out of Grimsby Docks in all the proud bravery of new paint and snow-white
decks, and passed the Newsand bound for the Dogger Bank. They had
christened her the _King George_, and, though her feminine susceptibilities
were perhaps a trifle piqued at this affront to her sex, it was a right
royal name, and her brand-new boilers swelled with loyal fervour. She was a
steam trawler--at that time one of the smartest steam trawlers afloat, and
she knew it; she held her headlights very high indeed, you may be sure.

Time passed, and the winds and waters of the North Sea dealt all too rudely
with the fair freshness of her exterior; she grew worn and weather-stained,
and it was apparent even to the casual eye of a landsman that she had left
her girlhood behind her out on the Nor'-East Rough. Some of the younger
trawlers would jeeringly refer to her behind her back as "Auntie," and
affected to regard her as an antediluvian old dowager, which of course was
mainly due to jealousy. But she still pegged away at her work, bringing in
from the Dogger week by week her cargoes of fish, regardless alike of the
ravages of time and the jibes of her upstart rivals. As long as her owners
were satisfied she was happy, for she cherished first and last a sense of
duty, as all good ships do.

And then suddenly came the War, infesting the seas with unaccustomed and
nerve-racking dangers. I must apologise for mentioning this, as everybody
knows that we ought now to forget about the War as quickly as possible and
get on with more important matters, but at the time it had a certain effect
upon us all, not excluding the _King George_. Scorning the menaces that
lurked about her path she carried on the pursuit of the cod and haddock in
her old undemonstrative fashion, for she was a British ship from stem to
stern and conscious of the tradition behind her.

Then one day they hauled her up in dock, gave her a six-pounder astern,