Finally, there were the six First Class Stokers, young men not long in submarines who were very anxious to get on and very much afraid lest they should be returned to general service, which is the punishment dealt out to all those whose conduct in submarines does not justify their remaining in them. They had all been through the same early training, and most of them had joined submarines since the war. Like the rest of the crew they were good, steady workers, for the Submarine Service can always have its picked men, and those who are tried and found wanting are summarily ejected to return to the rigours of ‘big-ship’ routine. Occasionally an additional hand was carried in the shape of a wireless or W.T. Operator, but, as Raymond dabbled in wireless among other things, he was not a permanent member of the ship’s company, and spent most of his time in the depot. Captain Charteris took one keen glance along the line of motionless figures, and turned to Raymond and smiled. ‘All very smart, Raymond,’ he said in an undertone. ‘Yes, sir,’ replied the other, and Seagrave tingled with delight as the two disappeared down the engine-room hatch. Arrived below, the Post Captain made a quick and searching examination of the boat from end to end. His eagle-eye seemed to be all-embracing. A question to Raymond, an inquiry of the Chief E.R.A., and a request that the main-line pump should be started followed one another in the first two minutes. It seemed that he made a very cursory visit to the engine-room, but had anything been seriously wrong Raymond felt sure that Captain Charteris would have spotted it, and thanked Heaven and the Chief E.R.A. that nothing was amiss. Then for’ard through the length of the boat, the Captain nodding his head as he listened to Raymond’s explanations of some alterations he had recently made, and occasionally asking a question and always putting his finger on the weak spot as if by instinct. Presently they reached the tube-doors, and Raymond heaved a sigh of relief. So far everything had been satisfactory. The spare torpedoes were examined, and a door was opened exposing the long dark tunnel of the tube with its “fish” lying snugly within, and then the Captain turned to the firing-gear. ‘Where’s the cross connection on the firing line?’ he asked. ‘Done away with it, sir. It was all right if both torpedoes were fired together, but the firing-tank took 40 seconds to re-charge, and if only one “fish” were fired with the cross connection fitted it was impossible to fire a second unless we waited for that interval, because all the air was used on the first one and there was nothing left to fire the other with.’ The Captain nodded. ‘And now?’ he queried. ‘Each firing-tank fires the torpedo on its own side of the boat, sir.’ ‘Do you find it satisfactory?’ ‘Very, sir.’ Captain Charteris turned away. ‘That’s all, I think, Raymond,’ he said, and led the way up the fore-hatch.