hearing on matters of religious interest. I was rather diffident in
approaching them on this subject, since, from the viewpoint of the
pietists, I had fallen from grace. At the end of a month, a loathing
of this cheap reputation began to manifest itself. The man I had
beaten became one of my closest friends. I wrote his letters home to
his mother. A few weeks later, he entrusted me with a more sacred
mission--the writing of his love letters also.

Creedan was a Lancashire man, as angular in speech as in body, and
lacking utterly a sense of humour. As we became acquainted, I began to
suggest some improvements, not only in his manner of writing, but in
the matter also. I could not understand how a man could make love with
that kind of nature. One day I suggested the idea of rewriting the
entire epistle. The effect of it was a huge joke to Creedan. He
laughed at the change--laughed loud and heartily. The letter, of
course, was plastered all over with Irish blarney. It was such a huge
success that Creedan used to come to me and say:

[Illustration: Officers of H.M.S. _Alexandra_, Ashore at Cattaro]

"Hey, Sandy, shoot off one of them things to Mary, will ye?"

And the thing was done.

The summer cruise of 1883 was up the Adriatic. All the Greek islands
were visited. I knew the historical significance of the places, which
made that summer cruise a fairyland to me.

There were incidents in that summer cruise of more than ordinary
interest. One morning, while our ship was anchored in the harbour of