun shone undimmed, and there were no signs of fog at all.

* * * * *

Thick weather at sea is always exasperating, and to avoid the chance of colliding with something they could not possibly avoid at any greater speed, Langdon had been forced to ease to the leisurely speed of eight knots, and eight knots to a T.B.D., even a relic of the Rapier's age, is just about as irritating as being wedged in a narrow lane in a 40-horse power Daimler behind a horse pantechnicon.

They had a man on the forecastle keeping a lookout. The automatic sounding machine was being used at regular intervals to give them some sort of an idea as to their position by a comparison of the depths obtained with those shown on the chart, but even then the eccentricity of the tidal currents and, let it be said, the erratic and most unladylike behaviour of the Rapier's standard compass, made navigation a matter of some conjecture and a good deal of guesswork.

Somewhere ahead, veiled in its pall of fog, lay the coast. Ahead, and to the right, was a large area of shoal water, portions of which uncovered at low tide. It had already proved the graveyard of many fine ships whose bones still showed when the water fell, and Langdon had no wish to leave his ship there as an everlasting monument to his memory, while he, probably court-martialled, and at any rate having "incurred their Lordships' severe displeasure," left the destroyer service under a cloud which would never disperse.

Added to which there was always the chance of a collision, for the sea seemed full of ships. Time and tide wait for no man, and, Hun submarines or not, mines or no mines, fog or no fog, merchant vessels must run. To-day they seemed to be running in battalions and brigades, judging from the howling, yelping, and snorting of their steam whistles here, there, and everywhere.

But the Rapier managed to avoid them somehow, and, shortly before noon, having heard the explosive fog signal on the end of the breakwater, she slid slowly past the lighthouse at the entrance and groped her way into the harbour. It was still as thick as it possibly could be, but she found the collier, and, after completing with coal, secured to her buoy.

Ten minutes later Langdon and the Sub were talking together in the little wardroom when there came a knock at the door.

"Signal just come through, sir," the signalman announced with a smile on his face. "Rapier will proceed to Portsmouth at daylight to-morrow to refit. She will not be required for patrol to-night."

The ship was long overdue for the dockyard, but the skipper and Pettigrew looked at each other, hardly able to believe their ears.

"Lord!" muttered the former. "That means a week's leave, Sub. D'you realise that?"

"Do I not, sir!" answered the Sub-Lieutenant, as the signalman retired with a grin.



THE TRADERS

We were steaming to the westward, towards the spot where the sun, glowing like a disc of molten copper, was slowly nearing the horizon. It had been one of those hot, breathless sort of days with no breeze; and now, near sunset, nothing but an occasional cat's-paw stole gently across the sea to ruffle its glassy surface in irregular-shaped patches. Elsewhere, the water, shining like a mirror, reflected the blazing glory of the sky.

Some distance off lay the coast, its familiar outline dim, purple, and mysterious in the evening mist. But it was neither the sunset, glorious as it was, nor the scenery which held our imagination. It was the shipping.

All manner of craft there were. First came the Spurt, of Tromso, a Norwegian tramp of dissolute and chastened appearance, whose deliberate, plodding gait and general air of senility belied her name, or at any rate the English meaning of it. Her rusty black hull was decorated with three large squares painted in her national colours, red, with a vertical white-edged stripe of blue in the centre. Next a bulbous, prosperous-looking Dutchman, who seemed to waddle in her, or his, stride. She was slightly faster than the ancient Spurt, but was no flyer, and boasted a canary-yellow hull bearing her name in fifteen-foot letters, and enormous painted tricolours striped horizontally in red, white, and blue.

Then two Swedes with unpronounceable names who, by their embellishments, informed the world that they hailed respectively from Goteborg and Helsingborg. They also sported large rectangles, painted in vertical stripes of yellow and blue, while close behind them, a Dane, with an absurdly attenuated funnel and long ventilators sticking at all angles out of her hull like pins from a pincushion, ambled stolidly along like a weary cart-horse. She, scorning other decoration, merely showed the scarlet white-crossed emblem of her country. Some of the neutrals carried signs bearing their names which could be illuminated at night, and all seemed equally determined not to afford any prowling Hun submarine a legitimate excuse for torpedoing them on sight.

* * * * *

But the craft which outnumbered the others by more than four to one were the British. They bore no distinctive marks or colouring on their sides, and their travel-stained and weather-beaten appearance, their rusty hulls, discoloured funnels, and the generally dingy and unpretentious look about them showed that they were kept far too busy to trouble about external appearances. The only token of their nationality was the wisp of tattered red bunting fluttering at the stern of each; the gallant old Red Ensign which, war or no war, still dances triumphantly on practically every sea, except the Baltic.

Many of the passing vessels looked out of date and old-fashioned. Some veterans of the 'eighties or 'nineties, fit only to sail under a foreign flag according to pre-war standards, may have been dug out of their obscurity to play their part in the war. And a very important part it is. Ships must run, and, at a time when the Admiralty have levied a heavy toll for war purposes upon all classes of ships belonging to the Mercantile Marine, every vessel which will float and can steam can be utilised many times over for the equally important work of carrying cargo. It is not peaceful work, either, in these days of promiscuous mine-laying and enemy submarines armed with guns and torpedoes ready to sink without warning.

The important work of the yachts, pleasure steamers, trawlers, and drifters used for mine-sweeping, patrol work, and other naval purposes need not be entered into here; but the Mercantile Marine proper, what, for want of a better term, we may call "the deep sea service," has supplied the Royal Navy with many thousands of splendid officers and men who are now serving their country in fighting ships as members of the Royal Naval Reserve. Moreover, numbers of its ships of all classes are employed for war purposes as armed merchant cruisers, transports, oil fuel vessels, colliers, ammunition ships, storeships, and the like. But the function of those ships which are left for their legitimate purpose of cargo carrying is of equal importance to the country, of inestimable value, in fact, since we could not exist without them. Their duty is fraught with constant peril. Submarines may be lurking and mines may have been laid upon the routes they have to traverse, but never have there been the least signs of unreadiness or unwillingness to proceed to sea when ordered to do so.

Most of the officers and men of the Mercantile Marine are not trained to war like their comrades of the Royal Navy. They are not paid, and their ships are not built, to fight; but yet, time and time again, their natural pluck and intrepidity has shown itself in the face of an entirely new danger.

* * * * *

Instances are so numerous that it is impossible to mention them all. Remember the gallant fight of the Clan MacTavish, with her single gun, against the heavily-armed German raider Moewe. Take the case of the "Blue Funneller" Laertes, Captain Probert, which was ordered to stop by an enemy submarine, but, disregarding the summons, proceeded at full speed, steering a zigzag course, and so escaped, Remember the little Thordis, Captain Bell, which, after having a torpedo fired at her, actually rammed and sank the submarine which fired it.

Again, there was the transport Mercian, Captain Walker, which was attacked by gunfire from a hostile submarine in the Mediterranean. Some of the troops on board were killed, others were wounded, and nobody could have blamed the captain if he had surrendered. But what did he do? He endured a bombardment lasting for an hour and a half, and, thanks to the bravery and skill of all on board, the ship escaped.

There was also Captain Palmer, of the Blue Jacket, who, though his ship had actually been torpedoed, stood by her in his boats, reboarded her, and, in spite of her damage, steamed her to a place of safety. Recollect Captain Clopert, whose vessel, the Southport, was captured by a German man-of-war, was taken to the island of Kusaie, and was there disabled by the removal of certain important parts of her machinery. She was evidently to be utilised as a collier, but no sooner had the enemy left than the master, officers, and men set to work to effect repairs. How they did it with the meagre appliances at their disposal only they themselves can say, but the fact remains that the ship escaped.

These cases are only typical. Whole volumes might be written round the warlike deeds of our "peaceful" merchantmen, and from the many instances of gallantry we read of and the still greater number which do not achieve publicity it is evident that on every occasion of encountering the enemy the master of the ship, backed up most nobly by his officers and crew, has not only done everything possible to save his ship from capture in the first instance, but has never hesitated to defend his vessel in accordance with the generally accepted tenets of International Law, which state that a merchant ship can defend herself when attacked.

Courage in the face of the enemy when one can return shot for shot is one thing, but heroism of the same kind in an unarmed ship is on rather a different plane.

The work of the Royal Navy and the Mercantile Marine is largely interdependent. The two great sea services of the country must ever work hand in hand and side by side, and let us never forget what we owe to the latter.



POTVIN OF THE PUFFIN

"Well, I'm damned!" ejaculated the first lieutenant, looking up from his breakfast as a barefooted signalman held a slate under his nose. "Just as I'm in the middle of painting ship!"

The navigator, doctor, and assistant paymaster looked up from their plates. "What's up, Number One?" queried the former.

"Only that the new skipper's arrived in the English mail," said the first lieutenant glumly.

"He's coming on board at nine o'clock in the Spartan's steamboat!"

"Good Lord!" protested Cutting, the doctor. "So soon? It was only a week ago we saw his appointment!"

"Can't help that," No. One growled. "He's arrived, and he'll be on board in exactly three quarters of an hour's time. Lord help us! You'd better put on a clean tunic and your best society manners, Doc. You'll want 'em both."

"Why the deuce can't he leave us in peace a bit longer?" complained Falland, the lieutenant (N).

"And why the devil does he want to come just at the end of the quarter when I'm busy with my accounts?" grumbled Augustus Shilling, the assistant paymaster, blinking behind his spectacles. "I know jolly well what it'll be. For the next week I shan't be able to call my soul my own, and he'll be sending for me morning, noon, and night to explain things. The writer's gone sick, too. Oh, it IS the limit!"

"It is, indeed," echoed the doctor despondently. "Farewell to a quiet life. By George! I haven't written up the wine books for the last fortnight. Have I got time to do 'em before he comes?"

The first lieutenant shrugged his shoulders. "You'd better make an effort, old man," he said. "He's a rabid teetotaler, and he's sure to ask to see 'em first thing."

"Heaven help us!" cried the medical officer, rising hastily from his chair and disappearing into his cabin.

"What sort of a chap did you say he was, Number One?" Falland queried, with traces of anxiety in his voice.

"I only know him by reputation," the first lieutenant answered lugubriously. "But he's got the name of being rather ... er, peculiar. At any rate, he hates navigators, so you'd better mind your P's and Q's, my giddy young friend."

"And I haven't corrected my charts for three weeks or written up the compass journal for a month!" Falland wailed. "Oh, Lor!"

From all of which it will be understood that the wardroom officers of H.M. Gunboat Puffin were not overjoyed at the advent of their new Captain.[1]

The date was some time during the last five years of the reign of Queen Victoria; the month, September, and though at this season of the year the climate of Hong-Kong is far too moist and too steamy to be pleasant, the Puffin's officers, adapting themselves to circumstances, had had plenty of shore leave and had managed to enjoy themselves. So had the men.

Their ship, an ancient, barque-rigged vessel of 1,000 odd tons; auxiliary engines capable of pushing her along at 9.35 knots with the safety valves lifting; and armed with I forget how many bottle-nosed, 5-inch, B.-L. guns and a Nordenfeldt or two, was swinging peacefully round her buoy in the harbour. She had swung there for precisely two months without raising steam, ever since her late commander had been promoted and had gone home to England, leaving the ship in temporary charge of Pardoe, the first lieutenant.

Captain Prato had been an easy-going man of serene disposition who allowed little or nothing to worry him, not even the Commander-in-Chief himself. As a consequence the wardroom officers swore by him, and so did Mr. Tompion, the gunner, and Mr. Slice, the artificer engineer. The ship's company were of the same opinion, so the little Puffin was what is generally known as a "happy ship."

But Commander Peter Potvin, R.N., Captain Prato's successor, was the direct antithesis of the former commanding officer, for he had the reputation in the Service of being a veritable little firebrand, and an eccentric little firebrand at that. He was small and thin, and possessed a pair of fierce blue eyes and a short, aggressive red beard, and was even reputed to insist on naval discipline being carried on in his own house ashore. At any rate, it is quite certain that his wife frequently appeared at church with red eyes after her lord and master had held his usual Sunday forenoon inspection of the house, and had discovered a cockroach in the kitchen or a dish-clout in the scullery, while it was true that he permitted his three children to wear good conduct badges, each carrying with them the sum of 1d. per week, after three months' exemplary behaviour. But only one of them, Tony, aged 18 months, had ever worn a badge for more than a fortnight.

It was also said, with what truth I do not know, that his servants frequently had their leave stopped for not being "dressed in the rig of the day," and for omitting to wear hideous caps and aprons of an uniform pattern designed by Commander Potvin himself without the assistance of his wife. It was bruited about that the cook, housemaid, and parlourmaid,—the nurse alone being excused,—were turned out of their beds at the unearthly hour of 5.30 a.m. and that, as a punishment for "being found asleep in their hammocks after the hands had been called," they were rousted out at 4 a.m. to chop firewood.

The Potvin menage was not a happy one, and as a consequence his retainers usually gave notice en masse directly they heard the gallant commander was about to come home on leave. Even the gardener and boot boy followed the general example, so it was lucky for Mrs. Potvin that she had an uncle at the Admiralty who generally managed to send, "dear Peter" to a foreign station. He was rarely at home, or his wife would have been wrought to the verge of lunacy.

No wonder the Puffin's were not pleased at their future prospects, for the milk of human kindness evidently did not enter into the composition of their new commanding officer.

For twenty-four hours after his arrival on board Commander Potvin was too busy paying official calls and unpacking his belongings to make his presence really felt. The fun began the next morning, when, after divisions, he sent for Pardoe to come and see him in his cabin.

"You may have heard, First Lieutenant," he began, very pompously, "that I am a very observant man, and that I notice everything that goes on board my ship?"

"Indeed, sir," said Pardoe politely, wondering what on earth was coming next.

"Yes," said the commander. "I am unnaturally observant, and though some people may think I am a faddist, there is very little that escapes my notice. To start with, I always insist that my officers shall wear strict uniform, and at the present moment I am grieved to see that you are wearing white socks."

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know you would mind. The officers in the flagship wear them with white clothing."

"I was not aware that I had asked you a question, Lieutenant Pardoe," interrupted the skipper, his beard bristling. "Moreover, what they do or do not do in the flagship is no affair of mine. The uniform regulations lay down that socks are to be black or dark blue, and I expect my officers to wear them. I also observed just now that the Surgeon was wearing a watch strap across the front of his tunic, which is in strict defiance of the regulation which says that watch chains and trinkets are not to be worn outside the coat. I do not wish to have to take steps in the matter, but kindly bear it in mind yourself, and inform your messmates, that I insist on strict uniform."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"There are several more matters I wish to discuss," the captain resumed, twiddling his moustaches. "You will doubtless have heard that I like to keep my ship's companies happy and contented, eh?" He looked up enquiringly.

"Er—yes, sir. Of course, sir," said the first lieutenant lamely, having heard precisely the opposite.

"Very good. To keep the men happy and contented one has to keep them employed, so in future there will be no leave to either officers or men until four o'clock in the afternoon. We shall doubtless be able to find plenty for them to do on board."

Number One opened his mouth to expostulate, but thought better of it. "I like the men to feel that their ship is their home," continued the skipper, "and to encourage them to stay on board in the afternoons and evenings instead of spending their money and their substance in these terrible grog shops ashore, these low and vicious haunts of iniquity," he rolled his tongue round the words, "I propose that the officers shall prepare and deliver a series of lectures on interesting topics. I have," he added, "brought a magic lantern and a good stock of slides out from England, and some evening next week I propose to deliver the first lecture myself. The subject is a most instructive one, 'The effects of alcohol on the human body and mind,' and to illustrate it I have prepared a number of most excellent charts showing the increase in the consumption of spirits and malt liquor between 1873 and the present time. The charts, compiled from the most reliable data, are drawn up for most of the best known professions, sailors, soldiers, labourers, policemen, clergymen, and so on, and I can safely promise you a most interesting evening."

Pardoe, quite convinced that he had to deal with a lunatic, gasped and began to wonder how on earth he could leave the ship unostentatiously without damaging his subsequent career. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a hand at lecturing, sir," he said with a forced smile. "In fact there's hardly a subject I know enough about to——."

"Pooh, pooh," laughed the commander. "With due diligence in your spare time you will be able to learn up quite a lot of subjects, and as for the actual lecturing," he shrugged his shoulders, "practice makes perfect, and I have no doubt that before very long we shall find you quite an orator." He smiled benignly.

"We will have the lectures once a week, at 8 p.m., say on Thursdays," he went on, "and on Sundays I will conduct an evening service at 6.0., at which, of course, all officers will attend. You will read the lessons and collect the offertory, Mr. Pardoe. That will leave us five clear evenings a week for other harmless occupations, and I propose that on one of them we have readings for the men from the works of well-known authors. Something light and amusing from Dickens or Dumas to start with, and then, as we get on, we might try the more learned writers like Darwin, or—er—Confucius."

The wretched first lieutenant grew red about the face and started to breathe heavily.

"Then on another evening we might encourage the men to play progressive games like draughts, halma, picture lotto, spillikins, ping-pong, and beggar-my-neighbour. My sole object in doing all this, you will understand, is to keep the men amused and instructed, to divert their minds and, therefore, to keep them happy and contented. After a few weeks or so they will all be so anxious to come to our entertainments, that they will have lost all desire to go ashore at all. It is a good idea, is it not?"

The first lieutenant nodded grimly. The idea may have been excellent, but he could hardly imagine Petty Officer Timothy Carey, the horny captain of the forecastle, listening to Confucius; nor Baxter, the Sergeant of Marines, sitting down to a quiet game of spillikins with Scully, the cook's mate. In fact, he foresaw that when he informed the men of the arrangements about to be made for their welfare, he would have all his work cut out to repress the inevitable rebellion. Darwin, Confucius, picture lotto, and beggar-my-neighbour for the hardened ship's company of the Puffin! The Police Gazette, Reynolds' Weekly, pots of beer, and the games known as "Shove ha'penny" and "Crown and Anchor" were far more to their liking.

"Well," said Commander Potvin, "that is all I have to say at present; but I am gratified, very gratified indeed, that you agree with my ideas. I will draw up and issue detailed rules for our evening entertainments, but, meanwhile, I should be obliged if you would cause these to be distributed amongst the men. They will pave the way," he added, smiling as pleasantly as he was able, and handing Pardoe a neat brown paper parcel. "They will pave the way with good intentions, and I have no doubt that within a few weeks we shall have the happiest ship's company in the whole of the British Navy."

The first lieutenant, too astonished to reply, clutched the parcel and retired to the wardroom, where, flinging his cap on to the settee, he relapsed into the one armchair. "Lord!" he muttered, holding his head, "I believe the man's as mad as a hatter!"

He opened the package to find therein a quantity of bound sheets. He selected one of the pamphlets at random and examined it with a sigh. "Drink and Depravity," he read. "Pots of beer cost many a tear. Be warned in time or you'll repine."

"Great Caesar's ghost!" he ejaculated. "The man IS mad! To think that it should come to this. Poor, poor old Puffin!"

A few minutes later Falland, on his way aft to visit the captain, glanced into the wardroom. Pardoe still sat in the armchair muttering softly to himself with his head bowed down between his hands. The floor, the table, and the chair were littered with tracts of all the colours of the rainbow. "Saints preserve us!" the navigator murmured. The next really interesting incidents occurred on Sunday morning, when the commanding officer made his usual rounds of the ship and inspected the men. So far nothing had officially been said about the new regime; but, in some mysterious way, the ship's company had an inkling of the happy days in store for them, while, through a lavish distribution of tracts, literature which, I am sorry to relate, they solemnly burnt in the galley fire, they were fully aware of their new captain's notions on the engrossing subject of drink. Accordingly, to please him, and to show that they were not the hardened sinners, seasoned reprobates, and generally idle and dissolute characters he perhaps might take them for, they fell in at divisions on that Sabbath morn wearing their most cherubic and innocent expressions, and their newest and most immaculate raiment.

The Puffin had always been a clean ship, but on this particular occasion she surpassed herself, for all hands and the cook had done their very utmost to uphold her reputation. Her burnished guns and freshly scoured brass-work shone dazzingly in the sun; her topmasts and blocks had been newly scraped and varnished, while the running rigging, boat's falls, and other ropes about the deck were neatly coiled down and flemished. The decks themselves were as white as holystones, sand, and much elbow grease could make them, and, with her white hull with its encircling green riband and cherry-red waterline, her yellow lower masts and funnel, and a brand-new pendant flying from the main-truck and large White Ensign flapping lazily from its staff on the poop, the Puffin looked more like a yacht than a man-o'-war. But Commander Potvin also had a reputation to keep up, and he would not be Commander Potvin if he could not find fault somewhere.

"Seaman's division—'shun!" shouted Falland, the officer in charge, as the commander and first lieutenant made their appearance from under the poop. "Off—caps!"

The men clicked their heels punctiliously and removed their headgear, and the captain, passing down the front rank with his sword trailing on the deck behind him, began his inspection.

"What is your name, my man?" he inquired condescendingly, halting opposite to a burly bearded able seaman.

"Joseph Smith, sir."

"I seem to remember your face," said the commander.

"Yes, sir. I served along 'o you in th' Bulldorg five year ago."

"Indeed. That is most interesting. Well, Smith," eyeing him up and down, "I am always most pleased to see my old shipmates again."

"Yes, sir," answered the burly one, trying hard to look pleased himself, and turning rather red in the effort. As a matter of fact he was wondering if his commanding officer was blessed, or cursed, with a good memory, and if, by any chance, he remembered the occasion when he—Joseph Smith—had last stood before him on the quarterdeck of H.M.S. Bulldog. He had stood there as a defaulter, to be punished with ten days' cells and the loss of a hardly-earned good conduct badge, for returning from leave in a state of partial insobriety, and for having indulged in a heated and more than acrimonious discussion with the local constabulary. It had happened several years before, and since then he had turned over a new leaf, but he grew quite nervous at the recollection.

But the skipper, apparently, had quite forgotten it, for he went on speaking. "I am sorry to see, Smith, that, although you have served with me before, you have forgotten what I must have taken the greatest pains to teach you. Your hair is too long, and your beard is not trimmed in the proper service manner. Your trousers are at least two inches too tight round the knee, and six inches too slack round the ankle, while the rows of tape on your collar are too close together. It will not do," he added, glaring unpleasantly. "The uniform regulations are made to be strictly adhered to. Mr. Falland!"

"Sir."

"Have this man's bag inspected in the dinner hour every day for a fortnight. See that his hair is properly cut by next Sunday, and see that he either shaves himself clean, or that he does not use a razor at all, according to the regulations. I am surprised that you should have allowed him to come to divisions in this condition."

"Very good, sir."

The Commander passed on, leaving the delinquent with his mouth wide open in astonishment and righteous indignation. Smith was firmly of the opinion that his beard was everything that a beard should be, while, quite rightly, he had always prided himself on being one of the best dressed men in the ship. Any little irregularities in his attire, irregularities not countenanced by the regulations, were merely introduced for the purpose of making himself smarter than ever. It was a sad blow to his pride.

But many others suffered in the same way, for hardly a man in the division was dressed according to the strict letter of the law. Some had the tapes on their jumpers too high or too low; others had the V-shaped openings in front a trifle too deep; many, in their endeavours to make their loose trousers still more rakish, wore them in too flowing a manner over their feet, and still more, in their anxiety not to spoil the set of their jumpers, carried no 'pusser's daggers,' or knives, attached to their lanyards. Altogether the first Sunday was a regular debacle for the Puffin's but an undoubted triumph for Commander Potvin.

"Mr. Falland," he said, having walked round the ranks. "I am sorry to find all this laxity in the important matter of dress, and I rely upon you to take immediate steps to have it rectified."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"And," the skipper continued, "I notice that you fall your men in according to size. I know that some commanding officers like to inspect the men in this way, but personally I prefer to have them grouped according to appearance. For instance, tall men together, short men together, and the same thing with the fat and the thin, the bearded and the clean-shaven."

"Very good, sir. But—" the navigator hesitated.

"But what, Mr. Falland?"

"Suppose a man is tall, thin, and bearded, sir?" asked Falland, in utter perplexity.

"Seize upon his predominant feature, Mr. Falland, and use your own discretion in the matter," said the Captain, half suspecting that his subordinate was trying to make fun of him, but knowing full well that, whatever the navigator did, he could always find fault with it.

He marched forward to continue his rounds, leaving the astonished divisional officer wondering if he was also to form special detachments of red-faced sailors, white-faced sailors, snub-nosed sailors, and bandy-legged sailors.

The inspection of the upper-deck and mess-deck passed without much comment, the Captain even saying that he was glad to see that the ship was 'quite clean,' a term which made the zealous Pardoe writhe with annoyance; but the next thing which caught his attention was a small hencoop containing eight or nine miserable, bedraggled-looking fowls.

"Bless my soul, First Lieutenant!" said he. "Look at these fowls!" They were sorry looking birds, it is true, but Chinese chickens are not renowned for their beauty and sprightliness of appearance at the best of times.

"They seem quite healthy, sir," the First Lieutenant answered, putting his head on one side in a most judicial manner.

"Yes, yes," murmured the Commander. "But they are all the colours of the rainbow. White, yellow, brown, grey, and black."

"So they are, sir," said Pardoe, as if he had observed the astounding fact for the first time.

"Who do they belong to?"

"They're yours, sir. Your steward looks after them."

"Does he, indeed?" said the skipper, rather nonplussed. "Well, send for my steward."

The portly and dignified Ah Fong presently appeared.

"Is it not possible for you to buy fowls of all the same colour?" the "Owner" wanted to know.

Ah Fong stared in hopeless bewilderment, trying to grasp his master's meaning. "My no savvy, sah," he said, shaking his head.

"Can you not buy your chickens, or my chickens, rather, all one colour? White, for preference, as the weather is hot."

"I savvy, sah," exclaimed the Chinaman, with a beatific smile slowly spreading over his countenance. "You no likee black piecee hen, sah?"

"No, no, that's not what I mean at all," said Potvin, going off into a long explanation.

At last Ah Fong began to understand what was wanted. "No can do, sah!" he expostulated. "S'pose I go 'shore catch piecee hen. I say to one man, I wanchee plentee fat piecee hen, no wanchee olo piecee, wanchee young plenty big piecee hen for capten...."

"I really cannot waste my time listening to this senseless conversation!" interrupted the Captain, with some petulance. "Mr. Pardoe, you will kindly explain to him that in future all the fowls on board are to be white in the summer, and blue... 'er, I mean black, in the winter. I will have them in the proper dress of the day like the ship's company, do you understand?"

"I do, sir," said the wretched Pardoe with an inaudible sigh, as the little procession moved on.

He did explain to the steward what was required, and Ah Fong was confronted with a dilemma. However, he had his wits about him, and the next Sunday morning, to Number One's intense astonishment, every wretched fowl in the coop, black, grey, or brown, had been freshly whitewashed. Their feathers were all plastered together, and they looked supremely unhappy and more bedraggled than ever, but the captain's aesthetic eye was apparently satisfied, for he passed them by with a glance and made no adverse remarks.

After the ordeal of divisions the mess-stools, chairs for the officers, and reading desk were brought up and placed on desk under the awnings, and at 10.30, when church had been "rigged," the tolling of the bell summoned the officers and ship's company to divine service. Pardoe, after satisfying himself that everything was ready, went aft to report to the Captain, and, somewhat to the surprise of everyone, Commander Potvin presently appeared without his tunic, advanced to the reading desk, and started the service.

At first people thought that he had discarded his jacket merely for the sake of coolness, and, as the day was unusually hot, some of the other officers were half inclined to follow his sensible example. But when at last church was over and Pardoe had occasion to see the Captain again, he discovered the real reason for the "Owner's" removal of his outer garment.

"You may have noticed, Lieutenant Pardoe, that I took the precaution to remove my tunic before reading the Church service," said the skipper.

"I did, sir," answered the First Lieutenant. "In fact, it was so hot, that I nearly followed your example."

Potvin glared. "I hardly understand what you mean, Mr. Pardoe?" he said with asperity. "The fact of its being hot or cold does not effect my religious ideas."

"I beg your pardon, sir. I thought that..."

"Kindly do not impute these motives to me," the Commander went on to say. "I consider that we should all attend divine service in a state of the utmost humility, and I removed my tunic so that I should appear before the Almighty in the same simple garb as the men, not as their commanding officer!" He puffed out his chest with importance.

Pardoe merely gasped, for the idea that the Almighty might be unduly influenced by the sight of the three gold stripes and curl on his captain's shoulder-straps was quite beyond his comprehension. Nevertheless, Commander Potvin was quite serious, and on leaving his presence Pardoe repaired to his cabin, and wrote a fervent appeal to a former captain of his, asking that officer to use his influence to have him removed from his present appointment. He loved his little Puffin, it is true. He would be very sorry to leave her; but anything was better than serving in a ship commanded by a lunatic.

For a week the gunboat's officers and men endured the new routine with what fortitude they could muster. On Monday they had their progressive games, when the watch on board,—the watch whose turn it was to go on leave had gone ashore to a man,—were compelled, much to their disgust, to squat round on the upper deck with draughts, halma, and picture-lotto boards spread out before them. The proceedings were not exactly jovial, for the men looked, and were, frankly bored, while a party of four able seamen, finding the innocent attractions of Happy Families hardly exciting enough, were subsequently brought up before the First Lieutenant on a charge of gambling.

Half an hour after the games started, moreover, two other men, one a marine and the other the ship's steward's assistant, fell in to see him.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

"Well, sir," the marine explained. "It's like this 'ere. I was told off to play draughts along o' this man, an' all goes well until I makes two o' my men kings an' starts takin' all 'is. Then 'e says as 'ow I've been cheatin', so I says to 'im, polite like, as 'ow I 'adn't done no such thing, an' wi' that 'e ups an' 'its me in the eye, sir, which isn't fair."

"He hit you in the eye?" asked Number One.

"Yes, sir," said the sea-soldier, exhibiting a rapidly swelling cheek.

"What have you to say?" the First Lieutenant asked the alleged assailant.

"What he says isn't true, sir. I did say he had been cheatin', becos he had, becos he was movin' all his other pieces over the board how he liked. I says he mustn't do that, becos it isn't the game, but he says that as he's been told off to play, he'll play how he bloomin' well likes. I says it's cheatin', and he hits me on the nose, so I hits him back, and we has a bit of a dust up." He exhibited a gory handkerchief as proof of his injuries.

"Do either of you men bear any grudge against the other?" asked Pardoe, knowing that they had often been ashore together.

"No, sir," came the immediate reply.

"Well, go away, and don't make such fools of yourselves again. We can't have all this bickering and fighting over a simple game of draughts."

The two combatants retired grinning, and Pardoe, sighing deeply, walked up and down the deck wrapped in thought. One fact was quite patent, and that was that if the innocent amusements for the ship's company were suffered to continue, he would require the wisdom and patience of a Solomon to arbitrate between the disputants.

On Tuesday they had a reading from Shakespeare, conducted by the Captain, and, to judge from the sotto-voce remarks of the audience, they were neither amused nor instructed.

"'E must be wet if 'e thinks we liken listenin' to this 'ere stuff!" muttered Able Seaman McSweeny dismally. "'E talks abart 'is ruddy merchant o' Venice, but I doesn't want to 'ear nothin' abart a.... Eyetalian shopkeeper. I expec's 'e was one o' these 'ere blokes wot wheeled an ice-cream barrer. S'welp me I do!"

A loud titter greeted his utterance, and Commander Potvin stopped reading for a moment, and glanced round with a fierce expression, without being able to see whence the sounds of merriment emanated.

No, judging from the trite remarks from the men, the reading from the works of England's most famous poet and playwright was not an unqualified success.

On Thursday came the Captain's lecture on the effects of alcohol, at which, to Pardoe's great astonishment, there was an unusually full attendance. Even men belonging to the watch ashore were present, some of them bringing friends from other ships with them.

The audience, suspicious at first, eventually became strangely enthusiastic, loud cheering, much stamping on the deck, and even shrieks and cat-calls completely drowning the lecturer's voice for moments at a time. The applause became more vociferous still when the man attending the magic lantern inadvertently placed his hand on its almost red-hot top, and interrupted the proceedings with a loud and very startled: "Ow! The bloomin' thing's burnt me!"

Anyone but the Commander might have detected something sarcastic and ironical in the excessive applause, but he, the possessor of a skin like unto that of an armadillo, was very pleased with the reception of his discourse.

"I told you I had an interesting subject," he said afterwards to the First Lieutenant. "The hearty applause was very gratifying, and it is wonderful how a little straight talk goes down with the men."

"I only hope my lecture will be an equal success, sir," answered Pardoe, rather at a loss what to say.

His subject was "Cities of Ancient Greece."

But at last came the time when the Puffin was ordered to sea, and at 8.30 on that fateful morning the gunboat, with her gallant commander standing on the poop in the attitude of Sir Francis Drake starting on his circumnavigation of the world, paddled gently down the crowded harbour and out through the Lye-mun pass. It was in this narrow passage that they had their altercation with a lumbering Chinese junk tacking slowly to and fro against the tide.

"Hard a-port!" ordered Falland, who was conning the ship.

"Hard a-starboard!" contradicted the Commander excitedly. "What are you thinking about, Mr. Falland?"

The Navigator's order would have taken the ship well clear, but the helmsman, perplexed by having two diametrically opposite commands hurled at his head simultaneously, and not knowing which to obey, did nothing.

There came a howl from the gunboat's forecastle and a frantic, blasphemous yelling from a party of Chinamen clustered on the junk's high poop.

"Full speed astern!" roared Potvin.

But it was too late, for a moment afterwards the Puffin's flying jib-boom slid neatly through the very centre of the matting sail on the junk's mizzen mast. More shrill cursing and strident execration from the junk, followed by a series of bumps and crashes as the two vessels collided, bow to stern. A large pig, suspended, according to the pleasant habit of the Chinese, in a wicker-work basket over the junk's quarter, also two similar baskets filled with fowls, became detached from their moorings and fell overboard. Then the junk's mizzen-mast began to bend ominously, and before long, amidst more shrieks and yells, it snapped off short and collapsed on the poop, knocking one elderly Chinaman and two children into the water as it fell. It was followed almost immediately afterwards by the Puffin's flying jib-boom.

The gunboat's engines were stopped and the two vessels drifted together side by side, while a party with axes set to work to clear away the wreckage.

"Why on earth don't you look where you're going?" the Commander bawled at the junkmaster.

"Yah me ping wi taow!" howled the Chinaman, which, being interpreted, means, "You tailless son of a devil," the greatest possible insult.

It was followed by more mutual abuse and recrimination, but the gentleman in the junk, since Commander Potvin could not understand a word he said, was popularly supposed to have got the best of the wordy encounter.

But the skipper was quite determined to have somebody's blood, and seeing he could make no impression on the junk, vented his spleen on the Navigator.

"Mr. Falland!" he exclaimed, his eyes flashing and his heart full of rage. "The collision was entirely your fault. I shall report the matter to the Admiral, and meanwhile you will remain in your cabin under arrest!"

"But, sir. I really——"

"I require no explanations, sir. You are guilty of gross neglect and carelessness!"

Falland left the poop.

The damage was not sufficiently serious to delay the ship, and, having chopped herself free, she proceeded on her journey, her Commander taking upon himself the duties of the deposed Navigator.

It was unfortunate that, in calculating the course to be steered, he applied 3 deg. deviation the wrong way. It was equally unfortunate that he miscalculated the set of the current, since it was these two things which, at 11.53 a.m. precisely, caused the gunboat to come into violent contact with a ledge of rocks with barely six feet of water over them at high water.

"Good heavens! What's that?" shouted the skipper, as there came a series of muffled, grinding crashes under water and the ship stopped dead.

"We've hit something, sir," said Pardoe, who was on the poop. They had, and for some hours remained stuck fast. In fact, the Puffin's bones would have been there to this day if she had not been steaming at her leisurely, economical speed of 7 1/2 knots, and it was only by sheer good luck, and with the assistance of salvage tugs and appliances from Hong-Kong, that she was ever got off at all. As it was she was merely badly damaged, and came back into harbour in tow of one tug, while a couple of others, with their pumps working at full speed and gushing forth streams of water, were lashed alongside her.

Falland was not court-martialled, but a week later Commander Potvin, after an interview with the Admiral and certain medical officers, found that the climate of Hong-Kong was too rigorous for his constitution, and embarked on board a P. and O. steamer for passage home to England en route for Yarmouth.

The gunboat's officers watched her until she was out of sight, and then repaired to the wardroom and indulged in cocktails.

"I'm sorry for him," said No. One, lifting his glass with a grin.

"Here's luck to him, and to us."

"Salve," nodded the doctor, swallowing his potion at a gulp.

The Royal Naval Hospital for mental cases is situated at Yarmouth.



[1] The commanding officer of a man-of-war, whatever his rank, is always "the captain." More familiarly he may be referred to "the owner," "skipper," or "old man."

THE END