se we landed.
Then, if we get sunk, successive ships bearing our name will carry them,
you see ... yes, half a glass, please. But all you see here we won at
battle practice just before the war, boat-racing and so on....
Incidentally we hope to win the Squadron Regatta this year. That big one
over there was from the passengers of a burning ship we rescued.... If
we're sunk they may as well go down with us; at least, that's how we look
at it. It is only in keeping with our motto, after all."

He pushed across a silver menu-holder, bearing the ship's crest and motto
on a scroll beneath it. The guest picked it up and examined it. "What
we hold we hold," he read. "Yes, I see. It's not a bad interpretation."

Sir William looked round the table at the laughing, animated faces--many
of them little more than boys seen through the long perspective of his
own years.

The Chaplain was having "his leg hauled." The joke was obscure, and
concerned an episode of bygone days which appeared to be within the
intimate recollection of at least half the number seated round the table.

The other half were demanding enlightenment, and in the laughter and
friendly mischief on certain faces Sir William read an affectionate,
mysterious freemasonry apparently shared by all.

For a moment he leaned back, contemplating in imagination the scores of
great ships surrounding them on all sides, invisible in the night: in
each Wardroom there was doubtless a similar cheerful gathering beneath
the shaded electric lights. Musing thus, glancing from face to face, and
listening, half uncomprehending, to the laughing jargon, he glimpsed for
an instant the indefinable Spirit of the Fleet. Each of these
communities, separated by steel and darkness from the other, shared it.
It stretched back into a past of unforgotten memories, linking one and
all in a brotherhood that compassed the waters of the earth, and bore
their traditions with unfailing hands across the hazard of the future.

The meal drew to a close and the decanters went slowly round. Mouldy
Jakes, from his seat opposite the President, was attempting to catch Sir
William's eye. His nephew intercepted and interpreted the
gesticulations. "Mouldy's recommending the Madeira, Uncle Bill," said
his nephew; "he evidently feels that his reputation as wine caterer is at
stake after your comments on the sherry!"

Sir William laughed and filled his glass accordingly.

Obedient to a signal conv