The sternsheets-man nodded towards the approaching tow-lights. “Prisoners,” he said sententiously, and was silent, watching the shadowy ship looming towards them out of the murk. The tug on the tow slipped the hawser with a blast on her syren and turned shoreward; the splash of an anchor let go and the rattle of cable followed. The coxswain of the hospital boat, as if awaiting a signal, put out his hand toward the telegraph and rang slow speed ahead. A light appeared at the gangway of the shadowy ship. One of the tugs alongside had cast off and was backing astern into the darkness: as she cleared the ship’s side a steam-boat, with her bow lights gleaming through the drizzle like red and green jewels, crossed the bows, swept round in a graceful circle, and ran alongside. A rope ladder dropped from the upper deck of the ship, and a figure in oil-skins, which had been standing in the stern-sheets of the steam-boat, caught it as it swayed. “Lay off,” he said curtly to the coxswain, and climbed inboard. A seaman stood at the gangway holding a lantern above his head, and as the new-comer stepped inboard another figure came forward into the light to greet him. He was a loose-limbed, youngish man, wearing the cap and monkey jacket of a commander. Leather sea-boots reached to his knees, and he dragged his feet as he walked, as if oppressed with a great weariness. He peered at the new-comer through the drizzle for an instant, and then saluted. A grave smile flitted across his face, lit for a moment by the lantern-light. “Congratulate you!” said the visitor in quick incisive tones. “Are you all right--wounded?” “No, sir, not a scratch. Ship’s badly knocked about, but she’ll float. Dynamo’s gone, and we’ve only got lanterns, but you can see....” He nodded forward. The visitor came a pace or two inboard and stood looking about the upper-deck in silence. Figures were moving to and fro with lanterns, and the uncertain light flickered on splintered planking and upper-works shattered and distorted by shell-fire. The air was pungent with the sour odour of wet charred woodwork. “Yes....” said the new-comer, in a low voice, as if speaking to himself. “Yes....” He stared at the riven funnel overhead and thence to the rents in the bulwarks. “Where are your dead?” “Aft, sir.” The Commander led the way past piles of crumpled wreckage, down a ladder, and across an open space. A sentry leaning on his rifle at a doorway jerked to attention. “Here are the dead, sir,” said the Commander. He stepped through the door and indicated in the flickering lantern-light a row of motionless figures resting beneath a White Ensign. The other halted and stood in silent contemplation of the shrouded forms outlined dimly amongst the shadows. His chin had sunk on his breast, and for a minute he remained thus, motionless. Then slowly he turned away.