LITMIR.BIZ

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and soda in his life. Dinners at Admiralty House, therefore, were absolutely "dry," and in perfect keeping with American naval regulations.

      Though Admiral Bayly was not athletic—his outdoor games being limited to tip-and-run cricket in the Admiralty grounds, which he played with a round bat and a tennis ball—he was a man of wiry physique and a tireless walker. Indeed the most active young men in our navy had great difficulty in keeping pace with him. One of his favourite diversions on a Saturday afternoon was to take a group on a long tramp in the beautiful country surrounding Queenstown; by the time the party reached home, the Admiral, though sixty years old, was usually the freshest of the lot. I still vividly remember a long walk which I took with him in a pelting rain; I recall how keenly he enjoyed it and how young and nimble he seemed to be when we reached home, drenched to the skin. A steep hill led from the shore up to Admiralty House; Sir Lewis used to say that this was a valuable military asset—it did not matter how angry a man might be with him when he started for headquarters, by the time he arrived, this wearisome climb always had the effect of quieting his antagonism. The Admiral was fond of walking up this hill with our young officers; he himself usually reached the top as fresh as a daisy, while his juniors were frequently puffing for breath.

      He enjoyed testing out our men in other ways; nothing delighted him more than giving them hard jobs to do—especially when they accomplished the tasks successfully. One day he ordered one of our officers, Lieutenant-Commander Roger Williams, captain of the Duncan, a recent arrival at Queenstown, to cross the Irish Sea and bring back a ship. The joke lay in the fact that this man's destroyer had just come in with her steering gear completely out of commission—a circumstance which Admiral Bayly well understood. Many officers would have promptly asked to be excused on this ground, but not this determined American. He knew that the Admiral was trying to "put something over on him," and he rose to the occasion. The fact that Queenstown Harbour is long and narrow, not wide enough for a destroyer to turn around in, made Commander Williams's problem still more difficult, but by cleverly using his engines, he succeeded in backing out—the distance required was five miles; he took another mile and a half to turn his ship and then he went across the sea and brought back his convoy—all without any steering gear. This officer never once mentioned to the Admiral the difficulties under which he had worked, but his achievement completely won Sir Lewis's heart, and from that time this young man became one of his particular favourites. Indeed, it was the constant demonstration of this kind of fundamental character in our naval men which made the Admiral admire them so.

      On occasions Admiral Bayly would go to sea himself—something quite unprecedented and possibly even reprehensible, for it was about the same thing as a commanding general going into the front-line trenches. But the Admiral believed that doing this now and then helped to inspire his men; and, besides that, he enjoyed it—he was not made for a land sailor. He had as flagship a cruiser of about 5,000 tons; he had a way of jumping on board without the slightest ceremony and taking a cruise up the west coast of Ireland. On occasion the Admiral would personally lead an expedition which was going to the relief of a torpedoed vessel, looking for survivors adrift in small boats. One day Admiral Bayly, Captain Pringle of the U.S.S. Melville, Captain Campbell, the Englishman whose exploits with mystery ships had given him worldwide fame, and myself went out on the Active to watch certain experiments with depth charges. It was a highly imprudent thing to do, because a vessel of such draft was an excellent target for torpedoes, but that only added to the zest of the occasion from Admiral Bayly's point of view.

      "What a bag this would be for the Hun!" he chuckled. "The American Commander-in-Chief, the British Admiral commanding in Irish waters, a British and an American captain!"

      In our mind's eye we could see our picture in the Berlin papers—four distinguished prisoners standing in a row.

      A single fact shows with what consideration Admiral Bayly treated his subordinates. The usual naval regulation demands that an officer, coming in from a trip, shall immediately seek out his commander and make a verbal report. Frequently the men came in late in the evening, extremely fatigued; to make the visit then was a hardship and might deprive them of much-needed sleep. Admiral Bayly therefore had a fixed rule that such visits should be made at ten o'clock of the morning following the day of arrival. On such occasions he would often be found seated somewhat grimly behind his desk wholly absorbed in the work in hand. If he were writing or reading his mail he would keep steadily at it, never glancing up until he had finished. He would listen to the report stoically, possibly say a word of praise, and then turn again to the business in hand. Occasionally he would notice that his abruptness had perhaps pained the young American; then he would break into an apologetic smile, and ask him to come up to dinner that evening, and even—this was the greatest honour of all—to spend the night at Admiralty House.

      These dinners were great occasions for our men, particularly as they were presided over by Miss Voysey, the Admiral's niece. Miss Voysey, the little spaniel, Patrick, and the Admiral constituted the "family," and the three were entirely devoted to one another. Pat in particular was an indispensable part of this menage; I have never seen any object quite so crestfallen and woe-begone as this little dog when either Miss Voysey or the Admiral spent a day or two away from the house. Miss Voysey was a young woman of great personal charm and cultivation; probably she was the influence that most contributed to the happiness and comfort of our officers at Queenstown. From the day of their arrival she entered into the closest comradeship with the Americans. She kept open house for them: she was always on hand to serve tea in the afternoon, and she never overlooked an opportunity to add to their well-being. As a result of her delightful hospitality Admiralty House really became a home for our officers. Miss Voysey had a genuine enthusiasm for America and Americans; possibly the fact that she was herself an Australian made her feel like one of us; at any rate, there were certain qualities in our men that she found extremely congenial, and she herself certainly won all their hearts. Anyone who wishes to start a burst of enthusiasm from our officers who were stationed at Queenstown need only to mention the name of Miss Voysey. The dignity with which she presided over the Admiral's house, and the success with which she looked out for his comfort, also inspired their respect. Miss Voysey was the leader in all the war charities at Queenstown, and she and the Admiral made it their personal duty to look out for the victims of torpedoed ships. At whatever hour these survivors arrived they were sure of the most warm-hearted attentions from headquarters. In a large hall in the Custom House at the landing the Admiral kept a stock of cigarettes and tobacco, and the necessary gear and supplies for making and serving hot coffee at short notice, and nothing ever prevented him and his people from stationing themselves there to greet and serve the survivors as soon as they arrived—often wet and cold, and sometimes wounded. Even though the Admiral might be at dinner he and Miss Voysey would leave their meal half eaten and hurry to the landing to welcome the survivors. The Admiral and his officers always insisted on serving them, and they would even wash the dishes and put them away for the next time. The Admiral, of course, might have ordered others to do this work, but he preferred to give this personal expression of a real seaman's sympathy for other seamen in distress. It is unnecessary to say that any American officers who could get there in time always lent a hand. I am sure that long after most of the minor incidents of this war have faded from my memory, I shall still keep a vivid recollection of this kindly gentleman, Admiral Sir Lewis Bayly, K.C.B., K.C.M.G., C.V.O., Royal Navy, serving coffee to wretched British, American, French, Italian, Japanese, or negro sailors, with a cheering word for each, and afterward, with sleeves tucked up, calmly washing dishes in a big pan of hot water.

      I have my fears that the Admiral will not be particularly pleased by the fact that I have taken all these pains to introduce him to the American public. Excessive modesty is one of his most conspicuous traits. When American correspondents came to Queenstown, Admiral Bayly would receive them courteously. "You can have all you want about the navy," he would say, "but remember—not a word about Lewis Bayly." He was so reticent that he was averse to having his picture taken; even the moving picture operator detailed to get an historic record of the arrival of our destroyers did not obtain a good view of the Admiral, for whenever Sir Lewis saw him coming he would turn his back to the camera! My excuse for describing this very lovable man, however, is because he became almost an object of veneration to our American officers, and because, since for eighteen months he was the commander of the American forces based on Queenstown, he is an object

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