himself found a soft chair and joined the committee of instruction.
Those next for duty, as well as those in training, wished to hear what
was going on, and who had shifted what to where, and how certain
arrangements had worked. They were told in language not to be found in
any printable book. Questions and answers were alike Hebrew to one
listener, but he gathered that every boat carried a second in
command--a strong, persevering youth, who seemed responsible for
everything that went wrong, from a motor cylinder to a torpedo. Then
somebody touched on the mercantile marine and its habits.

Said one philosopher: "They can't be expected to take any more risks
than they do. _I_ wouldn't, if I was a skipper. I'd loose off at any
blessed periscope I saw."

"That's all very fine. You wait till you've had a patriotic tramp
trying to strafe you at your own back-door," said another.

Some one told a tale of a man with a voice, notable even in a Service
where men are not trained to whisper. He was coming back,
empty-handed, dirty, tired, and best left alone. From the peace of the
German side he had entered our hectic home-waters, where the usual
tramp shelled, and by miraculous luck, crumpled his periscope. Another
man might have dived, but Boanerges kept on rising. Majestic and
wrathful he rose personally through his main hatch, and at 2000 yards
(have I said it was a still day?) addressed the tramp. Even at that
distance she gathered it was a Naval officer with a grievance, and by
the time he ran alongside she was in a state of coma, but managed to
stammer: "Well, sir, at least you'll admit that our shooting was
pretty good."