her. We saw her a fortnight later with a
patch on her port side. Oh, if Fritz only fought clean, this wouldn't
be half a bad show. But Fritz can't fight clean."

"And _we_ can't do what he does--even if we were allowed to," one
said.

"No, we can't. 'Tisn't done. We have to fish Fritz out of the water,
dry him, and give him cocktails, and send him to Donnington Hall."

"And what does Fritz do?" I asked.

"He sputters and clicks and bows. He has all the correct motions, you
know; but, of course, when he's your prisoner you can't tell him what
he really is."

"And do you suppose Fritz understands any of it?" I went on.

"No. Or he wouldn't have lusitaniaed. This war was his first chance of
making his name, and he chucked it all away for the sake of showin'
off as a foul Gottstrafer."

And they talked of that hour of the night when submarines come to the
top like mermaids to get and give information; of boats whose business
it is to fire as much and to splash about as aggressively as possible;
and of other boats who avoid any sort of display--dumb boats watching
and relieving watch, with their periscope just showing like a
crocodile's eye, at the back of islands and the mouths of channels
where something may some day move out in procession to its doom.

Be well assured that on our side
Our challenged oceans fight,
Though headlong wind and heaping tide
Make us their sport to-night.
Through force of weather, not of war,
In jeopardy we steer.
Then, welcome Fate's discourtesy
Whereby it shall appear
How in all time of our distress
As in our triumph too,
The game is more than the player of the game,
And the ship is more than the crew!

Be well assured, though wave and wind
Have mightier blows in store,
That we who keep the watch assigned
Must stand to it the more;
And as our streaming bows dismiss
Each billow's baulked career,
Sing, welcome Fate's discourtesy
Whereby it is made clear
How in all time of our distress
As in our triumph too,
The game is more than the player of the game,
And the ship is more than the crew!

Be well assured, though in our power
Is nothing left to give
But time and place to meet the hour
And leave to strive to live,
Till these dissolve our Order holds,
Our Service binds us here.
Then, welcome Fate's d