I find the writing of this second Chapter upon the Battle of the Giants a very difficult job. Twice I have tried and failed; this is the result of the third effort. My failures have been used to light the fires of my house. Even now I am deeply conscious of the inadequacy of my tentative reflections. Upon so many points one has not the data; upon so many others one is not allowed—no doubt properly—yet still not allowed to say what one knows. Though sometimes I write grave articles, many of my readers know that by instinct I am a story-teller, and to me narrative by dialogue comes more readily than a disquisition. Therefore, if you will permit me, I will cast the remaining portion of this chapter into the form of dialogue and make of it a discussion between two Admirals, a Captain, and myself. One of these Admirals I will call a Salt Horse, a man who has seen service during half a century but who has not specialised in a technical branch such as gunnery, or navigation, or torpedoes. A Salt Horse is an all-round sailor. The other Admiral I will call a Maker, and regard him as a highly competent technical officer in the design and construction of ships of war, of their guns, and of their armour. The Captain, a younger man, I will call a Gunner, one who has specialised in naval gunnery in all its branches, and one who knows the old methods and those which now are new and secret. These officers have not been drawn by me from among my own friends. They are not individuals but are types. Any attempts which may be made at identifying them will fail and justly fail—for they do not exist as individuals. Let this be clearly understood. They are creations of my own; I use them to give a sense of vividness to a narrative which tends to become tedious, and to bring out features in the Battle of Jutland which cannot without impertinence be presented directly by one, like myself, who is not himself a naval officer. Bennet Copplestone, an intrusive and persistent fellow, begins the conference by inquiring whether Beatty had, in the professional judgment of his brother officers, deserved Admiral Jellicoe’s praise of his “fine qualities of gallant leadership, firm determination, and correct strategic insight.” Was he as good as his public reputation? I knew, I said, a good deal too much of the making of newspaper reputations and had come to distrust them. “Beatty is a real good man,” declared the Maker. “He sticks his cap on one side and loves to be photographed looking like a Western American ‘tough.’ But under all this he conceals a fine naval head and the sturdiest of hearts. He is a first-class leader of men. I had my own private doubts of him until this Jutland Battle, but now I will take off my hat in his presence though he is my junior.” The Maker’s colleagues nodded approval.