Throughout the night it
rested, licking its wounds in the darkness, with vigilance still
unrelaxed and its might unimpaired. For the time being its task had
been accomplished; but only the enemy, counting the stricken ships that
laboured into the shelter of the German mine-fields, knew how
thoroughly.

The succeeding dawn came sullenly, with mist and drizzle shrouding the
shores and outer sea. As the day wore on a cold wind sprang up and
rolled the mist restlessly to and fro across the slopes of the hills.

On a little knoll of ground overlooking a wide expanse of level turf
covered with coarse grass and stunted heather stood a man with his
hands clasped behind his back. In the courage, judgment and sober
self-confidence of that solitary figure had rested the destiny of an
Empire through one of the greatest crises in its history: even as he
stood there, bare-headed, with kindly, tired eyes resting on the misty
outlines of the vast Fleet under his command, responsibility such as no
one man had ever known before lay upon his shoulders.

Behind him, in the sombre dignity of blue and gold, in a silent group
stood the Admirals and Commodores of the Squadrons and Flotillas with
their Staff Officers; further in the rear, in a large semicircle on
slightly higher ground, were gathered the Captains and officers of the
Fleet.

Where the turf sloped gradually towards the sea were ranged the seamen
and marines chosen to represent the Fleet: rank upon rank of motionless
men standing with their caps in their hands and their eyes on the
centre of the great hollow square where, hidden beneath the folds of
the Flag they had served so well, lay those of their comrades who had
died of wounds since the battle. A Chaplain in cassock and white
surplice moved across the open space and halted in the centre, office
in hand:

"I am the Resurrection and the Life..."

The wind that fluttered the folds of his surplice caught the words and
carried them far out to sea over the heads of the living--the sea where
the others lay who had fought their last fight in that grim battle of
the mist. A curlew circled low down overhead, calling again and again
as if striving to convey some insistent message that none would
understand. From the rocky shore near-by came the low murmur of the
sea, the sound that has in it all the sorrow and gladness in the world.

At length the inaudible office for the Burial of the Dead came to an
end. The Chaplain