come from the Scotch skippers) that the ghosts of the women they
drowned pilot them to destruction. But what form these shadows
take--whether of "The Lusitania Ladies," or humbler stewardesses and
hospital nurses--and what lights or sounds the thing fancies it sees
or hears before it is blotted out, no man will ever know. The main
fact is that the work is being done. Whether it was necessary or
politic to re-awaken by violence every sporting instinct of a
sea-going people is a question which the enemy may have to consider
later on.

Dawn off the Foreland--the young flood making
Jumbled and short and steep--
Black in the hollows and bright where it's breaking--
Awkward water to sweep.
"Mines reported in the fairway,
"Warn all traffic and detain.
"'Sent up Unity, Claribel, Assyrian, Stormcock, and Golden Gain."

Noon off the Foreland--the first ebb making
Lumpy and strong in the bight.
Boom after boom, and the golf-hut shaking
And the jackdaws wild with fright!
"Mines located in the fairway,
"Boats now working up the chain,
"Sweepers--Unity, Claribel, Assyrian, Stormcock and Golden Gain."

Dusk off the Foreland--the last light going
And the traffic crowding through,
And five damned trawlers with their syreens blowing
Heading the whole review!