Training under war-time conditions must necessarily be as brief as possible, consistent with a certain degree of efficiency; and the period of instruction at Sableridge was no exception. As quickly as raw material could be fashioned into fairly competent motor-boatmen, drafts were sent away and recruits brought in to fill their places, in order that the R.A.F. marine might relieve the Royal Navy of a certain branch of its work—namely, attending upon sea-planes and coastal airships.

As far as an officer under instruction was concerned, the test was a simple, and at the same time a drastic one. He might be sent at a few hours\' notice to bring a motor-boat round from, say, Great Yarmouth to Sableridge, a distance of between two and three hundred miles. He had to use his discretion—to remain in port should the weather look threatening, or the atmospheric conditions point to fog or mist. Nevertheless, it was no light task to navigate a half-decked motor-craft in the depth of winter, when short days and dark nights added to the difficulties of making a passage.

It was of no use for an officer to attempt to live on his reputation. He had to be prepared to execute orders rationally and efficiently. There was one second-lieutenant who boasted that in pre-war days he had navigated his own yacht from Blackpool to the Isle of Man. Shortly after he had reported for duty at the depot an officer was required to bring a motor-launch round from Harwich.

"Why not send Ruby, sir?" suggested the Major, as he and the Colonel were debating as to who should be deputed for the task. "He has taken a boat across to the Isle of Man."

So Second-Lieutenant Ruby received his sailing orders, and for the next few days he walked about like a man in a trance. The magnitude of his task appalled him. Finally he went to the Major and declared that he was not equal to navigating the boat. From that moment he ceased to be a motor-boat officer, and was given a tedious but safe shore-billet.

It was towards the end of the first week in November that Derek Daventry received his orders for his first trip as an independent command. His instructions were to take two 35-footers and proceed to Wagshot Air Station, where he was to receive a sea-plane and tow her back to Sableridge. The double distance amounted to nearly seventy miles, of which half was open sea work. The sea-plane was an obsolete machine, the engines of which had been removed, and was required merely for the purpose of practising how to take this kind of aircraft in tow.

All the previous day Derek was exceptionally busy. On him rested the responsibility of the voyage. He had to see that the boats\' equipment was in order, that the tanks were filled with petrol, that there was plenty of lubricating oil on board, that the men had drawn their rations and blankets, and that charts and navigating instruments were on board.

Before sunset the two boats were moored alongside the pier. The start was timed for six in the morning. Hardly ever had Derek studied the barometer so frequently and so carefully. Twice during the night he rose from his camp-bed, donned trench-coat and sea-boots, and walked down to the pier, in order to satisfy himself that the boats were riding properly in the tide-way, and that their securing-rope had sufficient slack to allow for the rise and fall of the tide.

At 5 a.m., just as he was enjoying a sound slumber, he was awakened by his batman.

"What sort of morning is it?" he asked.

"Cold, sir, and fine," replied the man. "Bright moonlight, and hardly any wind."

Quickly Derek tumbled out of bed and began to dress. Experience had taught him that to be warmly clad in a boat is as necessary as when flying. Over his khaki breeches he wore a pair of thick flannel trousers. On his feet he had a pair of socks, a pair of woollen stockings, and a voluminous pair of india-rubber sea-boots. Walking even a short distance in loosely-fitting boots inevitably resulted in the total destruction of the heels of the socks, but on the other hand it would be a fairly simple matter to kick off the boots in the event of Derek finding himself "in the ditch". Sea-boots that fit tightly, and cannot be taken off quickly in an emergency, are nothing short of death-traps.

He discarded his tunic, wearing in its place two thick sweaters. The next items were his oilskin trousers and coat, while the only outward and visible sign that he held His Majesty\'s Commission in the R.A.F. was his cap, with the distinctive badge of the crown, eagle, and wings.

By the time he had completed dressing breakfast was served. He ate his meal in solitary state in the electrically-lighted mess-room. There was no question of the excellence of the food at Sableridge, even in war-time. Hot Scotch porridge, with treacle, eggs and bacon, toast, real butter, marmalade and jam—a square meal to fortify the young officer\'s inner man for the coming ordeal of a sea-voyage. Feeling rather like an arctic explorer, for across his shoulders he now carried a well-filled haversack and a pair of binoculars, Derek descended the steps of the officers\' mess and walked down to the pier.

The batman was right. It was a cold morning. Every bush was festooned with hoar-frost that glistened in the moonlight. The planks of the pier were slippery with ice, while there was a biting coldness in the air that gave a zest to life, even at six o\'clock on a November morning.

The crews of the two boats were already at the pier-head, black oilskinned figures, looking like ghostly familiars in the grey light. Both craft had their engines running, the fumes from the exhausts rising strongly in the cold air. From the stern of each boat flew the White Ensign, while as a distinguishing pennant each displayed the "International F" from the short iron mast abaft the fore-deck.

Then came a grim reminder that there were war risks even on a coastal voyage. Before embarking every man had to give his name to the signalman on the pier-head, in order that their next-of-kin should be promptly informed if the boats met with disaster and the crews failed to return.

"All ready?"
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