e minesweeping and patrol flotillas, which were
mainly responsible for the crushing defeat of this piratical campaign,
were, however, very heavy. They amounted to over 200 ships and several
thousand men. Few will therefore deny to those who lived and to those
who died a share in the glory of the great victory.

Statistics make but uninteresting reading, and from the following
account of what happened off a big Scottish seaport while the
inhabitants ashore slept in peace and safety a better idea will be
obtained of the arduous nature of the work of minesweeping and patrol in
time of war than could possibly be imparted by pages of figures.

* * * * *

The early dusk of a winter evening was settling over a white land and a
leaden sea. A mist of sliding snow increased the gloom and blotted out
the vessels ahead and astern as the line of patrol boats left the
comparative warmth and security of one of the largest northern harbours
for twelve hours in the bitter frost on night patrol.

The cold was intense and of that penetrating nature which causes men to
shiver even in the thickest of clothing. Although some eighteen degrees
of frost had flattened the sea, a freezing spray still blew in showers
over the narrow deck and, for just a few minutes, the lead-grey sky
gleamed dully red as the sun dipped below the snow-covered land.

The crew of the M.L. moved about the cramped deck stiffly, for they were
clad in duffel suits, oilskins and sea-boots, and little but their eyes
and hands were visible. The officer on the small canvas-screened bridge
was likewise an almost unrecognisable bundle of yellow and white wool
and black leather. As a contrast, however, to the whitening deck and
snow-clad men, the reflection of a warm yellow light came up through the
wardroom hatchway, and more than one longing glance was cast down into
the snug interior.

These men were not all hardened by long and severe sea training; many of
them formed part of the new navy, gaining experience amid the bitter
cold and dangers of the grey North Sea. A call for the signalman came
from the bridge, and a boy, who had been swinging his arms to warm his
numbed fingers, responded smartly. The lieutenant-in-command wiped the
snow from his eyes as he peered round the canvas side-screen and asked
tersely what the next ship ahead was trying to signal.

The boy seized his semaphore flags and went out on to the spray-swept
fore-deck,