14 
Land & Water 
February 14, 191 8 
At Sea : By Etienne 
TIME : 11.50 p.m.— Bang-bang on the cabin door, 
the heaN'y tread of a marine sentry, a crash as 
he trips over the chair, and then a flood of light 
bathes the tinv cabin. 
Lieutenant John Smith, owing to long practice 
b by this time thoroughly awake, but he closes his eyes and 
tries to beUeve it is all a dream and that it is only his imagina- 
tion which is saying : ,. 
" Ten minutes to eight beUs, and Mr. 'lU s comp iments 
Sir, and it— it's— rainin' and blowin' very 'ard— oil-skm and 
sea boot weather, if I might 'azard a remark, Sir ! 
This effort of chattiness on the part of the marine sentry 
rasps on Lieutenant Smith's sensitive nature. ^ 
Sitting up abrugay he remarks, " For Heaven s sake get 
out of my cabin ! " ,. j^ , ^ « c -n. 
The sentry withdraws and tells his own relief that bmithy 
•asthe'eUof afat 'ead." . , . 
He also privately registers the resolve to mistake a quarter 
to twelve for ten minutes to the hour, when next he caUs 
Lieutenant Smith. . x- i 
But let us return to this gentleman and observe attentively 
his movements and listen to his conversation. 
Having carefully examined his wrist watch he sprmgs 
ponderously out of his bunk. The ship is pitching heavily, 
and it is with some bitterness that he notices a photograph 
of a girl- much esteemed— has fallen from its frame into his 
wash basin. r r>. , j 
He quickly dresses, putting on several layers of Shetland 
waistcoats, a special inflatable waistcoat, and finally sea 
boots, an oil-skin, a pair of reputed waterproof gloves and 
a sou'-wcster hat. 
He flings a pair of binoculars round his neck, and with a 
lingering look at his warm bunk, from which (O shame !) 
a hot-water bottle leers at him, he staggers on deck. 
His progress to the bridge is lengthy and somewhat painful. 
Funnel guys and other wires strike him smartly across the 
face at regular intervals ; a bluejacket hastening below for 
four hours' sleep rams him, then disappears in haste. Even- 
tually Smith reaches Monkey Island,* where he and Mr. 
Hill enter into a short conversation lasting a couple of minutes. 
Mr. Smith's contributions to this consist of a series of 
grunts, but it apparently satisfies his opposite number, for 
with a parting remark that the " sea-cows " are five miles 
on the port beam, Mr. Hill retires to his bunk. 
Let me explain, en parenthise, that the " sea-cows " 
are an extremely respectable squadron of cruisers, once 
attached to the Grand Fleet. 
Amongst other yams, passed from ship to ship, concerning 
the squadron, runs one to the effect that the " sea-cows " 
were late at a rendezvous. On enquiries being made by 
wireless, a reply was received as follows : 
"We are zigzagging 90 degrees in each direction every quarter 
of an hour, in order to cope with the submarine menace." 
But we have lost sight of our proteg^. Smith soon finds 
that it is in very truth oil-skin weather. About every ten 
seconds tlie cruiser buries her forecastle deep into • creamy 
foam, then, without effort, she lifts, and her " flared bow " 
flings many tons of North Sea back along the upper deck. 
Much of this is caught by the gale and, rising in a curved 
sheet, is hurled against the bridge. 
Smith and his companion (for another unfortunate is also 
keeping a weary vigil) manage to dodge most of these by 
ducking behind a canvas screen at the critical moment, but 
every now and then they miscalculate and receive the penalty 
in the shape of stinging, blinding spray. 
An indeterminate distance ahead, a feeble blue light glim- 
mers in the gloom ; Smith watches it carefully — he must 
keep four hundred yards from that light, which marks the 
plunging stem of the next ahead. Whenever he can he 
sweeps the h9rizon and imagines dark spots, though common 
sense tells him that there is little chance of the Hun destroyer 
being out on such a night. 
In such a manner, the minutes pass, and slowly (oh ! so 
slowly sometimes) they become hours. ' 
As 2 a.m. rings out on the ship's bell, a dripping figure 
appears at his side, holding in one hand a pulpy mass of 
signal sheets. 
" One or two signals come through. Sir ; shall I read 'em ? " 
" Carry on," says Smith. 
The dripping one produces a shaded torch, switches it on 
and intones various signals. 
" One more, Sir," " Fleet will alter course at 2.15 to North." 
" Thank heaven for that," comes from the other corner. 
" We shall have this sea behind us." 
" 'Ear ! 'Ear ! to your sentunents, John, they does yer 
credit," adds Smith. 
At 2.15 a.m. course is altered satisfactorily, though not 
before Mr. Smith has gone tlirough an unpleasant five minutes, 
during which he first lost his guiding stern light, then having 
increased to twenty knots in a flutter of excitement he suddenly 
noticed a black shape on his beam. However, with no lights 
showing such things often happen and he drops into station 
without anyone being the wiser. 
The rain has kindly stopped and on the new course the 
bridge is comparatively dry. 
Thoughts of cocoa obtmde themselves. 
" Messenger ! " 
" Sir ! " 
" Go down to my cabin and in my basin you will find a 
cup, saucer, and spoon, a coffee cup fuU of milk, another on. 
full of brown sugar, a tin of cocoa, and an electric kettle. 
Bring it all up— got it ? " 
" Yessir ! " 
In the fulness of time, the small boy aged about fifteen 
reappears with the necessary impedimenta for cocoa. The 
kettle is plugged up, and the brew mixed. 
Soon both officers are enjoying the cup that cheers, but 
does not inebriate. Under cover of a screen, pipes are lit, 
and Mr. Smith, revived by the cocoa and soothed by the pipe, 
known as the " gum-bucket " to his pals, becomes quite 
.affable. 
" You know," he remarks, " that drop of leave we gathered 
in the other day seems like a dream, a vision punctuated 
with lovelv ladies. . ." 
" Yes," "interposes the other, " it is like a dream until you 
look at your cheque book ; I had not observed mine closely 
until I got a screed from my bankers requesting me to do so. 
The shock was terrific." 
" Ah yes, Jacko ! but what a devil of a good time one had 
in those four days ! By the way, did you get engaged ? " 
" No, thank heaven, but L had a dashed narrow escape. 
It was on the river, and in the dusk, about the time you darken 
ships, savee ? and 'pon my word I was just losing my head, 
when our punt was rammed amidships by a tinker in a skiff, 
one of the ' grabbles,' * taking his young lady out for a row 
— of course that brought me to : I sweated with fear when I 
thought about it." 
Mr. Smith murmured sympathetic condolences, then, apro- 
pos of nothing in particular, he remarked : 
" It's marvellous how noble, how sympathetic some girls 
are ! Now last leave I met " 
He was rudely interrupted. 
" Look here, old chap, it's quarter to four. What about 
the reliefs ? " 
" Good lor ! So it is. Here, Hi ! messenger, nip down and 
tell the sentry to call Mr. Blanche and Mr. BurreU. Tell 
'em it's a fine night, and see they turn out. . . . Signalman, 
bring the books, and send a hand down to report 3.50 to the 
navigator ! . . . Bosun's mate, send a hand up here to take 
the crockery down ! " 
At four a.m. a sleepy figure arrives On the bridge, and takes 
over from Smith's companion. " Night, Smithy " says the 
latter, " I'U smooth your sheets for you as I pass your 
house." t 
" See if that slug Blanche has turned out would be more 
to the point," is Mr. Smith's reply. 
4.2 a.m.^ — " If there is one thing I abominate, it's being 
relieved late," remarks Mr. Smith. 
4.4 a.m. — " I say, BurreU, did you see if Blanche was turned 
out ? " 
" No, my eyes were/iot unstuck then," replies BurreU. 
4.6 a.m. — " Blast his sluggish liver ! Here, messenger ! " 
" Yessir." 
" Take my compliments — compliments, do you savee, to 
Mr. Blanche and teU him — Oh ! here he is — wash out." 
" Sorry, old sport," remarks the new arrival with forced 
joviality. " I'm a wee bit adrift." 
" Not at all, I like it," says Smith with heavy sarcasm. 
" Well, here you are. Course North, etc." 
4.15 a.m. — " Sentry ! " 
;; Sir ! " / 
" CaU me at eight o'clock, a good shake." 
" Very good, Sir." 
4.20 a.m. — Heavy breathing. 
* Monkey Island is the name given to the fore upper bridge. 
Grabbies — Soldiers. 
t House — -Cabin. 
