rest, and at a wave of the Admiral's flag off Land's End our Fleet was split in twain. One half would go outside Ireland, toying with the weight of the Atlantic en route, to Blacksod Bay, while we turned up the Irish Channel to Lough Swilly. There we would coal, and wait for War. After that it would be blind man's buff within a three hundred and fifty mile ring of the Atlantic. We of Lough Swilly would try to catch the Blacksod Fleet, which was supposed to have a rendezvous of its own somewhere out at sea, before it could return to the shelter of the Bay.
THE EXPERTS OF THE LOWER DECK
There was, however, one small flaw in the rules, and as soon as they were in possession of the plan of campaign the experts of the lower deck put their horny thumbs on it—thus:
'Look 'ere. Their Admiral 'as to go out from Blacksod to some rendezvous known only to 'isself. Ain't that so?'
'We've 'eard all that.' This from an impertinent, new to War.
'Leavin' a cruiser be'ind 'im—Blake most likely, or Blenheim—to bring 'im word of the outbreak of 'ostilities. Ain't that so?'
'Get on. What are you drivin' at?' 'You'll see. When that cruiser overtakes 'im 'e 'as to navigate back to Blacksod from 'is precious rendezvous to get 'ome again before we intercepts the beggar.'
'Well?'
