On the night in question one of the Drifter Patrol had sighted a submarine on the surface, attempting to break through the vigilant cordon of patrol craft. Off went the drifter in jubilant pursuit, signalling to her consorts to join the hunt, and the remainder joined her like a pack of basset-hounds on the trail of an otter. The enemy destroyers, casting about in the darkness, sighted the “Tally-ho!” rocket and swept down upon the drifters, intent upon their own business, from at least four quarters simultaneously. The Germans appear to have worked in pairs; the leading boat of each couple switched on a blinding searchlight for the few seconds necessary to get an accurate range, and then the whole force slowed down to carry out the deliberate work of destruction. In the words of one of the survivors, “It was awfu’--juist slaughter.” The speaker made the statement without heat or reproach; he was a fisherman, as were most of his brethren, wont to accept both calamity and fortune without emotion. “Girt ole black things ...” he added, and shook his grizzled head so that the sunlight winked on his gold earrings. [Illustration] The enemy closed in nearly all cases to within fifty yards of their victims, poured two salvos of high-explosive shell into each, and passed on. They had no time for fancy shooting and there were few misses. It is to be hoped they found the gruesome work to their taste. In one case a German destroyer misjudged her distance and came so close to her victim that she was unable to depress her guns sufficiently to bring them to bear on the little target. She fired as she rolled instead, and the drifter _Cloverbank_ turned on the instant into a splintered shambles, buried in clouds of steam and rocketing sparks. Only one man survived the first salvo, Deckhand Plane, R.N.R. (Trawler Section). He blundered forward to the gun through the flames and fumes of bursting shell, and finding it loaded, returned the fire at point-blank range, single-handed, half-blinded, stupefied by smoke and din.