The Navy-that-Flies added “Amen,” and said that it wouldn’t forget. It garbed itself in khaki, but retained the ring and curl on the sleeve, and the naval cap (with the eagle’s wings in place of the crown and anchor in the badge), plus a khaki cap-cover. Wherever its squadrons were based they rigged a flagstaff and flew the White Ensign at the peak. They erected wooden huts and painted them service grey, labelling them “Mess-deck,” “Wardroom,” “Gunroom,” etc., as the case might be. They divided the flights into port and starboard watches, and solemnly asked leave to “go ashore” for recreation. Those who strayed from the same stern paths of discipline suffered the same punishments as the Navy-that-Floats. And at the conclusion of each day’s work the wardroom dined, and drank to their King, sitting, according to the custom and tradition of the naval service. They filled in shell-holes and levelled the ground for aerodromes, they ran up hangars and excavated dug-outs--whither they retired in a strong, silent rush (the expression is theirs), when the apprehensive Boche attempted to curtail their activity with bombs. And by degrees the right machines came along. The Navy-that-Flies swung itself into them critically, flung them about in the air three miles high, testing and measuring their capabilities. Then they fought them, crashed them, improved on them till they were righter still, and finally proceeded (to quote another of their expressions) to “put the wind up Old Man Boche” in a way that helped the Navy-that-Floats enormously. But apart from spotting duties, which were necessarily intermittent, the R.N.A.S. undertook a photographic reconnaissance of the entire Belgian coast from Nieuport to the Dutch frontier. The work in progress at Ostend and Zeebrugge, the activities of submarines and destroyers inside the basins; locks, quays, and gun-emplacements, and the results of bombs dropped thereon the night before, were all faithfully recorded by these aerial cameras. The negatives were developed and printed, the resultant bird-pictures enlarged, studied through stereoscopic lenses, and finally given to the monitors “for information and guidance.” Since it is not given to everyone to recognise the entrance to a dug-out or a group of searchlights as they appear from a height of 20,000 feet, the photographs were embellished with explanatory notes for the benefit of anyone unaccustomed to such unfamiliar aspects of creation.