So the first afternoon at sea declined into evening.  I had been looking forward all day to the starlight night, in which we should discuss again with Monty the things that had crept into our conversation the night before.  I had gone to bed, happy in the thought that the breastworks had been broken down, and the way made easier for further unburdening.  I had fallen asleep, contented in the conviction that Monty had been sent into my life to help me to put things straight.  In my simple theology, I was pleased to imagine I saw how God was working.  Somewhere in that old world behind the dockyard lay my shattered ideals, shattered morals, shattered religion.  Monty was to rebuild my faith in humanity and in God.  Some where in that rosy year which was past lay the anchor that I had cast away.  Monty was to find me drifting to the Dardanelles with no anchor aboard, and to give me one that would hold.  Yes, I saw a ruling Hand.  Radley had been the great influence of my schooldays; and, now that he was fast fading into the memories of a remote past, Monty, this lean and whimsical priest, had stepped in to fill the stage.  The story of our spiritual development must ever be the story of other people’s influence over us.  I could see it all, and went to sleep lonely but happy.

It is difficult to say why I wanted to set my life aright.  The thought of my mother; the peaceful movement of the ship away from England; Monty’s stories of his lovable boy officers; and the beauty of the seascape—­all had something to do with it.  At any rate, I found myself longing for the time when, after dinner, Doe and I, with Monty between us, should recline in deck-chairs under the stars, and speak of intimate things.

When the time came, it was very dark, for deck-lamps were not allowed, and every port-hole was obscured, so that no chink of light should betray our whereabouts to a prowling submarine.  We began by star-gazing.  Then we brought eyes and faces downwards, and watched the wide, rippling sea.  Monty, having refilled his pipe on his knees, lit it with some difficulty in the gentle wind, before he remembered that, after dark, smoking was forbidden on deck.  The match flared up, and illuminated the world alarmingly....  We listened for the torpedo.

Nothing evil coming from the darkness, Monty knocked out the forbidden tobacco, and placed an empty pipe between his teeth.

“I suppose you fellows know,” he said, “that we’ve got a daily Mass on board.”

“What’s that?” asked Doe.

Monty removed his pipe and gazed with affected horror at his questioner.  Certainly he would hold forth now.

“Bah!” he began, but he changed it with quick generosity to “Ah well, ah well, ah well!  I know the sort of religion you’ve enjoyed—­and, for that matter, adorned.  It’s a wonderful creed!  Have a bath every morning, and go to church with your people.  It saves you from bad form, but can’t save you from vice.”