It was tea-time, and the Mess had gathered round the Wardroom table; a signalman came down from the upper deck and pinned a signal on the baize-covered notice-board. "Hullo," said some one, "signal from the Flagship! What’s the news?" The Assistant Paymaster, who was sitting with his back to the notice-board, relinquished the jam-pot, and tilting up his chair, scrutinised the paper over his shoulder. "Flag-General: Let fires die out. Usual leave may be granted to Officers." The Major of Marines, who had finished his tea, rose from the table and tucked the novel he had been reading under his arm. "Thanks very much," he said, "now we’re all happy." He stared out through the rain-smeared scuttle at an angry grey sea and lowering sky. "I can see a faint blur on the horizon—would that be the delectable beach we’re invited to repair to?" "That’s it," said the First Lieutenant, stirring the leaves in his tea-pot with the spoon. He had just spent three-quarters of an hour on the forecastle, mooring ship in a cold, driving rain. "It’s not more than three miles away, and it’s only blowing about half a gale—there’s a cutter to go ashore in; time some of you young bloods were climbing into your ’civvy’[#] suits." [#] Lowerdeckese = Civilian. "So much for the joys of a big Fleet in the North Sea. I’d like to bring some of these fellows, who are always writing to the papers about it, for a little yachting trip," grumbled the Fleet Surgeon, who had just returned from two successively placid commissions in the West Indies. "Never anchor in sight of land—always blowing, always raining; never get ashore, and when you do, you wish you were on board again.... It’s the limit." "Well, thank Heaven for a fire and an arm-chair, anyway," said the Paymaster, and drifted towards the smoking-room, filling his pipe as he went. "Who’ll make a four at Bridge?" asked the Major. "Come on, Number One," and so the Mess dispersed, some to arm-chairs round the fire, others to the Bridge-table, others again to write letters in their cabins. About half an hour before dinner, as was his wont, the Captain came down from his cabin and joined the group round the smoking-room fire. The occupants of the arm-chairs made room and smiled greetings. "Hullo," said the Captain, "none of you ashore! Thought you all came into the Navy to see life!" The Commander laughed. "We’re beginning to forget there is such a thing as the beach." The Captain lit a cigarette. "Not a bad principle either—saves your plain-clothes from wearing out." He settled down in an arm-chair somebody had vacated. "Like an old Gunner of a small ship I was in once in the West Indies; he only went ashore three times during the commission—once at Trinidad, and once at Bermuda, and each time when he returned he had to be hoisted on board in a bowline." There was a general laugh. "What about the third time, sir?" asked the Engineer Commander.