ry dock, all the
admiral's plans, all the parliamentary appropriations, all the striving on
board ship in man's competition with man, crew with crew, gun with
gun, and ship with ship. One had in mind some vast factory plant
where every unit was efficiently organized; but that comparison would
not do. None will. The Grand Fleet is the Grand Fleet. Ability gets its
reward, as in the competition of civil life. There is no linear promotion
indulgent to mediocrity and inferiority which are satisfied to keep step
and harassing to those whom nature and application meant to lead.
Armchairs and retirement for those whose inclinations run that way;
the captain's bridge for those who are fit to command. Officers'
records are the criterion when superiors come to making promotions.
But does not outside influence play a part? you ask. If professional
conscience is not enough to prevent this, another thing appears to
be: that the British nation lives or dies with its navy. Besides, the
British public has said to all and sundry outsiders: "Hands off the
navy!" All honour to the British public, much criticized and often most
displeased with its servants and itself, for keeping its eye on that
canvas square of cloth! The language on board was the same as on
our ships; the technical phraseology practically the same; we had
inherited British traditions. But a man from Kansas and a man from
Dorset live far apart. If they have a good deal in common they rarely
meet to learn that they have. Our seamen do meet British seamen
and share a fraternity which is more than that of the sea. Close one's
eyes to the difference in uniform, discount the difference in accent,
and one imagined that he might be with our North Atlantic fleet.

The same sort of shop talk and banter in the wardroom, which trims
and polishes human edges; the same fellowship of a world apart.
Securely ready the British fleet waits. Enough drill and not too much;
occasional visits between ships; books and newspapers and a
lighthearted relaxation of scattered conversation in the mess. One
wardroom had a thirty-five-second record for getting past all the
pitfalls in the popular "Silver Bullet" game, if I remember correctly.

XXXII
Hunting The Submarine

Seaplanes cut practice circles over the fleet and then flew away on
their errands, to be lost in the sky beyond the harbour entrance. With
their floats, they were like ducks when they came to rest on the water,
sturdy a