The result was signalled to the Terrible, which came down to us, and as she was bound to St John’s to take in coals to enable her to return to England, all who had business or friends in America prepared their dispatches for her boat. The wind and sea were rising, as if anxious to hurry us from the scene of the nine days’ struggle. The Great Eastern’s head was already turned westwards. All were prompt to leave the spot which soon would bear no mark of the night and day long labours--for the buoys which whirled up and down and round in the seaway would probably become waifs and strays on the ocean, and all that was left of the expedition for a time were the entries in log books--“Lat. 51° 24´ Long. 38° 59´; end of Cable down N. 50 W. 1¾ mile”--and such memories as animate men who, having witnessed brave fights with adverse fortune, are encouraged thereby to persevere, in the sure conviction that the good work will in the end be accomplished. It was wild and dark when Lieutenant Prowse set off to regain his ship. The flash of a gun from the Terrible to recall her cutter lighted up the gloom, and the glare of an answering blue light, burned by the boat, revealed for an instant the hull of the man-of-war on the heaving waters. There was a profound silence on board the Big Ship. She struggled against the helm for a moment as though she still yearned to pursue her course to the west, then bowed her head to the angry sea in admission of defeat, and moved slowly to meet the rising sun. The signal lanterns flashed from the Terrible, “Farewell!” The lights from our paddle-box pierced the night, “Good-by! Thank you,” in sad acknowledgment. Then each sped on her way in solitude and darkness.