CONTENTS

PAGE
PROLOGUE[17]
[CHAPTER I]
“USQUE AB OVO”[23]
[CHAPTER II]
IN THE TWILIGHT[48]
[CHAPTER III]
THE NAVY-THAT-FLIES[89]
[CHAPTER IV]
“LEST WE FORGET”[118]
[CHAPTER V]
THE FEET OF THE YOUNG MEN[156]
[CHAPTER VI]
GIPSIES OF THE SEA[164]
[CHAPTER VII]
THE DAY--AND THE MORNING AFTER[180]
[CHAPTER VIII]
THE NAVY-UNDER-THE-SEA[190]
[CHAPTER IX]
THE PORT LOOK-OUT[213]
[CHAPTER X]
THE SURVIVOR[220]
[CHAPTER XI]
THE Nth BATTLE SQUADRON[237]
[CHAPTER XII]
MYSTERY[257]
[CHAPTER XIII]
THE SPIRIT OF THE FLEET[273]
[CHAPTER XIV]
THE EPIC OF ST. GEORGE’S DAY, 1918[289]
EPILOGUE[308]

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE
[“USQUE AB OVO”][23]
[HEAVY METAL][48]
[A STRIKING FORCE][55]
[THE LEFT FLANK][63]
[THE HUNT][69]
[OVERDUE][76]
[“TUPPENCE APIECE”][83]
[THE NAVY-THAT-FLIES][89]
[THE DOVER PATROL][143]
[THE FEET OF THE YOUNG MEN][163]
[GIPSIES OF THE SEA][164]
[THE PORT LOOK-OUT][213]
[THE SURVIVOR][220]
[THE Nᵀᴴ BATTLE SQUADRON][237]
[THE SPIRIT OF THE FLEET—“GATE, THERE! GATE!”][273]
[THE EPIC OF ST. GEORGE’S DAY, 1918][289]
[EPILOGUE][308]
[FINIS][331]

PROLOGUE

Anyone familiar with the River Dart knows the Mill Creek. The hills on either side slope steeply down to the edge of the water, oak and beech and elm clustering thick on the one hand, red plough, green shoots, and golden corn-fields alternating on the other through all the changing seasons.

The creek is tidal, transformed at half-flood into a fair expanse of shimmering water; at low tide, however, it dwindles to a score of meagre channels winding tortuously through whale-backed mudbanks, the haunt of scurrying crabs and meditative heron.

Here, one afternoon in midsummer some dozen years ago, came a gig (or, in local parlance, a “blue-boat”) manned by seven flannel-clad cadets from the Naval College. Six sat on the thwarts pulling lazily against the last of the ebb. The seventh sat in the stern, with the yoke-lines over his shoulders, refreshing himself with cherries out of a bag.

As they approached the shelving mudbanks, purple in the afternoon sunlight, the figure in the bows boated his oar and began to sound cautiously with his boathook. The remaining five oarsmen glanced back over their shoulders and continued paddling. The helmsman smiled tolerantly, as a man might smile at the conceits of childhood, but refrained from speech. They all knew the weakness of the bowman for dabbling in mud.