"Trotzky" and "Rasputin."
Captain Ned wandered off. Presently, the door opened again, and three more veterans of the patrol cruised in, also in ancient uniforms. There were more cheers; more friendly cries. It was unanimously decided that the "Trotzky" of the first lot had better take a back seat, since the second in command of the newcomers was "a perfect ringer for Rasputin."
"See anything?"
A British patrol hunts a lost torpedo.
"Nothing much. There's a bit of wreckage just off shore. Saw a British patrol boat early Tuesday morning. I was on the surface, lying between her and the sunrise; she was hidden by a low-lying swirl of fog; she saw us first. When we saw her, I made signals, and over she came. Guess what the old bird wanted—wanted to know if I'd seen a torpedo he'd fired at me! An old scout with white whiskers; one of those retired captains, I suppose, who has gone back on the job. He admitted he had received the Admiralty notes about us, but thought we acted suspicious. Did you ever hear of such nerve?"
Courage of the submarine patrol.
When the war was young, I served on land with messieurs les poilus. I have seen the contests of aviators, also trench-raids and the fighting for Verdun. Since then I have seen the war at sea. To my mind, if there is one service of this war which more than any other requires those qualities of endurance, skill, and courage whose blend the fighting men call—Elizabethanly, but oh, so truly—"guts," it is the submarine patrol.
Copyright, Atlantic Monthly, October, 1918.
France took tender care of her wounded heroes, and the following narrative gives a number of touching incidents observed by one who visited several of the French hospitals and received stories and experiences from the wounded soldiers.