The mystery ship had already slowed down and altered course. Men, grasping coiled bowlines, were grouped on her long narrow bows. Ainslie, standing well for'ard, was conning the ship by movements of his arms. Wakefield, binoculars to his eyes, was keeping the men in distress under observation. "A pair of Huns!" he exclaimed, as Morpeth and Meredith joined him. "They're clinging to a U-boat's buoy. I can see the number 'U 247' painted on it." "One of our submarines has been busy, then," remarked Morpeth. "Hope to goodness she doesn't jolly well take it into her head to slap a tinfish into us." Wakefield shrugged his shoulders. This was another phase of U-boat tactics. When a fellow rigs himself up like a Fritz to bag a Fritz, presumably he must run the risk of being taken for a genuine Fritz by other Fritz-hunters. He glanced at Morpeth inquiringly. The R.N.R. man's face was set and determined. Above the risks of war another issue dominated. Human life was at stake, not in the heat of battle but in the ceaseless struggle of man with the sea--a fight that has been waged ever since men adventured themselves upon the waters. Friends or foemen made no difference: Morpeth was determined to pluck the two distressed men from the grip of the voracious sea. The swimmers were Ober-leutnant Hans von Preugfeld and Unter-leutnant Eitel von Loringhoven. More than an hour had elapsed since they had been ruthlessly jettisoned by the mutineers. Their chances of being picked up were small indeed. Had it not been for the fact that one of the U-boat's crew, more humane than the rest, had surreptitiously released a life-buoy from the starboard side of the submarine--he had done this just before the two officers were hurled overboard--von Preugfeld and von Loringhoven would have perished. As it was, the support afforded by the cylindrical hollow metal buoy had kept both afloat, although they were almost exhausted by the numbing cold. Slowing down until she carried bare steerage way, Q 171's bows passed within three yards of the life-buoy and the two men. A bowline, thrown with admirable judgment and precision, fell over the unter-leutnant's head, but von Loringhoven was too exhausted to slip his arms and shoulders through the looped line. Without hesitation, the bluejacket who had hurled the coil of rope thrust the tail end into the hands of a man standing next to him. "Hold hard, mate!" he exclaimed, as he took a flying leap over the low stanchion rail. Deftly the rescuer adjusted the bowline under von Loringhoven's shoulders, and with a stentorian "Heave away roundly!" he swung himself back to the Q-boat's fo'c'sle. In another fifteen seconds two dripping and water-logged individuals joined the rescuer.