Though the minelayers were comfortable enough to live in when empty, it was quite different with mines on board. Then only a few of the men could swing their hammocks, the others having to lie on the decks. Crowding the mess tables together, horns and sharp corners ever ready to tear the clothes, mines were constantly at one’s elbow, and everywhere were mine tracks, half-knee high, or turntables, to trip the unwary or bark his shin. No smoking was allowed below decks, and the space above decks was very limited for crews so numerous. The men made no complaint—such men will not complain of discomfort which seems temporary and unavoidable, when incident to an undertaking that interests them—but since the discomfort could not be alleviated but, on the contrary, would increase with the frequency of excursions and with inclement weather, sufficient diversion was imperative to maintain the fine, cheerful spirit which had characterized the work so far. Let the report on squadron athletics, written at the end of September by Ensign Walter P. Hanson, U.S.N.R.F., editor of our _Athletic Bulletin_, tell what was done, in true sporting page style: The situation was new, practically unparalleled, and called for immediate action. With the exception of the _San Francisco_ and _Baltimore_, none of the ships had the traditional atmosphere of a man-of-war, so essential to the building up of _esprit de corps_. It was a new squadron, manned largely by new men, performing a new operation in strange waters. Something was needed to weld this war-sprouted organization into a solid, indissoluble unit, to build up ship spirit and a high squadron spirit, recalling old traditions and laying the foundation for new ones, to fire the men’s enthusiasm to a pitch that would insure the success of the gigantic operation in hand and spell defeat for the German submarine forces. There were other just as important reasons why an athletic organization was necessary. Minelaying in contested waters is not the easiest nor the least dangerous of duties. To eat, sleep and work in close proximity to tons of the deadliest explosive known, and then to cruise day and night in submarine infested waters with this same explosive for cargo—knowing that one well-aimed torpedo, a well-placed mine, or a few enemy shells, would wipe out an entire ship’s company, and possibly the whole squadron—is not exactly the sort of recreation a worn-out business man would seek as a cure for “nerves.” And blue-jackets, despite a common fallacy in America, are no more than human. Numerous mining excursions, with no intervening periods of recreation, were bound to tell on the men.