PART II
The wind went down with the sunset--
The fog came up with the tide,
When the Witch of the North took an Egg-shell (_bis_)
With a little Blue Devil inside.
"Sink," she said, "or swim," she said,
"It's all you will get from me.
And that is the finish of him!" she said,
And the Egg-shell went to sea.
The wind got up with the morning,
And the fog blew off with the rain,
When the Witch of the North saw the Egg-shell
And the little Blue Devil again.
"Did you swim?" she said. "Did you sink?" she said,
And the little Blue Devil replied:
"For myself I swam, but I think," he said,
"There's somebody sinking outside."
But for the small detail that I was a passenger and a civilian, and might
not alter her course, torpedo-boat No. 267 was mine to me all that
priceless day. Moorshed, after breakfast--frizzled ham and a devil that
Pyecroft made out of sardines, anchovies, and French mustard smashed
together with a spanner--showed me his few and simple navigating tools,
and took an observation. Morgan, the signaller, let me hold the chamois
leathers while he cleaned the searchlight (we seemed to be better equipped
with electricity than most of our class), that lived under a bulbous
umbrella-cover amidship. Then Pyecroft and Morgan, standing easy, talked
together of the King's Service as reformers and revolutionists, so
notably, that were I not engaged on this tale I would, for its conclusion,
substitute theirs.
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