"
"See anything?"
[Sidenote: 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?"
[Sidenote: 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.
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