"We get into the boats, myself takin' along what was left of a second

case of Scotch, and good old pre-war Scotch it was, not the gory

infant's food they serve these days that a man 'as to take a tumblerful

of to know 'e's 'aving a drink at all. I also took along three sofy

cushions, hand-worked by the missus, with pink doves and cupids and the

like--rare lookin' they was. 'A man might's well be comfortable,' I

says.

"I 'ad a cook. 'If comfort's the word,' says the cook, 'I might's well

take along the wife's canary,' and 'e takes it along in a cage in one

'and, and a bag of clothes in the other. 'E's in the boat when 'e thinks

to go back for a package of seed 'e'd left for the canary on the shelf

in the galley. 'Hurry up with your bird-seed,' I says, and as I do a

shell comes along and explodes inside of 'er old frame somewheres, and

the cook says maybe 'e'll be gettin' along without the seed--the canary

not being what you'd call a 'eavy eater, anyway.

"The mate 'ad a cameraw, and when we're clear of the ship he would stand

up and set the cameraw on the shoulders of a Eurasian fireman, and take

shots of the ship between shells.

"In good time one last shell 'its 'er, and down she goes. The U-boat

moves off, and we see no more of 'er.

"It's a fine day and a lovely pink sunset, and there's a beautiful mild

sirocco blowing off the African shore to make the 'ot night pleasant as

we approach it in the boats. A man could 'ardly arsk to be torpedoed

under more pleasant conditions, I say, and we continue to row toward the

shore in 'igh 'opes. It's maybe two in the mornin' when we see the

side-lights of a ship. She's bound east--a steamer--and we know she's a

Britisher, because we're the only chaps carried lights in war zones at

that time. Carryin' lights at night o' course made us grand marks for

the U-boats, but there was no 'elp for it. A board o' trade regulation,

that was, and no gettin' away from what the board o' trade says. We had

our choice of carryin' lights and losin' our ships, or not carryin'

lights and losin' our jobs. So we lost our ships. After a year and a

'alf of war some bright chap in the board said that maybe it would be a

good idea to change the regulation about carrying lights, and they did.

And about time, we said.

"Some of the crew were for 'ailing the ship in the night. ''Ail 'ell!' I

says. 'D'y' think I want to be took into that rotten 'ole of a Port

Said, or maybe Alexandria, and that end of the Mediterranean fair lousy

with U-boats. Besides, we'll get 'ome quicker this way,' I says, and

allows her to pass on. In the mornin' we run onto the beach, and 'ardly

there when a crowd of Ayrabs come gallopin' down on 'orseback to us.

'We'll be killed now,' says the mate, and talks under his breath of

stubborn captains, who wouldn't 'ail a friendly ship's light in the

dark, but the only killing the Ayrabs do is two young goats for

breakfast. And they make coffee that was coffee, and we had a lovely

meal on the sand. And by and by they steered us along the shore to where

was a French destroyer, which takes us over to Gibraltar, and from Gib

we passed on through Spain and France to Havre. Three weeks that took,

and I never 'ad such a three weeks in all my life. 'Eroes, ragin'

'eroes--that's wot we were!

"At Havre the French authorities took the mate's pictures out of the

cameraw, and they never did give 'em back. Except for that, it was a

fine pleasure, that land cruise 'ome.

"Lucky? Oh, aye, you may well say it. Three times in one week I 'ad me
'ot barth and my lovely sleep in me brahss bed--it's not to be looked

for with ordinary luck, you know."

* * * * *

One day the destroyer to which I was assigned put to sea. There were

other destroyers, and we were to take a fleet of merchantmen from the

naval base to such and such a latitude and longitude, and there turn

them loose. My friend's ship was of the convoy.

We made such and such a latitude and longitude, and there we turned them

loose, signalling the position to them and waiting for acknowledgment.

They acknowledged the signal. We then hoisted the three pennants which

everywhere at sea means: Pleasant voyage! They answered with the three

pennants which everywhere spells: Thank you. And no sooner done than

away they belted, each for himself, and let the U-boats get the

hindmost.

The hindmost here was the rusty old cargo boat of my friend. I could see

her for miles after the others were hull down; and long after I could

see her I could picture him--walking his lonely bridge and his ship

plugging away at her 7 or maybe 7-1/2 knots across the lonely ocean.

Three times torpedoed and taking it all as part of his work! Some day

they may get him and he not come back; and when they do the world will

hear little about him. Hero? He a hero? Why a shore-going flunky had him

bluffed for smoking a surreptitious cigarette in high quarters! 'Ero?

Not 'im. Why 'e don't even wear a uniform.

So there they are, the wheezing old cargo boats and their officers and

crew. British, French, Italian, American, but mostly British.

No heroes, but the Lord help their people if they hadn't stayed on the

job.

FLOTILLA HUMOR--AT SEA

We were a group of American destroyers convoying twenty home-bound

British steamers. There was one ship, a _P. & O._ liner, a great

specimen of camouflaging.