"Eh, Harry--come and look you!" someone called to me. It was early in
the morning, and there was a mist about us.

I went to the rail and looked in the direction I was told. And there,
rising suddenly out of the mist, shattering it, I saw great, gray
ships--warships--British battleships and cruisers. There they were,
some of the great ships that are the steel wall around Britain that
holds her safe. My heart leaped with joy and pride at the sight of
them, those great, gray guardians of the British shores, bulwarks of
steel that fend all foemen from the rugged coast and the fair land
that lies behind it.

Now we were safe, ourselves! Who would not trust the British navy,
after the great deeds it has done in this war? For there, mind you,
is the one force that has never failed. The British navy has done
what it set out to do. It has kept command of the seas. The
submarines? The tin fish? They do not command the sea! Have they kept
Canada's men, and America's, from reaching France?

When we landed my first inquiry was for my son John. He was well, and
he was still in England, in training at Bedford with his regiment,
the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders. But it was as we had feared.
Our Christmas must be kept apart. And so the day before Christmas
found us back in our wee hoose on the Clyde, at Dunoon. But we
thought of little else but the laddie who was making ready to fight
for us, and of the day, that was coming soon, when we should see him.