THERE are grey old Admirals in our land Who never have stood where now _you_ stand: Here on your feet, in His Majesty’s fleet, With a real live enemy close at hand! _Punch_: Sept. 1914. HASTILY we scrambled aboard, in the excitement of the moment nearly forgetting to salute the quarter-deck. Fortunately all recollected that ceremony in time with the exception only of one, who was promptly dropped on by the Commander—much to his confusion and dismay. In obedience to the order of the cadet captain in charge we “fell in” on the quarter-deck while the Commander went below to report to the Captain. As we were awaiting further instructions the first Lieutenant, who was also the Torpedo Lieutenant (commonly known in naval slang as “Torps”), came up and spoke to us. He told us he would probably have to look after us, and said he hoped we should like the life on board. We all thought he seemed to be a very nice officer—an opinion we found no occasion to change, and we were all sincerely sorry when, three months later, he had the misfortune to fall into the hands of the enemy. The Commander then reappeared and told us to go down to the Captain’s cabin. We ran down the gangway he had just come up, and our cadet captain knocked at the door of the after cabin. A voice said “Come in”—and Carey entered, leaving us standing outside. In a few seconds he returned and beckoned to us to follow him. We did so, and came to “attention” facing the Captain, who was seated at a knee-hole writing desk. He was a small man of middle-age, inclining to stoutness, clean shaven, slightly bald, with deep-set eyes, which appeared dark in the shadow of heavy overhanging eyebrows. He eyed us keenly until we were all assembled, and then, leaning forward towards us, he rapped sharply on his desk with a ruler, and said in a deep bass voice— “Young gentlemen, it is war-time, and you have been sent to sea as officers in His Majesty’s Navy!” He then continued, so far as I can remember, to express the hope that we might worthily uphold the traditions of a great service. Further he informed us that all our letters would be strictly censored; that our relatives and friends would only be able to write to us “Care of the General Post Office, London”; and that on no account must we write them one single word indicative of the whereabouts or work of the ship; for, under the Official Secrets Act, any infringement of this rule rendered us liable in the words of the Articles of War to “_Death_—or some such other punishment hereinafter mentioned!”