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well-bred English lads in helpful friendships, to provide good ports of call for their cruisers by land, to continue to them the fashioning influence of refinement. It concerns larks ashore, and the things of good report-justice, honor, decency. That the work has accomplished its object is proved by the remarkable place Mr. Wood has in the wide-spread affections of these youngsters gained on first acquaintance with a desperately homesick apprentice, and continued through the passing years until now those of the early years are captains of the seven seas, doing their bit for England, wherever Admiralty orders take them. Their letters forever come to him in precisely the way that letters go home.

"What have they been doing?" I asked Mr. Wood.

"Why, junior mercantile officers are holy terrors as commanders of minesweepers," he replied; "and scientific seconds and thirds of Atlantic liners are gunnery officers and navigators on battle - cruisers and patrol-boats in the North Sea; and the mischievous apprentices of peace times are everywhere, in prison camps, in Mesopotamia, and in the submarine service. Here's a bundle of letters that will give you an idea much better than I can tell you.'

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The letters proved interesting reading for me. Coming from hundreds of both apprentices and captains, and covering many phases of war duties dating from 1915 up to the present time; they are remarkable for the ever-present way of viewing their desperate adventures and exploits as just a big sporting chance to be carried out according to the rules of the game. One of them relates the tale of a young apprentice who left his ship to serve with the Royal Flying Corps in France. It is an excellent example of their attitude. It seems the young aviator left his station at the front to fly to his home in England on forty-eight hours' leave of absence. On the return trip to France, half way across the Channel, he sighted two German aircraft and at once made for them, and after splendid maneuvering on his part he finally put both his opponents out of commission, causing them to fall into the sea. He continued on his way, unharmed, and

reported on time at headquarters. As far as the young aviator was concerned, the incident was closed, for the regulations do not require a report of personal conduct on leave of absence. He was fighting for England, not for himself. He simply returned to his air-patrol duties over the trenches. It seems, however, a patrol-boat in the Channel had witnessed the fight and picked up one of the Germans and reported the affair by wireless, so that word eventually reached the commander of his unit. On being questioned by the commander, he replied, "Oh yes, I thought I had time to take a pot shot at them and get back here before my leave was up.

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Another letter presents their attitude in the face of disaster. Drenched to the skin, drifting about on a wild sea in a tossing life-boat, after his ship was torpedoed, the undismayed apprentice enlivened the drooping spirits of his companions to such an extent that he turned a crew of typical castaways into a crowd of cheerful Britons by striking up the ditty, "All dressed up and nowhere to go.

"Are we down-hearted?" hailed one boat to the other.

"Not a bit of it," came the answer. "Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag."

There comes a time in every voyage of many captains, in these war times, when chance flings him into a position of tremendous peril. That adventure comes without a moment's warning; the enemy's challenge is suddenly given, and upon quick action depends the fate of an enormously valuable and desperately needed cargo. It comes from an enemy armed to the teeth for his deadly mission, while the cargo-carrier on Admiralty Service has at best but a makeshift means of defense. In that moment, being out of range of any assistance from the King's armed forces, with shells spouting about the ship or a torpedo shooting unseen through the water, when confidential and secret instructions of the Admiralty are as useless as the provisions of the Hague Convention, the captain pits his cunning against the enemy; and that fight, to many captains, means disaster, for many are overcome. Daring seamanship and

quick action postponed it for the young captain of the Kenilworth, but eventually he was caught unawares in a French port. It was a discouraging experience, coming after several desperately perilous voyages, carried out with distinguished success. In a letter from La Pallice, France, under date of February 14, 1917, he writes:

We loaded a cargo of ammunition; the ship was a veritable floating magazine when we left home. The cargo was valued at more than two million pounds. They gave me a gun and we set off for Russia, everything going merrily until one morning, when we were nearing our destination, a sub opened fire on us most unexpectedly. I brought the ship's stern to, zigzagged, and fought him for six hours. His range was ten thousand yards and ours about eight thousand. We could not reach him, and our one chance was to keep him off so he could not see how his shots were landing. We had a deck-load of high explosives, so one hit would have ended us in one nice big bang. Some of the crew got a bit panicky and rushed for the boats; another batch coming for the oridge cursed me out for not abandoning the ship at once. It was pretty hot for a time; a couple of shells passed between the bridge and the funnel while this was going on. At the point of the revolver I finally drove them away from the boats. What with explosives on deck, the submarine banging away, keeping the mutineers in hand and holding the ship on a zigzag course, I had my hands full for a long six hours. It was my first experience in command under fire, and I did not particularly like it, for one mistake on my part ends the game. But I managed to keep the submarine off and won out. Anyway, at Archangel they thought it pretty good work, and I have been recommended to both the British and Russian Governments for decorations, which I understand I shall receive in due course.

Now comes the return voyage, during which no mention is made of submarines, but this is likely due to the fact that the captain followed the edge of the floe ice. Captains never mention facts like that, nor do submarines that put their periscopes out of commission attempting to emerge under a cake of ice. At any rate, his letter continues:

While at Lerwick, Shetland Islands, on the way home, a very heavy gale came on in the night and one of our anchors broke and the ship dragged down on the rocks. We got her under way just before she struck, and,

although I completely lost my bearings while drifting, I took her up through the crowded narrow harbor filled with ships. Some were war-ships and the rest were merchantmen laden with valuable cargo of munitions. All of them lay without lights, and the waters of the harbor were being whipped to frenzy in the blackness by a viciously driving sleety rain. A good night to be safe at anchor, but not the sort of night to be adrift. I took the wheel myself and although you could not see the bow from the bridge, we slid by within a few inches of all of them. I did not even kiss one of the thirty or more ships, and finally felt my way into a safe berth at the top of the harbor. It was quite a job in the teeth of the gale.

The fact that a big five-or-six-thousand-ton tramp was wandering around in the darkness and gale, in absolute disregard of His Majesty's port regulations in time of war, created quite a stir on board the fleet of closely anchored men-of-war. There was no chance to give any explanation, and the harbor was a strange one. Both circumstances were equally awkward to the captain.

I was promptly hauled up, next morning, before a court of inquiry, on board the Flagship, seeking information of the occurrence [writes the captain], and much to my relief I was commended for my skill and seamanship in having saved not only my own ship, but also for having done no damages to any of His Majesty's ships in the harbor. They said it was the most remarkable feat ever done in Lerwick. I was recommended in dispatches to the Admiralty on account of that, too.

It is likely that some of H. M. S. cruisers had attempted the same trick on a pitch-dark night and learned something of the sense of feeling needed to successfully accomplish the feat.

Before we pick up the tale of the loss of the ship, here is a matter of good fortune attending a breakdown, that happened crossing from New York to an English port. Not long after passing some drifting life-boats-which were carefully avoided because hidden Uboats use them to attract unsuspecting ships-engine trouble of a serious nature developed requiring instant repairs, and the ship lay helpless, drifting all the while. Two other ships in the neighborhood fled at top speed, for the incident was suspicious and suggested that a

submarine was the cause. For two hours they spent an anxious time on the disabled steamer, both in the engine-room and on deck, where every one was on the alert for submarines. Eventually the engine was repaired and the ship proceeded on her way, and in less than an hour she picked up the astonished survivors of the two ships that passed on and fell victims to a submarine ten miles beyond. The ship reached port. However, there is an end to such luck. On a voyage from Salonika to a French port, the captain, left to his own devices, again dodged the enemy's submarines. That he was successful was due to the fact that he was continually on the bridge for eight days and nights and his gun crew equally alert. Obviously, he was quite ready to turn in when a French patrol escorted the ship to anchorage at the end of a long line of thirty or more ships.

I regret to say [writes the captain] that, to my great chagrin, two minutes after Í pulled my boots off, a torpedo struck the ship and she sank in ten minutes.

A cunning submarine had followed the steamer from the open sea and bagged her in the change of watch from the captain to the French patrol.

A glimpse into the adventures of a six-thousand-ton tramp, known as the Roman Prince in Lloyd's Register of Shipping, but now hidden under the official phraseology H. M. Transport E-86, discloses the desperate character of Admiralty Service in the Gallipoli campaign. Under heavy fire from the enemy, the E-86 steamed from the transport base to the landing-place on that scraggly, sun-parched wilderness, where the Anzacs had desperate need of heavy the Anzacs had desperate need of heavy artillery to hold their own against the well-supplied Turks. An officer, schooled in unloading freight into lighters on the South American coast, writes to Mr. Wood:

Six months ago we came up with troops, and because of a big boom were given the job of running heavy guns up to the Peninsula. Transports are unable to go up there, because of the submarines, and the nasty habit that the Turks have of shelling ships. We take the guns from the transports and run them up. While it is day and night work,

it is full of fun, for it is a case of never knowing when you will be bagged. We have been in the game five months solid, and “your humble" can claim to have landed all the wonderfully lucky, though a few days ago heavy guns up there. So far we have been we had a nasty smashup amidship. The Turks had our range nicely and plunked two or three in, making a rotten mess, before we could get out of range. Anzac is the rummiest place we go. The Turks' trenches are right close to the shore, and they amuse themselves trying to pick off men on the ships. They have been pretty smart at it, and bagged a lot on the destroyers that run the men over; but we were all very lucky, though they have been very thick over this deck, and have an unpleasant way of flipflapping past your ear. I don't mind that, for you don't hear them till past, but those bloomin' shells are absolutely rotten. You can hear them coming, but you can't make sure if the rotten thing will drop near you, or near the man a bit away. Our captain was presented to Admiral Wemyss. He was thanked, and asked to convey the Admiral's thanks to the officers of E-86 in recognition of the work they were doing-bow-wow! I've had to unbutton my weskit since then.

Thirty-knot destroyers carried the troops over; E-86 lumbered along at twelve knots, dropped anchor, unloaded heavy artillery to lighters, and lumbered back, kept continuously at it for five months. Once and awhile she was smashed up amidships, but any personal display of courage on the part of the crew is modestly condoned:

"It's full of fun," they say, "never knowing when you will get bagged!"

Here is an episode in the day's work of the mine-sweepers at the Dardanelles. Mine-fields of the enemy accounted, with deadly results, for three English battle-ships and one French battle-ship during the bombardment of the forts. In attempting to clear the narrows of

mines, and reduce the tremendous odds under which the allied fleet fought, the trawlers were compelled to steam into the very vortex of the unleashed passion of mine-fields, fourteen-inch guns, rapidfire guns, land torpedo - tubes, and search-lights. This account, of one night's attempt at clearing mines, appears on record in a letter from a Royal Naval Reserve officer of the merchant service assigned to duty on H. M. S. Majestic, under date of April 7, 1915.

I have volunteered for minesweeping and now am in command of a large minesweeper. The other night we steamed right up the narrows with six search-lights on us, and every gun, big and little, pumping stuff into us. We had to go entirely unprotected. It was not possible to cover us. We turned at the narrows and swept down through the mine-field with nothing but huge fountains of water all around us and bursting shrapnel, to say nothing of Maxim rifles. Both banks seemed to be nothing but sheets of flame. A naval officer was in each trawler. None of us ever expected to get back; there were a lot of casualties, but not one of the trawlers was sunk. We were all hit, not personally, but the trawlers were full of holes, most of the shells passed right through without bursting. One went clean through my wheelhouse, between the helmsman and myself. All we felt was a rush of wind. The shooting was very bad. I think they were afraid the fleet was behind us, and got a bit panicky. Of the original lot of trawlers sent out here, only three of us are left.

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Notice it was the enemy, safely tucked away in the darkness on shore, out of reach of the fleet's guns, that became "panicky," not the crew on the hundredton Yarmouth trawlers, blinded in the glare of search-lights, and annoyed by shells that went clean through the hull. Here the record stops; doubtless the trawlers swept the mine-field as per instructions. At any rate, the writer continues:

The application has gone in, signed by my captain, for my other stripe-so I'm fairly lucky.

While the mine-sweepers were patched the fleet took advantage of their successful work and bombarded the fortifications. Then there was the desperately perilous work of landing parties to complete the destruction of fortifications silenced by the fleet. The "fairly lucky" one continues:

A day or two later a party of two hundred of us landed and suddenly found ourselves up against a concealed regiment. Our job was to demolish a fort that had been shelled, resulting in thirty-six guns blown up and completely silencing it. For twelve hours we did nothing but fire with our rifles and revolvers. It is rotten seeing men shot down all around one-a chap had his head blown off close to me by a piece of shell. The fleet covered us well by firing over our heads.

We killed a German general and six hundred Turks and brought off one lone prisoner.

The moment that every seaman anxiously awaits, doggedly enduring any service, however perilous, that will help to insure the issue, may come with the next tick of the clock. Three times the thrill has gone the rounds of every Admiralty ship in the North Sea waters. Twice that thrill has carried beyond the water of the North Sea into the uttermost parts of the globe. No matter how aggravating the results may be to the fleet at Wilhelmshaven, they failed to satisfy the crews on any of the more than four thousand ships, ranging from the patrol to Beatty's flagship, engaged on business of the Admiralty. The enviable position, in the sight of every man in that vast fleet, is on board the vessel in the thick of it. Some of the men of the merchant service have been in the fighting at Jutland, and again when the Blücher was sunk during the raid of the enemy's battle-cruisers in the North Sea. Members of the Royal Naval Reserve, trained in naval warfare, they left their ships of the Royal Mail, the P. & O. and Atlantic lines and were immediately assigned to the active fleet for service during the war. Here is a letter written after the sinking of the Blücher:

H. M. S. Tiger, February 11, 1915.

Yes, we were all mighty pleased to get a slap at the Sausages, as you call them, particularly as they were coming across to try another raid on our coast towns. We picked They at once turned about and made off. them up about daylight, on the Sunday.

However, we had their heels and began to overhaul them slowly. We opened fire and began to hit them very quickly, although ten miles off. The weather was very clear, so they had not the same good luck as they had when we last chased them. I was on the disengaged side and filled in my time watching the shells explode alongside, and maybe a twelve-inch shell doesn't send up a column of spray. It was a wonderful sight to watch them drop around and alongside the Lion, which was the leading ship. We had a fair number ourselves, but the Lion got it hot, till finally a lucky shot potted her in the water-tight_compartment and she had to drop out. Then we got to it. Shortly after this one of their Zeps came out to assist, but she only looked on from afar and was kept off by our light cruisers. I wish she

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