As the afternoon wore on, various fires sprang up, resulting from the action of careless smokers, and these spread so rapidly that shortly after we got on board again a call came for volunteers to extinguish them, since it was feared that if damage to the countryside resulted, future "joy stunts" in that district would be prohibited. There was no lack of recruits forthcoming, for this was just such a job as the "matloe's" soul loves, as it gives him ample scope for the indulgence of his twin passions of dressing-up and roaring lusty and ribald choruses to popular tunes! To the dreamy melody of "Keep the' Ome Fires burning—I _don't_ fink," the fire party embarked in the picket-boat with launch and cutter in tow, all chock-a-block with men of diverse ratings. Their costumes were varied and heterodox, and they were all heavily armed with broomsticks, swabs, etc., with which to combat the flames. When we reached the pier the men fell in, and Commander "T." who was in charge divided them into three parties and detailed one party to deal with each of the main outbreaks.
The party officered by Wilson, Laurence, and myself ran the first mile at breakneck speed, but the pace flagged when we got among the bogs at the bottom of the hill, for here every few yards we floundered up to our waists in mud and water. To our disgusted disappointment, when we arrived at our special objective it was only to find that we had been forestalled by a party from another ship and the fire was already out.
It was a weird scene: from all over the hill-side different parties were signalling with flash-lamps, and bursts of song came from every quarter. On the summit a group of men from H.M.S. —— were lustily yodelling "Life in the Alps," and altogether it was a fair old beano for the ships' companies engaged.
When all the fires had been adequately "strafed," we returned on board, an uncommonly dirty but very merry crew.
That night the gunroom was entertaining some officers from one of our submarines which happened to be alongside, and on our entry we were met by a fog of tobacco smoke you could have cut with a knife, and a chorus of song which made up in volume what it lacked in melody. Clamouring for instant drinks, we joined the throng, and only a few minutes later who should blow in but Commander ——, no less dirty and dishevelled than the rest of us. Evidently he had found the staid decorum of the wardroom little to his taste, and with that sublime indifference to his "exalted rank" which characterized him when "off duty," he joined in our gunroom "rag" with as much zest as the youngest Snotty—to whom, notwithstanding his decorations and three stripes, he was in point of age not more than a dozen years senior.