June 20, 191 8 
Land & Water 
19 
depends the safety of the ship and his professional reputation. 
In the North Sea where opportunities for sunsights are 
often infrequent much navigation must be done by dead 
reckoning. Three instruments are used for this, the compass, 
the log, and the lead, but the greatest of the three, and the 
most essential, is the compass. 
Watch any navigator when he first appears on the fore- 
bridge. He goes immechately to the compass, and looks 
at it. He will revolve the azimuth mirror, and if the glass 
over the compass bowl is dirty, he will remove the azimuth, 
and witli his pocket handkerchief he will carefulh' wipe 
the glass clean, then look round the horizon to see if there 
is anything which will give him a chance of taking a bearing. 
As he leaves the bridge he nearly always launches a parting 
shot at the officer of the watch, to the effect that careful 
steering is particularly necessary for the next few hours. 
Two or three hours later he will come up and repeat the 
performance, including the advice. 
In the Belfast the pavigatpr often kept the morning watch 
at sea, and it was to him that the young lieutenant turned 
over the safety of the ship, the Poldhu Wireless "Press 
message," the watchkeeper's electric kettle, a chipped enamel 
mug and a tin of cocoa. 
A few minutes later, the young lieutenant was standing 
on the quarter deck, looking with satisfaction at half a 
dozen wisps of smoke far astern and below the liorizon, 
which marked the presence of the squadron which the}' had 
left for several weeks. 
As he turned to go down the narrow hatch that led to the 
cabin flat, a seagull rose lazily from a pit prop upon which 
it had been sitting and flew to another baulk of timber. 
The young lieutenant paused on the top step of the ladder, 
and a hard look came into his eyes ai he saw that over an 
area of several hundred yards square the sea was thickly 
covered with pit props of Norwegian pine. Upon the largest 
of these timbers a dark mass of what appeared to be clothing 
sprawled inconsequently, a cluster of birds hovered round it. 
"Seems to have been some dirty work at the old cross 
roads," murmured the young lieutenant, addressing no one 
in particular, unless it was the sea-gull. The gull, disturbed 
from its second resting-place by the wash of the ship, rose 
and flew over to the dark mass. 
"Brutes !" muttered the young man as he thumped down 
the ladder. 
Four hours later, a sentry knocked at his cabin door 
and, shouting through the curtain, said : " We're inside the 
bar, sir 1 and going up the river, the first lootenant's compli- 
ments, an' will yer look out for the wires aft ?" 
A hasty toilet — sea boots, trousers, sweater, and monkey 
jacket were pulled on, and he went on deck. 
The Belfast was slowly gliding up the very muddy waters 
of an exceedingly narrow river, but one of the wombs of 
Britisii sea-power, for all its small size. Gggantic cranes 
stood on both banks. The latter were covered with an 
endless succession of building slips, sheds and workshops. 
The continued roar of thousands of pneumatic riveters 
filled the air ;. whistles blew, and long, lean, ugly pipes 
puffed jets of white exhaust steam into the smoke-laden 
atmosphere. High over all towered the enormous chimneys 
with the thick smoke of North Country coal streaming from 
their lips. 
In the shadow of the chimneys, under the pall of the smoke, 
stood row upon row of small houses, hideously similar. These 
stretched in serried rows up the slopes of the valley. The 
highest row was shrouded in smoke and mist. 
On the quarter-deck lay coils of> wire with which the Belfast 
was to be warped into dock. 
Close astern of her, like faithful hounds, splashed the 
Rambler and the Buster, two paddle tugs, captained by 
shabby, but knowledgeable gentlemen, in seedy overcoats 
and bowler hats. At 9 a.m. the struggle began. Four 
tugs, two ahead and two astern, laboured to turn a ship, 
four hundred and fifty feet long, in a river three hundred 
and seventy feet broad. This apparent impossibility was 
achieved by gradually working her nose into the dock. 
, The real interest to a detached observer began when ship- 
ping tried to pass up or down stream, and many quaint oaths in 
English and in Scandinavian tongues were bandied to and fro. 
At noon the dock gates were shut with a thud, and they 
began pumping out and shoring up. 
The Paymaster had a busy time paying the hands, and 
acting as an interpreter between sailors, who wanted tickets 
to unheard-of corners of the British Isles, and two very 
worried railway officials. 
I' .The Commander informed the watchkeepers that one 
of them would have to travel to London with the 10.21 p.m. 
as two hundred of the sailors were going by that, and he 
thought an ofi&cer should be available on the journey. 
The lot falling on the young lieutenant, the rest of the 
Wardroom wished him joy and went their several ways. 
At 10 p.m. the young lieutenant arrived at the station, 
and was somewhat surprised to hear a brass band playing 
in the central hall. It turned out to be the ship's amateur 
band, which was the centre of an admiring crowd of some 
fifteen hundred people. As luck would have it, the band 
saw him and raised a loud cheer, and the crowd, suspecting 
hidden heroism somewhere, joined in heartily. 
The young lieutenant, blushing furiously, fled to his 
sleeper, devoutly praying, the band would miss their train. 
It was not so ordained. At 2 a.m. he was awakened by an 
agitated attendant. He Rooked through the window and saw 
thej' were at Bedford. 
Above the jangle of empty milk-cans rose the distant 
strains of a band. 
"What is it ?" said the heutenant. 
" Please, sir ! it's them sailors of yours, they're a-playing 
of the "Rosary" on their hinstruments, and they're a-playing 
of it houtside the foremost sleeper, and General Sir William 
Somme is hout on the platform in 'is pink sleeping suit, 
cursin' somefink 'orrid." 
" My good fellow ! I don't care if the whole Army Council 
are on the platform in purple pyjamas. Th^ose sailors are on 
leave, and, as far as I know, there is no law preventing them 
playing the "Rosary" or any other blinking tune. They 
probably think he likes it . . . I'll have some tea at 7.30 a.m. 
Good-bye-e !" 
" But, sir ! Sir William " 
"I said good-bye-e once," said the young lieutenant, 
with a touch of irritation in his voice. 
The attendant withdrew. 
The last mournful chords of "Where my caravan has 
rested" mingled with the guard's whistle and lulled the 
ofiScer to sleep. 
When he left his sleeper at 8 a.m. next morning, not one 
of his unruly flock was to be seen. 
Breakfast and a Turkish bath followed, and at 11.45 
the young lieutenant shaped a certain course, which led 
to the "Sigrt oi Capricomus." 
* * * 
It is permitted to follow him to the door of this very remark- 
able place, which excites the wildest curiosity on the part 
of many mothers and sisters, but the descriptive pen may 
go no further. "Members only" is a rule rigidly enforced. 
Nor would it be fair to follow his movements during the 
subsequent ten days. 
Sufficient to say that his passion for navigation led him 
to explore many reaches and backwaters of the Thames, 
and that he was not alone. 
* * * 
Three weeks had elapsed since that first morning when the 
Belfast had parted company. 
Once again it was early in the day — about 6 a.m. — once 
again the young lieutenant was on watch, but this time 
he searched the horizon for signs of the squadron, with some- 
what different feelings. 
At 6.30 a.m. light tapering masts showed up, followed by 
funnels and hulls as the range decreased. 
Accurately the Belfast adjusted her course and speed to 
wheel into line behind the rear ship. 
*~' As she did so, the flagship ran up a couple of hoists of flags. 
r^"The old man welcoming us back and hoping we have 
had a pleasant leave," jested the lieutenant to the sub. 
"I do not think !" replied the latter. 
A signalman jumped up the ladder: "Signal, sir.'' 
"Read it," said the lieutenant. 
"Flag to Belfast — make less smoke — ^prepare for ranging 
exercise," announced . the signalman. 
"War is Hell! sub," laughed the young lieutenant. 
The sub sang in a low voice as much as he could remember 
of Let the great, big world keep turning ; it reminded him of 
a girl he had met at a dance in town and temporarily caused 
him to forget the imminence of the ranging exercise. 
The Miracle of Saint Anthony (Methuen & Co., 3s. 6d. net) 
is a delightful little play by M. Maurice Maeterlinck, describing 
the inconveniences that might ensue if a kindly old saint returned 
to earth and restored to life the dead, in the form of an elderly 
lady in a middle-class family, who had departed from the world 
leaving behind her quite a nice little bit of money, and whose 
will had been read. As can be easily understood, the feeUngs of 
the family were decidedly mixed. While prepared to shed a 
decent tear, it had quickly adapted itself to the sad occasion, 
and poor St. Anthony weis treated not as a blessed saint, but as 
an impertinent intruder. The play is a delightful piece of 
delicate satire, and it has been excellently translated by Mr, 
Alexander Teixera de Mattos, 
