THE MOBILIZATION
Early in October, about four weeks after Mortimer’s sail around Cape
Cod with Evans, the United States declared war against the
Constantinople Coalition, otherwise known as “The Mediterranean
Powers.”
Like a great conflagration, a new wave of idealism swept over the
land. To every one was offered the opportunity to come forward and
give the best that was in him, and few but accepted it gladly.
Washington became the scene of turmoil. Flocks of people poured in.
The “swivel-chair warrior” reappeared in all his glory, and the
“efficiency expert” added the finishing touch to the orgy of
organization and reorganization in which the War Department became
engulfed.
In the Navy Department a comparative quiet reigned; the atmosphere was
almost that of an efficiently organized and smoothly running business.
Until two or three days before the declaration of war Secretary
Mortimer was daily in conference for an hour or more with a certain
civilian, but so large was the department and so many were the new
faces that no one noticed him to be the same individual as the warrant
officer, Radio Gunner Evans, who, the day before war was declared, was
assigned to duty in the Radio Division of the Bureau of Engineering.
Here Evans was given a room to himself. On his desk were two
telephones, one connected with the department exchange, the other with
the Secretary’s room by a special wire. Evans had himself completed
the laying of these wires into his own room and made the terminal
connection with the telephone on his desk. No one but he and Mortimer
knew where this line led.
Nominally Evans’s duty was the direction and supervision of a group of
civilian experts engaged in designing new radio apparatus for
installation on ships and shore stations. He was also frequently seen
at the office of the Director of Naval Communications.
It behooves the personnel of this office to coöperate cordially with
the personnel of the Bureau of Engineering, since the latter makes the
apparatus for the former to use, though some people don’t understand
this fact. In general, the personnel of the D.N.C. office did not know
why this warrant officer should appear from time to time, and some
said, “Who’s this guy, anyway, and what’s he doing round here?”
To which query the answer was, as like as not, “Dunno; maybe he’s
using this office as an alibi for dodging his work where he belongs.”
Before a state of war had existed two days, letters had been received
from Mortimer by half a dozen of the best radio engineers in the
country and a number of eminent investigators in various fields of
physical science, asking them to come to Washington to confer with
him. Within a week nearly all of these men had come, and a
comprehensive plan had been laid for the coöperative work whereby
their brains could be utilized to the best advantage of the navy. At
these conferences Commander Rich, head of the Radio Division of the
Bureau of Engineering, was present, and the impression which he made
on the scientists for his rapid grasp of what was essential in the
great problem before them was such that more than one took occasion to
congratulate Mortimer on having such a man in his organization,
especially on having him in charge of so important a branch of the
service as radio. About this time, also, Professor Jeremy, with rank
of lieutenant-commander, was placed in charge of the naval weather
service, and with a group of able young assistants began to attack his
problem with energy and resource.
The public mind turned rather to the army than to the navy; to most
people entry into the war meant the sending of troops to reinforce the
armies of Northern Europe in the line of trenches stretching across
the continent; the thought of the happenings on the sea scarcely
figured in their minds. The popular hue and cry was, “Join the Army.”
Congress began agitating the question of conscription for the army.
But the navy needed enormous additions to its personnel.
Mortimer paid a visit to the Bureau of Engineering and, after
discussing progress with the Bureau Chief and Commander Rich, he
slipped into Evans’s room to discuss matters with him.
“It looks as if this conscription business might fill up the army and
leave the navy high and dry,” he said. “I don’t think Congress
understands that the main task is up to the navy, and we’ve got to
have men to do it.”
“People don’t understand that, as a rule,” answered Evans. “They look
at the battle-line across Europe, and think that’s the war. They don’t
understand that the war can be carried on only by means of certain
commodities some of which can be produced only in the Western
Hemisphere; that the vast resources of South America are of vital
importance to whichever side controls them; that the control of the
sea has thus far given the enemy access to these resources and denied
it to our allies; and that the one way to checkmate them is to secure
complete control of the seas for ourselves. Welcome as our army would
be to reinforce those of Northern Europe, even if we got it safely
across, it could do nothing decisive against the present defensive
methods in use along the enemy’s line. No, the game is up to us;
you’re dead right, we’ve got to have our share of the men.”
“I believe the President could do something about it by executive
action,” said Mortimer. “But I’m not sure if he’s quite alive to the
importance of the navy himself. Military affairs are not his long
suit. If I urge on him the importance of it, the danger is that,
unless I can give him convincing reasons, he may assume that it’s just
the usual thing—each man wants his own particular show to be the
biggest. I want to get the essential points down in convincing and
unanswerable form, and I’d like to have you help me prepare the case.”
Evans then enumerated the salient points, indicating wherein the
problem devolved upon the navy, while Mortimer questioned him and took
notes. Evans showed how, through the progress of science and invention
during the last twenty years, new methods had become available in
warfare, and how the devilish cunning of the Constantinople plotters
had utilized these and had taken advantage of their maritime control
of the Mediterranean to establish a powerful grip on the south of
France and make their defenses virtually impregnable, new inventions
in offensive warfare having been more than countered by new methods of
defense. He then enumerated the raw materials essential to maintaining
the intricate structure of their military system and showed how a
large percentage of these could be got only from the tropical regions
of the Western Hemisphere—South America, Central America, and the West
Indies. During the summer, when they held undisputed control of the
Atlantic, the enemy had been transporting enormous stores of those
things which they most needed across from Brazil. Now that the
American Navy had entered the field to dispute the control of the
Atlantic, it became a question of naval power which side should keep
its own source of supplies open and cut off that of the opponents.
The enemy now had control of Portugal, the Azores, Madeira, Teneriffe,
and the Cape Verde Islands, and, with submarine and seaplane bases at
Lisbon and the islands, they were continuing to harass the shipping in
the North Atlantic in defiance of international law. Furthermore,
under protection from these bases they could maintain an almost
uninterrupted flow of commerce with South America, their ships passing
close to the African coast where American surface craft could not
safely attack them.
During their conversation Evans revealed a knowledge of raw materials,
their places of origin and their uses, at which Mortimer was amazed.
“I don’t see how you ever learned and remembered all these facts,” he
said.
“I forget lots of things I hear,” answered Evans, “but these facts are
so relevant to the crisis at hand that I had good reason to remember
them. After all, the facts are open to any one; it’s just a matter of
taking the trouble to put them together and see what they mean.”
In discussing the submarine situation, Evans urged the importance of
getting possession of the Azores as soon as possible. He believed that
a blow struck with the entire naval strength available would encounter
no very serious opposition from the enemy.
“My guess is that, much as they want to keep the Azores, they are so
much keener about keeping their navy intact and holding their control
of the Mediterranean that they wouldn’t risk their fleet in a major
naval action for the sake of the islands. Of course, we must first
effect a consolidation of our fleet with what’s left of the British
and French navies, in order to have the maximum strength available.”
“That’s one of the first things we’ve got to get after,” said
Mortimer. “Well, first of all there’s this matter of personnel to
start right, and I must be about it. Many thanks for these points
you’ve given me; they’ll come in handy.” With that he left the room.
The next day Evans was called by Mortimer on the telephone connected
directly with the Secretary’s room. The President had listened
attentively to his recital of cogent facts and had been much
impressed. He was almost certain the draft bill would go through, and
had virtually assured Mortimer that the navy would not suffer in the
choice of men.
Not many days passed before Evans and Mortimer were again closeted
together discussing the coördination of naval effort. The British Navy
was still able, in spite of the disaster, to furnish an appreciable
addition to the force, and, above all, to furnish the wisdom and
indomitable spirit bred of centuries of maritime greatness.
Coöperation with it was now in Mortimer’s mind as a foremost
consideration. To this end he was about to dispatch a commission of
liaison officers to London. On this occasion Evans emphasized
especially the need of a well-organized intelligence service with
agents permeating the enemy’s country.
“At sea it is universally admitted that by virtue of our great
preponderance of available power, we must take command,” said Evans.
“But in the matter of intelligence service there is none on earth that
can touch the British, and I believe we had better play that game
under their lead. Their organization is marvelous, and the best we can
do is to fit our machinery to theirs.
“You know, I think there’s something in the temperament of a certain
type of Englishman that fits him extraordinarily well for the
hazardous game of secret service in enemy country. It’s his faculty of
keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself, his impenetrable
exterior, together with his coolness in danger.”
“Haven’t we plenty of men with those same faculties?” Mortimer asked.
“It’s rare to find them so well developed in an American. Then, too,
there’s a thoroughness in the education of the British scholar that
helps him grasp new and difficult problems. What I’m driving at is
this:—there ought to be some one in Constantinople who is not only a
damn clever spy, but who also understands what you can do with radio.”
“You’re trying to combine too much in one man,” said Mortimer. “You
don’t want to have your secret agent for intelligence bother his head
with technical stuff like radio; he should rely on others for that.”
“Of course he should, as far as handling the apparatus is concerned.
But he must grasp the basic principles, so that he’ll understand the
kind of thing modern apparatus will do for him.
“Both in regard to secret service and to coördination in general, we
must get together with the British communication experts and come to
an understanding about codes and apparatus. Science has given us such
a wealth of new methods in radio engineering that much depends on a
clear understanding of what your apparatus will do. The British have
developed it along their lines, and we along ours. There should be
consultation to determine the best way of standardizing procedure in
the fleet, and still more important at the moment is to consult with
them as to how recent developments in both countries may be made to
help the business of communicating with our spies.”
“I wonder if it wouldn’t be a good plan for you to go with the
commission we are sending to England, and confer with their radio men
on the matter of apparatus and communication methods in general,” said
Mortimer.
“I believe it would,” answered Evans. “I should like to discuss those
points with them, and I should like particularly to see some man in
their intelligence service who understands radio methods, or at least
their possibilities, and who could get into Constantinople; together
we could work out codes and ciphers and other matters of procedure
that would facilitate the transmission of intelligence to us from that
interesting spot.”
“All right; I’ll send you along with the bunch,” said Mortimer. “I
think the party will be ready to go in four or five days.”
“I’ve been thinking,” said Evans, still following his previous train
of thought, “that an old friend of mine in England would be the ideal
person for that job; I mean, to undertake to keep us posted from enemy
headquarters. He’s an archaeologist by profession, and the most
versatile man I know. He has spent a lot of time in Greece and Asia
Minor, knows Constantinople and the Balkans like a book; he’s a
wonderful linguist, and the best actor you ever saw. His name is
Heringham. I used to play chess with him when I was studying in the
Cavendish in Cambridge, and I never knew a man who could fool you more
adroitly as to his real plan of campaign. He used to take every kind
of part in student theatricals, from a Buddhist to a buffoon, and to
realize that the same man did them all would tax your powers of belief
to the limit. I don’t think he knows much radio, but he has a good
scientific foundation, and he’s so confoundedly clever that he’d learn
what he needed for that job in no time. I’d give a lot to have him in
Constantinople and to have had a chance to plan things a bit with him
first.”
“What’s he doing now?” asked Mortimer.
“Nothing important,” was the answer. “I got a letter from him saying
he offered his services to the army, and was rejected because of his
age and a slight defect in his eyes; he’s forty-one or forty-two. He’s
still living at his rooms in Trinity, trying to make himself useful at
odd jobs.”
“Do you suppose there’s any way of getting your wish realized?”
“I don’t know. I’d like to get over there and see what can be done.”
“I’ll give you letters to any one you want,” said Mortimer.
“I think I’d better keep away from the mighty men at the top, and have
my business talks with their technical radio men. Send over Barton who
is right-hand man to the Chief of Naval Intelligence, and the real
brains of the Bureau, and tell him how much you want me to dip into
his line of business; he’s no red-tape artist. Between us we may find
a way to the sort of collaboration we want.”
A few days later a scout cruiser capable of forty knots slipped out of
the Navy Yard at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and headed south, passing
between the Isles of Shoals and Cape Ann; but when well out of sight
of land she changed her course to east, and sped rapidly out to sea,
making several knots better than her economical cruising speed. On
board of her was a group of liaison officers of high rank. Commander
Barton, of the Bureau of Naval Intelligence, and a number of experts
on naval specialties—ordnance, aircraft, and the like, including Evans
and a certain Lieutenant Brown representing the Director of Naval
Communications.
The ocean passage lasted four days. Evans spent much of his time in
the radio room at the congenial pastime of discussing problems with
the chief radio electrician and his operators, and helping them tinker
with apparatus. A radio chief likes to discuss his set with any one
who has a genuine interest, and it wasn’t long before the chief and
all the operators were picking up innumerable hints on the newest
engineering developments. The radio officer of the ship was an ensign
named Lindsay, a youngster just out of Annapolis with a sunny
disposition and a wholesome boyishness about him that won Evans’s
heart. He was also free from the conceit of rank which constrains some
ensigns to treat a warrant officer with a forced superiority. He had
little knowledge of radio, and, as is usually the case, relied in
technical matters on the chief radio electrician. He soon found in
Evans one from whom he could learn what he needed to know of radio
methods, without the sense of losing prestige which some officers feel
to be associated with acquiring information from one of subordinate
rank. Before the voyage was over, Lindsay had acquired a new outlook
on the significance of communications and the possibilities which lay
in the various methods a ship may use for picking up and transmitting
information concerning the enemy, such as hydrophones, radio
direction-finders, amplifiers, selective devices to avoid
interference, and secret methods of signaling. With this enlarged
vision there was born in him a new enthusiasm for his task.
On a cold, gray autumn day the cruiser passed the Lizard, rounded Rame
Head and Penlee Point, and dropped anchor in Plymouth Sound. In
another hour the party was speeding through the mellow green hills of
Devonshire on its way to London. The next day found Evans at the great
National Physical Laboratory at Teddington where some of the best
brains in the world were engaged in coördinated research to solve the
many problems of physical science and technology which the peril of
the Empire had rendered vital.
More than one physicist whom he had known years before at the
Cavendish Laboratory did he now find serving here as a department
head. One of these, knowing his work in the field of pure science,
expressed surprise at seeing him in a rank below that of
sublieutenant.
“You shouldn’t be wasting yourself as a gunner,” he said; “you ought
to be directing research.”
“Well,” answered Evans, “I manage to get a shot at research now and
then, and the kind of duty that comes my way on this job suits me
pretty well, on the whole.”
Before he had been in London a day, Evans had arranged to see his
friend Heringham in Cambridge. He took an afternoon train thither, and
found dusk gathering in the narrow streets of the ancient town. At the
sight of familiar landmarks, shops, and churches, memories came
flooding over him of the happy winter spent there in his youth,
learning from the world’s greatest masters of pure science. He
recalled the profound debt he owed to the Cavendish for its part in
the moulding of his career, and with the thought a deep gratitude
stirred within him. Crossing the market-place, he came to the old
College buildings, the beauty and dignity of their architecture never
more impressive than now in the twilight. At last he came to the
venerable main gate of Trinity and entered the Great Court, hallowed
by the memory of Newton, Tennyson, and a host of other men of genius,
through centuries the greatest fountain-head of high scholarship and
learning in Anglo-Saxon civilization. He stopped and looked about him,
and the realization of all that this place stood for came over him as
it never had before. Here in these walls of weather-stained and
crumbling stone was the cradle of that intellectual and spiritual
growth which constituted the real world in which he lived and for
which he would gladly die. There arose before his mind a picture of
the calculating and mercenary group in Constantinople, and the cynical
and iconoclastic spirit in which they would wreck the shrines of
Western civilization and learning should they win the fight. He set
his teeth and crossed the court to the stairway leading to Heringham’s
room.
He knocked at the door and found his friend sitting by a small coal
fire, smoking his pipe and reading the noncommittal news in the daily
paper. Seated together by the fire, these two congenial souls were
soon chatting comfortably on the basis of a natural and inalienable
understanding which existed between them. Evans found, as he expected,
that Heringham possessed an extraordinary knowledge of the leading
characters in the Constantinople conspiracy and how matters stood
among them.
“You ought to be using this knowledge in some way,” said Evans.
“How can I?” asked Heringham. “The army rejected me, and here I am.”
“Could you smuggle yourself into Constantinople without disturbing the
equanimity of these devils you’ve been telling me about?” said Evans.
Heringham sucked hard at his pipe and stared at the fire.
“I don’t know that game,” he said at last. “I imagine it takes rather
a lot of experience.”
“I can’t think of any one who would learn it quicker than you, and
you’ve got a big head start in your knowledge of the country and the
people you would have to deal with,” said Evans.
Again Heringham thought awhile in silence. “I dare say I could get
there if I had to,” he said musingly, “but then, I don’t see much
prospect of their asking me to.”
“Oh, well,” said Evans, “you never know what may turn up next.”
“What’s up?” said Heringham. “Have you got strings on the dear old
things in the War Office that you’re going to pull?”
“Not that I know of,” said Evans. “But I’ll tell you a little of our
situation. Mortimer, our Secretary of the Navy, happens to be an old
pal of mine; classmates we were, in school and college. He’s a trump,
dead in earnest and a splendid organizer. But his life-work has been
law and politics, and when this job fell on his shoulders he knew no
more of naval affairs than I know of Sanskrit. In spite of this
handicap he’s making good, but he needs a good deal of technical help,
and I’m trying to contribute what I can in the field of
communications.”
He went on to explain the nature of his present mission to England,
both as to consultation in the matter of radio apparatus in general,
and in particular as to effecting coöperation with the British
Intelligence Service for the transmission of information by radio to
the Allied Navies.
“Barton, of our Intelligence Bureau, is over here,” he said, “and he
will have access to the men who control things in your Intelligence
Service. He is the only one in our mission who knows that I’m not
concerned simply with radio apparatus. I can talk to him, and he’ll
listen.”
“Well, old chap,” said Heringham, “I’m at your disposal or his, to
stick my head in the lion’s mouth if it will do any good. Lord knows
I’ve been hating myself to death here, doing an old woman’s odd jobs
when I should be fighting. By Jove, there’s eight o’clock striking;
come over to Hall and we’ll have some dinner.”
The slow tolling of the College bell came ringing across the court.
Heringham slipped on his academic gown and led the way out into the
Great Court where they joined the converging streams of dons crossing
to the famous Hall where hang the portraits of more great men, past
members of Trinity College, than can be found in any similar place the
world over. At dinner Evans sat between Heringham and an elderly
professor of Greek, with a distinguished face and a white beard. With
this scholar he soon became engaged in a conversation of absorbing
interest, which furnished him useful scraps of information bearing on
the present situation in the Mediterranean, based on the old man’s
intimate knowledge of the Greece of an earlier day.
After dinner, the dons migrated in procession to the Combination Room
where Evans sat next the Master of Trinity, an eminent mathematician,
who plied him eagerly with questions about the American Navy, as they
sipped their port and coffee. He, at least, was keenly aware that on
this group of ships, and the controlling mind behind it, rested the
future of all.
Returning at length to Heringham’s room, they poked the smouldering
coals into flame and returned to their talk of the European situation,
and of Heringham’s availability for playing the part which had been
suggested for him. Evans questioned him closely as to his knowledge of
physics. Of radio he knew nothing in detail, but his knowledge of
fundamental principles was good. Their talk engrossed them the best
part of the evening.
Heringham then went with him to the gate to say the ‘open sesame’
whereby the night porter was induced to let him out into Trinity
Street, dark, narrow, and deserted save for a lone man who passed on
the opposite sidewalk as Evans came out and started for his hotel.
Returning next day to London, Evans sought Commander Barton and drew
for him a picture of Heringham’s qualifications which filled that
officer with enthusiasm for the plan of getting him impressed into
service. He had already been in conference with several of the head
men in the British Intelligence Service and was satisfied that there
was a distinct need for just such a person in the heart of the enemy
country. A number of able agents were already there, but they had gone
in before the American Navy had entered the field and become the most
important force for them to collaborate with; moreover, they had not
at their disposal the radio experts who would be needed to find means
of transmitting intelligence to sea. Barton, therefore, took very
kindly to the idea of sending in a man like Heringham who could
previously prepare a concerted plan of action and a system of codes
with representatives of the American Navy, and who could then proceed,
together with an experienced operator, to penetrate to enemy
headquarters there to direct the leakage of information through
whatever channel his ingenuity could discover or devise.
Three days later, Heringham received an urgent request from a certain
high official to come at once to London for an interview. Proceeding
to the street and number mentioned, he was taken in a taxicab to
another part of the city where he was ushered through innumerable
doors and corridors to a small room where an officer with penetrating
eyes questioned him minutely about his life and activities, and
especially his experience in the Near East. After a searching
examination, this officer finally revealed his own status in the
British Intelligence Service and asked Heringham if he would be
willing to undertake secret service in enemy country, and the upshot
of it was that then and there it was arranged that he should be sent
on the hazardous and responsible mission.
Busy days followed in which Heringham, besides receiving instruction
as to his duties and methods of procedure from those above him, was
also in frequent conference with Evans and Barton, planning their
general course of action and devising codes. They anticipated that
their main reliance would be placed on smuggling operators into the
crews of enemy transmitting stations and having them superimpose
messages in secret code on the regular traffic of the stations.
Therefore, two experienced radio operators were also selected and
educated in the lore of spies that they might go to Constantinople and
there act as technical advisers to Heringham.
In these conferences Evans came to realize how sharply his own point
of view, as a physicist, differed from that of Barton, the trained
Intelligence officer. Problems which he saw from a purely intellectual
point of view took on a wholly new aspect when Barton’s ready and
practical wits had been focused on them. Evans felt his own
shortcomings in this strange world of secret service, a world in which
deliberate scientific reasoning was replaced by intuition,
dissembling, and juggling with the caprice of human nature. He felt as
awkward as a country bumpkin in the midst of a group of experts at
flashing repartee.
In addition to these conferences, Evans devoted all the spare time he
could to instructing Heringham in the essentials of radio science and
engineering, that he should understand more fully what kind of
opportunities might present themselves for juggling with the radio
business of the enemy.
Advices were sent through the mysterious channels best known to those
who practice the art of secret service, to the agents already in
Constantinople, apprising them of the plan to send Heringham to join
them; in return, valuable suggestions were received from them
concerning conditions in enemy country.
The adventurous nature of Heringham’s mission took such a hold on
Evans’s imagination that he became absorbed in the planning of it with
the eagerness of a boy building some new castle in the air. It was
only with effort that he turned his attention to what was nominally
his own mission, the consultation with British radio experts on
technical matters. He managed, nevertheless, to confer with the best
men in this field in England, and to compare notes with them on recent
progress. He learned from them what improvements in British apparatus
could, without lost motion, be advantageously incorporated into
American gear, and arrived at an understanding with them on the
standardization of apparatus wherever this was desirable.
One night, after a late conference with Heringham and Barton, Evans
was walking back to his hotel in the vicinity of Trafalgar Square,
when he met Lindsay. In the darkened street they might not have
recognized each other had they not met close to one of the dim, blue
street lights. It was the first time they had met since their arrival
in England, Lindsay only just having come to London for a few days of
leave.
“Hullo,” he said to Evans. “Are you having a time doing up old
London?”
“I’m having a time, all right; but I don’t know that it’s the kind of
time you mean.”
“Well, whatever kind of time it is, don’t overdo it.”
As he spoke, Lindsay’s eye followed a figure on the other side of the
street, walking in the same direction that Evans had been going when
they met. Evans, following his glance, saw a man with a businesslike
step walking by. The man turned down the first side street, and as he
turned under the street light at the corner, Evans caught a glimpse of
a sallow face. When the sound of his footsteps had died away, Lindsay
said in a manner that seemed more than half-joking:
“It looks to me as if you were being shadowed; that man stopped when
you stopped, then crossed the street. What are you up to, anyway?”
“I don’t believe any one wants to bother about shadowing me,” said
Evans.
“You’d better let me go along and look after you, or some fellow will
get you with a sandbag while you’re up in the clouds thinking about
wave lengths or frequencies or something.”
“Come along,” said Evans, “I’ll be glad enough to have you.”
“I guess I’d better mind my own business,” said Lindsay; “but watch
your step, old man.”
They parted, and Evans told himself that, of course, Lindsay was
joking. Yet, as he walked on through the lonely streets, he wished his
young friend was still with him. Just before he reached his hotel, he
heard a strangely familiar tread on the pavement a long way behind
him. Looking round as he turned to enter the hotel, he saw dimly in
the darkness a block away the form of a man; and though obviously too
far off to warrant any valid judgment, Evans couldn’t escape the
feeling that it was the same man that he and Lindsay had just noticed.
At the same moment there flashed into his mind an uncomfortable
feeling that it was the same man he had seen on Trinity Street in
Cambridge when he was saying good-night to Heringham after their first
talk. Evans laughed at himself for letting the darkness and the
strange blue street lights make him wax superstitious. Of course it
was all a trick of imagination; no one would waste time shadowing
him—a mere warrant officer. Yet it was with a keen sense of relief
that he found himself safe inside his room at the hotel.
Very soon after the commission of liaison officers arrived in London,
they were assured by the British authorities in no uncertain terms
that the navy was the keystone of everything. A message was cabled to
Washington which swept away all vestiges of doubt in the President’s
mind that the navy must come first, and which materially facilitated
his adoption of the necessary action giving the navy first claim on
the draft, which had now passed Congress.
After three weeks of strenuous activity on the part of the entire
commission preparing plans for the consolidation of the naval forces,
they embarked in their scout cruiser at the great Devonport dockyard
where the noise of hammer and riveter, the great heaps of steel
wreckage from repaired ships, and the general atmosphere of
miscellaneous naval activities betokened its great significance as a
naval base. On the high tide the long, slender cruiser glided quietly
out through the narrow channel between Stonehouse and Cremyl, and in
the gathering darkness left Plymouth Sound for the open sea. Four days
later the party landed in New York, and proceeded without delay to
Washington.