“Specialised in torpedo work,” he said, in answer to a question. That is the way of the British navy: to learn one thing well before you go on with another. If in the course of it you learn how to command, larger responsibilities await you. If not--there’s retired pay. Inside a shield which sheltered them from the spray on the forward deck, significantly free of everything but that four-inch gun, its crew was stationed. The commander had only to lean over and speak through a tube and give a range, and the music began. That tube bifurcated at the end to an ear-mask over a youngster’s head; a youngster who had real sailor’s smiling blue eyes, like the commander’s own. For hours he would sit waiting in the hope that game would be sighted. No fisherman could be more patient or more cheerful. “Before he came into the navy he was a chauffeur. He likes this,” said the commander. “In case of a submarine you do not want to lose any time; is that it?” “Yes,” he replied. “You never can tell when we might have a chance to put a shot into Fritz’s periscope or ram him--Fritz is our name for submarines.” Were all the commanders of destroyers up to his mark, one wondered. How many more had the British navy caught young and trained to such quickness of decision and in the art of imparting it to his men? Three hundred revolutions! The destroyer changed speed. Five hundred! She changed speed again. Out of the mist in the distance flashed a white ribbon knot that seemed to be tied to a destroyer’s bow and behind it another destroyer, and still others, lean, catlike, but running as if legless, with greased bodies sliding over the sea. We snapped out some message to them and they answered as passing birds on the wing before they swept out of sight behind a headland with uncanny ease of speed. How many destroyers had England running to and fro in the North Sea, keen for the chase and too quick at dodging and too fast to be in any danger of the under-water dagger thrust of the assassins whom they sought. We know the figures in the naval lists, but there cannot be too many. They are the eyes of the navy; they gather information and carry a sting in their torpedo tubes. It was chilly there on the bridge, with the prospect too entrancing not to remain even if one froze. But here stepped in naval preparedness with thick, short coats of llama wool. “Served out to all the men last winter, when we were in the thick of it patrolling,” the commander explained. “You’ll not get cold in that!” “And yourself?” was suggested to the commander. “Oh, it is not cold enough for that in September! We’re hardened to it. You come from the land and feel the change of air; we are at sea all the time,” he replied. He was without even an overcoat; and the ease with which he held his footing made land lubbers feel their awkwardness.