“To all you children now at land We men at sea indite; But first would have you understand How hard it is to write: The Muses now, and Neptune too, We must implore to write to you. For though the Muses should prove kind, And fill our empty brain, Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind To wave the azure main, Our paper, pen, and ink, and we, Roll up and down our ships at sea.” CHAPTER III BRITAIN, TO ARMS! This England never did, nor never shall Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror. Come the three corners of the world in arms And we shall shock them. Nought shall make us rue If England to herself do rest but true SHAKESPEARE. Men whisper that our arm is weak, Men say our blood is cold, And that our hearts no longer speak That clarion note of old; But let the spear and sword draw near The sleeping lion’s den, Our island shore shall start once more To life with armèd men. SIR WALTER SCOTT. Just before the war broke out, a friend of mine took her three grandchildren for a holiday to Wimereux, a French seaside place near Boulogne. They were quite little children, the youngest indeed being still a baby. On the day that my friend knew that war was certain she was naturally very anxious to get the children safely back to England. That night she sent them to bed early, and she herself did not sit up late. On her way to her room she looked in on the children to see if they wanted anything. To her surprise, only the baby was in bed. The two elder ones had drawn up the blind and were looking out of the window on the sea. “Oh, Granny!” they cried, “do come and look!” My friend went and stood beside them, and there, spread out before her in the moonlight, she saw a most wonderful sight, one that no Englishwoman could look upon without a thrill of pride. Beyond the fort built by Napoleon, beyond a rock on which stood a solitary French sentinel leaning on his rifle, the whole sea was covered with the British Fleet, ship after ship in regular lines—Dreadnoughts, cruisers, all with their attendant torpedo-boats, destroyers, and submarines. There they lay, with none of the bravery of flags flying and bands playing, as when the King reviews his Fleet, but cold and vigilant, all stripped for action. Not a man could be seen on board—only the long guns.