Beyond the Lion's bow were more ships, and port and starboard and
aft were still more ships. The compass range filled the eye with the
stately precision of the many squadrons and divisions of leviathans.
One could see all the fleet. This seemed to be the scenic climax; but
it was not, as we were to learn later when we should see the fleet go
to sea. Then we were to behold the mountains on the march.

You glanced back at the deck and around the bridge with a sort of
relief. The infinite was making you dizzy. You wanted to be in touch
with the finite again. But it is the writer, not the practical, hardened
seaman, who is affected in this way. To the seaman, here was a
battle-cruiser with her sister battle-cruisers astern, and there around
her were Dreadnoughts of different types and pre-Dreadnoughts and
cruisers and all manner of other craft which could fight each in its
way, each representing so much speed and so much metal which
could be thrown a certain distance.

"Homogeneity!" Another favourite word, I remember, from our own
wardrooms. Here it was applied in the large. No experimental ships
there, no freak variations of type, but each successive type as a unit
of action. Homogeneous, yes--remorselessly homogeneous. The
British do not simply build some ships; they build a navy. And of
course the experts are not satisfied with it; if they were, the British
navy would be in a bad way. But a layman was; he was overwhelmed.

From this bridge of the Lion on the morning of the 24th of January,
1915, Vice-Admiral Sir David Beatty saw appear on the horizon a
sight inexpressibly welcome to any commander who has scoured the
seas in the hope that the enemy will come out in the open and give
battle. Once that German battle-cruiser squadron had slipped across
the North Sea and, under cover of the mist which has ever been the
friend of the pirate, bombarded the women and children of
Scarborough and the Hartle-pools with shells meant to be fired at
hardened adult males sheltered behind armour; and then, thanks to
the mist, they had slipped back to Heligoland with cheering news to
the women and children of Germany. This time when they came out
they encountered a British battle-cruiser squadron of superior speed
and power, and they had to fight as they ran for home.

Now, the place of an admiral is in his conning tower after he has
made his deployments and the firing has begun. He, too, is a part of
the machine; his position defin