Then having asked our names, and chosen the two seniors—Carey, the cadet captain, and Baker—to be signal midshipman and his own messenger respectively, he curtly dismissed us. The almost complete severance from all home ties which the above prohibition implied came as a rather unforeseen blow. We knew how anxiously our people would be awaiting news of our doings; and to be able to tell them practically nothing seemed a hard condition. We went away feeling very small and rather crestfallen, and I am afraid we thought our new Captain rather unnecessarily stern and severe, though it was not long before we recognised the absolute necessity for such restrictions. It must be remembered that at that time we were only raw inexperienced boys and most of us barely fifteen years old. Later on, when we had worked under Captain—— ‘s command—above all, when we came to know of the letters he, in spite of his many and onerous duties, had found time to write to our mothers—letters so kindly in their sympathy and understanding, so generous in their recognition of our efforts to do our duty—we appraised him at his true worth; and when he, together with so many of our ship’s company, gave up his life for England in that disaster in which our ship was lost, those of us who survived mourned the loss of a true friend, and carry in our hearts for all time the honoured memory of “a very gallant gentleman.” * * * * * When we once more found ourselves on deck, we were met by a petty officer, who escorted us down the ward-room hatch, and showed us the gun-room, which was then being stripped of all light woodwork which might catch fire or splinter in an action, and having the bulkheads shored up with heavy pieces of timber. We placed our overcoats in a corner, and then went up on deck for a look round. We were anchored in the centre of the Hamoaze, and the tide being at flood, our bow pointed down the harbour to Plymouth Sound. Various war-ships were dotted about, some, like us, in mid-channel, some alongside the wharfs. To port the town of Devonport could be seen through a mist of masts and ropes. To starboard wooded banks, clothed with the dense foliage of midsummer, rose steeply from the water. The hulls of several ancient battle-ships, dating from the time of Nelson, and some from even farther back, were moored close to the shore. Three old four-funnelled cruisers, painted black with yellow upper works in the fashion of war-ships towards the close of the Victorian Era, contrasted oddly with the sombre grey outline of the more modern ships preparing for action. At 7.30 we had dinner in the ward-room, as the gun-room was not yet ready for occupation, and at 9 o’clock we turned in. Next morning after breakfast the chief petty officer, who had shown us the gun-room the night before, took us round the ship, naming each flat and pointing out the various stores, etc.