them the doggedness of British pluck. He had been through the entire
song and dance of the Mexican Revolution; a dozen times he had been
lined up against a wall to be shot. From Mexico he had escaped to New
York, hoping to be accepted by the British military authorities. Not
unnaturally he had been rejected. The purpose of his voyage to the Old
Country was to try his luck with the Navy. He held his certificate as
a highly qualified marine engineer. No one could persuade him that
he was not wanted. "I could last six months," he said, "it would be
something. Heaps of chaps don't last as long."

This man, a crock in every sense, hurrying back to help his country,
symbolised for every American aboard the unconquerable courage of
Great Britain. If you hadn't the full measure of years to give, give
what was left, even though it were but six months. I may add that
in England his services were accepted. His persistence refused to be
disregarded. When red-tape stopped his progress, he used back-stairs
strategy. No one could bar him from his chance of serving.

In believing that he represented the Empire at its best, my Americans
were not mistaken. There are thousands fighting to-day who share his
example. One is an ex-champion sculler of Oxford; even in those days
he was blind as a bat. His subsequent performance is consistent with
his record; we always knew that he had guts. At the start of the war,
he tried to enlist and was turned down on the score of eyesight. He
tried four times with no better result. The fifth time he presented
himself he was fool-proof; he had learnt the eyesight tests by heart.
He went out a year ago as a "one pip artist"--a second lieutenant.
Within ten months he had become a captain and was acting
lieutenant-colonel of his battalion, all the other officers having
been killed or wounded. At Cambrai he did such gallant work that he