[Sidenote: Submarine folk are a people apart.]

Behind us lay, splendid and somewhat theatric, the mottled marble, stiff
white napery, and bright silver of a fashionable dining-hall. Only a few
guests were at hand. At our little table sat the captain of a submarine
who was then in London for a few days on richly merited leave, a
distinguished young officer of the "mother ship" accompanying our
underwater craft, and myself. It is impossible to be long with submarine
folk without realizing that they are a people apart, differing from the
rest of the naval personnel even as their vessels differ. A man must
have something individual to his character to volunteer for the service,
and every officer is a volunteer. An extraordinary power of quick
decision, a certain keen, resolute look, a certain carriage; submarine
folk are such men as all of us like to have by our side in any great
trial or crisis of our life.

Guests began to come by twos and threes--pretty girls in shimmering
dresses, young army officers with wound-stripes and clumsy limps. A
faint murmur of conversation rose, faint and continuous as the murmur of
a distant stream.

Because I requested him, the captain told me of the crossing of the
submarines. It was the epic of an heroic journey.

[Sidenote: How the submarines crossed the Atlantic.]

[Sidenote: The mother-ship and submarines leave.]

"After each boat had been examined in detail, we began to fill them with