Then, through a break in the clouds, into the full glare of the searchlights, swung the majestic Zeppelin. Calmly and sedately she floated, apparently unmindful of the danger, though her crew were working like madmen to get her out of the perilous area. Away above her a tiny speck was visible, wheeling and circling like a gull in a gale of wind. A mighty flash and a roar showed where the German had dropped a bomb over the batteries, but still there was no order from the Flagship, and the Fleet watched and waited in silence. The shore guns had ceased firing now, and up above rode that great airship as if despising the puny craft who pitted themselves against her. Then ... a tiny flicker of flame was seen at one end of the Zeppelin, licking and hissing round the gas-bag as it spread from end to end. ‘’It, by God!’ yelled a Petty Officer in a strident voice. A sound of hoarse cheering broke from a ship at the end of the line, was caught up and carried down the harbour as ship after ship broke into one wild roar of jubilation. The airship was crashing down nose first, aflame from end to end. Like a streak of blinding light she lit up the harbour, the ships, and the upturned faces as she rushed to her destruction. Down over the land she fell, and the cheering swelled into a mighty roar as she disappeared over the shoulder of a hill. Only the sickly glare in the sky told where she was burning to death, she ... and all she had contained. As the yells of applause subsided, an answering cheer was wafted from the batteries ashore, and once more the Fleet burst into a thunder of appreciation. Then from the Flagship high up a red light, slowly winking and blinking in an urgent order, and the sound wavered, died away, and finally ceased altogether. ‘Flag-General, return stores, sir,’ said the First Lieutenant to Captain Charteris. The Captain nodded. ‘All right. Carry on,’ he said, and went back to his cabin as the vocalists broke out into a long-drawn chant of: ‘Retur-ur-ur-n Stor-or-or-es.’ Another rush of feet as boxes and branch-pipes were replaced, buckets stowed away, and sandboxes covered. The guns were secured and the crews fell out, while the ammunition parties returned the shell and cartridges and closed the magazines. The submarines had picked up the signal, too, and hove in their cables with prayers of gratitude that they might now continue their broken night’s rest. One by one they came back out of the darkness and dropped alongside the _Parentis_. A shape would appear, dimly seen in the waning moonlight. Somewhere a raucous voice would hail, and back would come the answer, ‘123’ or ‘146,’ as the case might be. ‘Answer’s “146,” sir,’ a voice would say, and the hailing would continue until finally all boats had returned and made fast in their accustomed berths.