The chaser I was assigned to was a brand-new one just off the ways and of the very latest type; she had a length of 110 feet, a beam a little under 15 feet and a draft of about 4 feet. She was built chiefly of wood but she had a pair of steel masts and a crow’s nest for the _lookout_ whose job it was to watch for U-boats. She was powered with a steam engine but instead of coal she burned oil under her boilers. Her large size made her very speedy and she could do 25 knots, if she had to, which was twice as fast as the fastest U-boat could do. The aerial was stretched between her masts and the leading-in wire was connected to it near the rear mast and followed it down to the deck where it passed through an insulator in the latter, and on into the operating room. This was about the smallest space I ever got into which was graced by the name of an operating room but I had no _kick_ coming as we were not afloat all the time. The sending set had a ½ kilowatt transformer and the receiving set was fitted with both crystal and vacuum detectors; the whole space taken up by them was probably not more than 5 cubic feet. Well, so much for the chaser. There were only 14 men in our crew and there was far less formality on board than on a battleship. Bill Adams and I got to be pretty good pals. The first time I met him he was trying out one of her Hotchkiss semi-automatic guns and I was watching him. “Where did you get that chunk of mud?” he queried as he pointed the gun at an imaginary U-boat. “Speaking to me?” I asked in turn. “You said it,” he replied bluntly. “If you refer to the sparkler on my annularis finger I have to inform you, sir, that it came from the land of the Raripunas about 1500 miles up the Amazon river,” I explained with great perspicacity. You see, I had had the diamonds cut that Princess Mabel gave me and the one I wore was a _regent_ weighing about 2 carats and it was mounted in a Tiffany setting. In fact it was altogether too big a diamond for any ordinary blue-jacket to come by honestly. “That’s where it came from, but I’m askin’ you, as man to man now, where did _you_ get it?” “Right where it came from,” I put it straight back to him. If it hadn’t been for my _game_ arm I guess Bill and I would have settled the mooted question as to where my _chunk of mud_ came from by referring it to the court of last resort, by which I mean the manly art of _hit-’em-again, gob_. “Put up your dukes,” commanded Bill at the same time striking an attitude of a gas-house slugger. Now to get my right hand up I had to lift it with my left and when Bill saw this he yelled, “time, you win!”