is alleged to have
been her policy in the past, namely, pulling the strings and
reaping the benefit while other nations do the fighting. Through
personal investigation I find these contentions so thoroughly
refuted that to develop the point would be to commence another book
instead of finishing this one.

As I write I can look from my desk in the Alexandra Hotel,
Bridlington, on to the North Sea where it washes the "Frightfulness
Coast," for Bridlington lies between Hull and Scarborough.

I see trawlers fishing and mine-sweeping whenever I raise my eyes
from my writing. Their crews know that they work in the shadow of
death in what they describe in the dock-side taverns as the
greatest sport in the world. Praise of the big ships often causes
us to forget the little ships. I admire the one and reverence the
other. For if the men on the humbler craft could be intimidated,
the doctrine of Frightfulness would be justified by victory.

Intimidation is a favourite weapon of the people across the Rhine.
I was among them when their airmen dropped bombs on Paris early in
the war. "It is really humane," they said, "for it will frighten
the civilian population into imploring the military to yield to us
to save them." They thought the same of Zeppelin raids over
England. Intimidation was their guiding star in Belgium. The
first I heard of the massacre of Louvain was from one of its
perpetrators.

Intimidation was again their weapon in the case of Captain Fryatt.
"We planned it well," snarled a member of the Reichstag, incensed
over my expression of disapproval, "Before we sent our ships to
intercept the _Brussels_ we determined to capture him, try him
quickly and execute him. Since our submarines will win the war we
must protect them by all passible means. You see, when the next
British captain thinks of ramming one of our submarines he will
remember the fate of Captain Fryatt and think twice!"

Once more Germany is attempting intimidation, and seeking to make
neutrals her ally in an attempt to starve Britain into defeat. The
American Ambassador is leaving Berlin, hundreds of neutral vessels
hug havens of safety all over the world, but the women in Grimsby
and Hull still wave farewell to the little trawlers that slip down
the Humber to grapple with death. Freighters, mine-sweepers,
trawlers, and the rest of the unsung tollers of the sea continue
their silent, all-important task. They know that for them Germany