HOMEWARD 241 



pulse comes from below as her engines push her ahead through 

 the long low swell; other sounds come racing back, the gentle 

 flap flap of the bridge awning in the breeze, the shrill of the 

 boatswain's call and the song of a sun- tanned seaman at work on 

 deck. And smells, too, are there — freshly applied paint, tarred 

 hemp and the tang of navy rum which pervades the little ship 

 at noon. The cook is in his gleaming galley, serving out the 

 dirmers, his white chef's hat above a beaded brow; the quarter- 

 master, stripped to the waist, stands at the wheel; the navigator 

 is taking his midday sights upon the bridge ; while on either bow 

 flying-fish skim away from the oncoming vessel. 



For a time there was talk of a reprieve for the dear old ship ; 

 she might become a drill vessel for the Royal Naval Volunteer 

 Reserve. She was inspected with this end in view but she was 

 done; her hull had worn paper thin below, the upperworks were 

 rusting beyond repair, and rust too was thrusting its way through 

 the timbers of her deck. Twenty-two years is not a great age for 

 a ship, but she had lived hard. 



'Approval has now been given for H.M.S. Challenger to be 

 handed over to the British Iron & Steel Corporation for scrap', 

 ran Admiralty Acquaint Notice 4195", dated 7th December, 1 953 . 

 Blunt and materialistic was the epitaph written by those who had 

 never known her, but Challenger' s true epitaph is carried in the 

 titles of her many charts. 



