I never did hear what the rest of those Albanian attractions were. At that juncture dusky figures emerging from the deeper gloom of the ladder heralded the appearance of the middle watch, and for those relieved, including myself, the world held just one thing--a long, narrow bunk, with a high side rail to prevent the occupant from rolling out. You go at your sleep on a destroyer as a dog dives at a bone, for you never know how long it may be before you get another chance. CHAPTER VIII PATROL The Senior Naval Officer (or the S.N.O., as they clip it down to) at X---- had prepared me for finding an interesting human exhibit in the sharp-nosed, stub-sterned little craft snuggled up to the breast of its mothership for a drink of petrol, or whatever other life-giving essence she lived and laboured on, but hardly for the highly diversified assortment that was to reveal itself to me during those memorable days we were to rub shoulders and soak up blown brine and grog together as they threaded the gusty sea lanes of her winter North Sea patrol. "I am sending you out on M.L.[D] ----," the S.N.O. had said as he gazed down with an affectionate smile at the object of his remarks, "for several reasons, but principally on account of the men that are in her. You'll find them a living, breathing object-lesson in the adaptability of the supposedly stodgy and inflexible Anglo-Saxon race. Her skipper, to use one of his own favourite expressions, is a live wire--always seems to be able to spark when there's trouble in the wind. He came from somewhere in Western Canada, I believe. Seems to have tried farming there for a spell, and I think he said something once about running his own agricultural tractor. At any rate, in some way or another, he has picked up more practical knowledge of petrol engines than many of our so-called experts. [Footnote D: Motor launch.] "The fact is," continued the S.N.O. as we turned back towards his office at the end of the quay, "the fact is that D----, though he never saw salt water before he crossed the Atlantic to do his bit in the War, and though he never has got and never will get, I'm afraid, his sea-legs, is in many respects the most useful M.L. Officer I have ever had to do with, and that's saying a good deal, let me assure you.