Seafaring men of Britain well know that no naval duty is so anonymous or so hard as life on a destroyer. A destroyer does not roll; she snaps. She does not pitch; she gallops. Food and drink for days on end is taken with an arm and a leg locked around a stanchion.
But last week the stature of destroyers grew. They became much more than busy little sea shepherds. Psychologically they were projected to the bulk of battleships; they became a new hope of victory, a pledge that Britain was not alone,...
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