, reaches across one side. It is the
indicator which shows at a glance the ships at sea and those in harbour,
the names of those under repair, the unit to which each vessel belongs
and when she goes out or comes in for "stand-off."

This is the Intelligence Office, and signals and wireless messages from
the patrols and battle fleets are being almost continuously brought in
and carried out by messengers. The Commanding Officer (C.O.) of a
minesweeper is making inquiries about tides and the exact position on
the chart of a newly located mine-field. Another officer is locking a
black patent-leather dispatch-case--he is the King's Messenger or, more
correctly, the "Admiralty Dispatch Bearer," who carries to and from
London and the fleets all the secret correspondence and memoranda of the
Naval War Staff and other important departments. A big safe in the
corner of the cabin contains the secret codes and ciphers used when
transmitting messages, and two overworked officers are busy at near-by
desks translating signals to and from "plain English."

The next cabin contains the admiral's secretary and his staff of
writers. Here a flotilla commander is receiving his "sailing orders,"
without which no ship proceeds on a voyage. Adjoining this is the Pay
Office, in which, with the exception of a newly joined recruit
mortgaging his pay for two weeks ahead--he knows that he will be at sea
for that time--there is a decided air of quietude. The rush in this
abode of paymasters comes at the end of each month, when all the
officers arrive in a body to demand the meagre fruits of their labours.

Sandwiched between the clean and varnished cabin of the Base Commander,
who is "taking" defaulters, and the camp-bedded apartment of the O.O.W.
is a most interesting little combined cabin and store, presided over by
the Chaplain. Here are piles of woollen socks, cardigans, balaclavas,
mitts and other clothes knitted by the thoughtful women of the Empire
for their sailor sons. Here seamen are estimating the cold-resisting
qualities of different garments--for winter in the North Sea is the next
thing to Arctic exploration. Officers are popping in and out to borrow a
pile of books--thrice blessed were the senders of these donations. The
corner of the cabin is piled with fresh vegetables, but alas! the cry is
apples! No exhortations to righteousness adorn the walls, and the
chaplain is joking with a big stoker who is distractedly turning over
the car