the Connecticut, the New Hampshire, all older vessels, loomed out of the water like cliffs of stone; their two and three high funnels out-topping the squat single stack of the new oil-burners.
The word submarine has become a commonplace of our daily life, but there is always a tingle of excitement on seeing these strange human fishes. The O-16, one of the American undersea craft that operated from the Azores base during the war, was lying awash at her pier. I would have given much to go aboard, but as the officer guiding us said, "It pretty nearly takes an act of Congress to get a civilian aboard a submarine."
In a vast dry-dock, like small minnows gasping for breath in a waterless hollow, lay four diminutive submarines of the K type. Men were hosing them with water, as though to revive them. Their red plates made them look absurdly like goldfish; the diving rudders, like a fish's tail, and the little fins folded pathetically upon their sides toward the bow, increased the likeness. Their periscopes were stripped off, and through openings in the hull workmen were clambering inside. One tried to imagine what the interior of these queer craft might be like. Of all the engines of man they are the most mysterious to the layman. Their little brass propellers seemed incongruously small to drive them through the water. At their noses we could see the revolving tubes to hold the four torpedoes.
We passed, alas too fast, the great air-craft
