come and go.

When at last a line of flags fluttered to the distant mast-head away on
the hill ashore, and the signal-boy read out, "M.L.'s to return to
harbour," there was a feeble cheer.

. . . . . . . .

On a calm, frosty morning some three weeks later the boats of the old
night guard, now doing their spell of day duty, discovered a long trail
of thick greenish-black oil on the surface leading seawards. It was
evident that a hostile submarine had rested during the previous night on
the sandy bottom in the shallow water close inshore and, rising to the
surface, had made off at daybreak. The trail was followed and
information was quickly received from an Iceland trawler, which had
passed the submarine on the surface some two hours previous. Ships were
concentrated by wireless, and although it did not fall to the lot of the
M.L.'s to give the _coup de grace_, they had the satisfaction of
returning to harbour with the knowledge that their honour had been
retrieved, and yet another German submarine would never again commit
outrage on the high seas.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE CASUALTY

THERE were duties performed by the new navy which bore no relationship
to anti-submarine fighting, or, in fact, to warfare at all, unless it
was to the ceaseless battle waged between all who go down to the sea in
ships and the elements they seek to master.

One such as this occurred at a little northern seaport in the late
winter of 1917, unimportant and scarcely worth relating except as an
illustration of the diverse services rendered by men of this great force
during the years of national peril.

* * * * *

The gale was at the height of its fury when the March day drew to a
close. The whole east coast of Scotland, from John o' Groats to the
mouth of the Tweed, was a study in black and white--the white of foam
and the black of rocks. All the minesweepers and smaller patrol ships
had been confined to their respective bases for several days, and in a
certain small harbour many of the officers and crews of the imprisoned
ships were spending their time ashore, in the warmth and cheery comfort
of hospitable firesides.

The boisterous day became a wild night. The wind howled and whistled
over the barren moors and through the streets of the small fishing
town. Houses trembled and chimneys rocked under the blasts. Although a
watch on the signal tower and els