For those who have no knowledge of the ways and habits of submarines, a preface is unnecessary, and my only hope is that this book may enlighten them on points on which they were formerly in ignorance. One is often asked, ‘What does it feel like to be below the sea?’ and a host of questions of a similar character, and it is just these questions that I have endeavoured to answer. The incidents recorded are all founded on fact, and many of them are personal experiences. Of my one-time comrades of

Mr Bennett’s admirable book tells us of the officers and men of the Submarine Service and of the working of that wonderful vessel, the submarine. The author served throughout the war as an officer in H.M.S. submarine No.——, so that he writes of his own knowledge. Mr Bennett is a professional sailor; when he is not fighting for king and country he is an officer in His Majesty’s Mercantile Marine; and yet there is many a professional writer who may envy Mr Bennett’s skill in the craft of writing.

His Majesty’s Submarine ‘123’ lay alongside her depot ship Parentis , her lean, gray superstructure showing up ghostly white against the dark outline of the larger vessel. The night was warm, though dark and overcast, and the light south-easterly breeze merely ruffled the waters of the harbour, causing a lap-lapping noise between the two vessels, the only sound that broke the intense silence of the summer night. As the great fleet, anchored in the harbour, swung to the turn of the tide, ‘123’ ex

‘Chicago high,’ announced the Fleet Surgeon of the Parentis , throwing the dice on the ward room table. ‘One hundred, two hundred, three hundred and sixty-four,’ said the Staff Paymaster as he gathered them up. ‘Not so dusty, P.M.O., but watch Little Willie.’ ‘Sixty, sixty-four, sixty-six, seventy-two,’ cried the surgeon triumphantly. ‘The worst cut of modern times. Waiter, Mr Ponsonby will provide cocktails.’ ‘That shakes your wine bill, Pay,’ remarked the Engineer Commander. ‘Six cocktails mak

It has already been pointed out that breakfast in the Parentis was a meal of Spartan severity. Moreover, the breakfasters were divided into three distinct classes. During the remainder of the day the members of these different orders descended to the level of the common herd and were as other men. But when the fateful hour of eight a.m. came round again, they picked up the broken threads of their lives, and for one brief hour held chillily aloof from those of other and (according to the point of

The next day was Sunday, and as the fine weather still held, the Captain of the depot announced to the First Lieutenant his intention of inspecting the boats. Thence was much heart-burning and striving and a prodigious amount of work, the net result being that the nine boats shone inside and out like the proverbial new pins, and the crews, with the exception of those who were to stand the rounds, clad in ‘Number Threes,’ fell in on their superstructures with vacant ‘attention’ expressions on the

Carruthers , the Senior Submarine Officer and Captain of ‘146’ entered the Mess with the stealthy air of an assassin. ‘Show me that varlet, Raymond,’ he declaimed. ‘Produce him that I may mete out to him the full measure of his punishments.’ ‘What’s the row, James?’ asked a voice from the depths of an arm-chair. ‘Ha, knave, thou dost flout me. Twelve long years have I sought thee, and now ... aha! The Captain desires speech with thee, even in his own cabin.’ ‘Good Heavens! Whatever’s up? Surely

The patrol had not been a very interesting one so far, and nothing out of the way had happened. Moreover, it was the first that ‘123’ had made since her return to duty, and at the end of a day at sea the crew were already slipping back to the familiar routine. They had just finished lunch and had been diving since four in the morning, and nothing had occurred to break the monotony of the usual underwater stillness. There was no indication of what was going to happen, and the men off watch were s

This is a story of the early days of submarines, and the whole affair happened a long while ago—some years before the War, in fact—beyond which milestone the memory of modern man now rarely attempts to wander. The first news I received on the subject was from the centre sheet of a morning paper, an extract from which ran as follows:— ‘H.M. Submarine “02” was lost in the Channel whilst exercising on Tuesday, 16th inst. There are only two survivors, Lieut. Allison, R.N., the second in command, and

A WRITER’S RECOLLECTIONS By Mrs HUMPHRY WARD Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net ( New Edition with Index ) All the famous names are here ... the people themselves ... veritably alive.’— Contemporary Review. THE WAR AND ELIZABETH ( Second Impression ) ‘A brilliant study of contemporary life.’— Truth. PETROGRAD (THE CITY OF TROUBLE), 1914–1918 By MERIEL BUCHANAN ( Daughter of the British Ambassador ) Mr Hugh Walpole, in his foreword, says:—‘This book is the first attempt of any writer in any language to give