The strike of compositors which had maddened the conductors of daily journals proved to be a blessing in disguise. Such stirring news had come to hand that a few hours’ delay in publishing the morning papers were worth all the terms that trades unions could exact--and more also. The morning papers of December 27th became afternoon papers, and they went off like wildfire. Indeed there was news that staggered humanity: Item One:--The death of Marcus White by drowning in the Thames--with the murderous clutch of Raggett and another Leaguer still on his throat. And this, it was recognised, meant not only the death of three men--it was the death-blow of the League itself. Item Two:--The direful catastrophe at Portsmouth dockyard, with all that it meant, and might have meant, for England. Item Three:--The treacherous night attack of the Germans at Plymouth, so happily detected, and the subsequent victory of the British fleet. Item Four:--Failure of a projected joint movement by the German and the Russian fleets in the North Sea. The stars in their courses had “fought against Sisera.” The concerted action of the combined squadrons had come to naught, partly because of the delay and blundering of the Russian admiral; mainly by reason of the terrible storm which swept the sea and thundered on our shores on that eventful night. Battered and beaten by the tempest, the invading ships had made all haste to return to port. Once again, as in the days of Queen Elizabeth, “God blew, and they were scattered!” But the heaviest stroke of misfortune suffered by the enemy was not inflicted in the North Sea. The remnant of the German Squadron of the south, seeking to escape from its pursuers, had found the flying squadron despatched from Spithead completely barring their passage in the Straits of Dover. The British crews were fresh and fit, burning for battle. But once again in the history of nations discretion was acknowledged to be the better part of warfare. The Germans were not now in force or condition to show fight. Every ship fell into the hands of the British admiral, and was promptly interned in Dover harbour. There yet remained a startling postscript to this tremendous news. The _Schiller_, pursued by the British cruiser _Cadmus_ and the destroyer _Hornet_, on the 26th had made desperate efforts to escape capture. Driven to the west in the darkness and the storm, the liner made a rash attempt to double back between her pursuers and the Scilly Islands. The result was fatal. Too late, the commander of the _Schiller_ discovered his dangerous proximity to the “Bishop and his Clerks.” A terrific wave swept the great liner like a plaything on the deadly rocks. There came another mighty, shattering rush of water that drowned the captain and swept a passenger, who stood beside him in that awful moment, clear of the ship and far up on the tangled seaweed of the rocks.