They did not want praise for what they had done. They are an independent lot--our sailors--proud of their branch of service. "No drafted men in the navy," they tell you with a straightening of their shoulders. And from the officers I learned of that deeper love--that worship of the sea--of the vessel placed in their hands to command. From them I heard for the first time of the value of a discipline iron-bound--rigid--a discipline that brooks no argument. There were stories of men who had hoped and dreamed all their lives of a certain cruise, only to find themselves transferred to the other end of the world. Did they utter a word of complaint? Not they! "Orders are orders"--that was enough for them! And because those of us who send our men to sea are burning to know the tales they have to tell, I have made this little collection--the men's own stories, told in the ward to other round-eyed youths who gathered about the bed to hear, full of eager questions, prompting when the story moved too slowly. What you read here are their stories--stories of whole-souled youths, with the sparkle of life in their eyes, with the love of adventure in their hearts. Jack Tar is an American clear through to his backbone! ELAINE STERNE. New York, May 15, 1918. [Illustration: Jack is his own "chambermaid."] JACK TAR We're not long on recitation, We're just rough and ready gobs, But we rate ten gadgets higher Than some smug civilian snobs. When we're out on well-earned shore leave Drummin' up a little cheer, Oh, we meet sleek city dandies Who object to sailors here. They are togged in pretty shirts Like a lady on parade, And they wouldn't touch a sailor With a hoe or with a spade. We may not be ornamental In the tinselled dancing halls, When the nation needs defenders We are there when duty calls. Though we can't hob-nob with laggards Who sleep in sheltered bed And we can't enjoy peace pleasures, We can join the hero dead. CHIEF GUNNER BLAKE SPEAKS: SUNK BY SUBMARINE SOMEWHERE along in January, 1915, I shipped on the U. S. S. _Utah_. Always had a hankering after the sea, and then, to tell the truth, civilian jobs were pretty hard to land in 1915--you bet they were! Once you're in the Navy you stay for a while. I liked it from the start. I got to know a thing or two about the guns, went to gunnery school; that's how I came to be made chief gunner's mate, I guess, and told to report for armed guard duty on May 29, 1917. I drew an old tub. I suppose it had been used to carry a cargo of salt fish from Maine to Newfoundland, and here it was, painted fresh, and ready to cross the old Atlantic, which was fairly bristling with mines and lurking sea-devils.