more the uniform of a student than of a fighter. My first great
discovery on the ship was the thing I had prayed for--a school. I hid
myself behind a stanchion out of sight of the instructors and took my
bearings. Later, I found a place where I could sit within hearing
distance, but was discovered and forced to explain. The chief
instructor was interested in my explanation and in my story, and gave
me valuable advice as to how to proceed in my studies. Once again my
brogue militated against my advancement. Being the only Irishman in
the mess, I had to bear more than my share of its humour. I made
application to be employed as a waiter in the officers' wardroom, so
that I might improve my pronunciation and add to my vocabulary. I had
a little pad arranged on the inside of my jacket with a pencil
attached, and every new word I heard I jotted down; and every night I
gathered together these new friends, looked up their origin, meaning,
and pronunciation. I was appointed bodyservant to the paymaster of the
ship, a bucolic old Bourbon of the most pronounced aristocracy. This
excused me from military and naval duty, and I was privileged to wear
plain clothes. I attached myself to a small group of pietists called
Plymouth Brethren, orthodox theologians, literalists in interpretation
of the Scriptures and exceedingly straight-laced in their morality.
They were fine Bible students, indeed, Bible experts. This was a great
joy to me at first, but the atmosphere to a red-blooded, jubilant
nature like mine was rather stifling after a while. I was fond of a
good story and was full of Irish folklore and fairy stories, and I
noticed my brethren did not relish my outbursts of laughter. It was
explosive, spontaneous and hearty, but not contagious among them.
Their faces assumed a rather pained expression, a kind of notice of
emotion that a sense of humour and religious beliefs occupied
different compartments in the human mind. It was intimated to me that
such "frivolousness" was out of kelter with the profession of a