The boy chatted away brightly. This was his second journey, he was proud of being a veteran. He had been in the Jutland Battle, blown into the sea and picked up from a grating by a submarine, along with five survivors of a crew of eight hundred. The day drew on; noon passed; still they climbed northwards. They were in desolate regions now, with tiny hamlets set in the wild moors. There was a feeling of great space and the silence was broken only by the cry of a bird. They passed Dunrobbin Castle, standing high and lonely on its promontory overlooking the desolate sea. As prophesied, they reached Thurso at tea-time. A motor omnibus took them along the coast from Thurso to Scrabster, the point of embarkation. Here John parted from his young companion, who gave him the smartest little salute, bestowed on admirals and admiring young ladies only. John boarded a destroyer. Half an hour later, entering a gate made by two drifters which lowered a boom, he saw the Fleet. There it lay, enormous, like floating animals asleep on the water, glittering with the afternoon sun. Here was the strength of England. It was a sight to quicken the heart. From his place on the bridge, to which the skipper invited him, John surveyed this grey steel city of the brotherhood of the brave. The sea mist seemed to cloud his eyes. That night he met his fellow officers, walked over the ship, a new model of the Dreadnought class, installed himself in his cabin, saw his office with typewriter, clerk's desk, and telephone to the wireless room. He interviewed his marine orderly, a stocky little Cockney youth, shining all over like the breach of a gun. He slept soundly that night, awakened early by his orderly with a hip-bath, hot water can and carefully brushed clothes. At ten a cutter came to take him to the flag ship to present his much-examined credentials. A smart flag officer met him at the top of the companion way and conducted him below. The Commander-in-Chief would see him in a few minutes. John waited on the deck flat. Rear-admirals entered and emerged from the white-enamelled, brass-handled door on his right. There seemed to be a staff of flag officers in attendance, all young and alert, with their gold lace and showy aiglettes drooping from their shoulders. Half an hour passed, John growing more nervous every minute. Then the young flag officer called his name and ushered him into the presence.