to
break away from that hornets' nest as soon as possible. Half a dozen
or so of them ran into four German battleships, which they set about
torpedoing at ranges varying from half a mile to a mile and a half. It
was asking for trouble and they got it; but they got in return at
least one big ship, and the same observant battleship of ours who
identified Eblis's bird reported _three_ satisfactory explosions in
half an hour, followed by a glare that lit up all the sky. One of the
flotilla, closing on what she thought was the smoke of a sister in
difficulties, found herself well in among the four battleships. "It
was too late to get away," she says, so she attacked, fired her
torpedo, was caught up in the glare of a couple of searchlights, and
pounded to pieces in five minutes, not even her rafts being left. She
went down with her colours flying, having fought to the last available
gun.

Another destroyer who had borne a hand in Gehenna's trouble had her
try at the four battleships and got in a torpedo at 800 yards. She saw
it explode and the ship take a heavy list. "Then I was chased," which
is not surprising. She picked up a friend who could only do 20 knots.
They sighted several Hun destroyers who fled from them; then dropped
on to four Hun destroyers all together, who made great parade of
commencing action, but soon afterwards "thought better of it, and
turned away." So you see, in that flotilla alone there was every
variety of fight, from the ordered attacks of squadrons under control,
to single ship affairs, every turn of which depended on the second's
decision of the men concerned; endurance to the hopeless end; bluff
and cunning; reckless advance and red-hot flight; clear vision and as
much of blank bewilderment as the Senior Service permits its children
to indulge in. That is not much. When a destroyer who has been dodging
enemy torpedoes and gun-fire in the dark realises about midnight that
she is "following a strange British flotilla, having lost sight of my
own," she "decides to remain with them," and shares their fortunes and
whatever language is going.

If lost hounds could speak when they cast up next day, after an
unchecked night among the wild life of the dark, they would talk much
as our destroyers do.

The doorkeepers of Zion,
They do not always stand
In helmet and whole armour,
With halberds in their hand;
But, being sure of Zion,
And all her mysteries,
They res