ewhere was religiously maintained, it
was of little value, as all that could be seen in the darkness to
seawards was a hazy mist of flying spray which the wind whisked from the
surface and carried several miles inland.

Standing back from the sea, and some half-mile from the centre of the
little fishing town, stood a substantially built house, more commodious
and better furnished than many of its neighbours, which had
providentially fallen into the temporary grasp of one of the married
officers of the patrol flotilla, who generously kept open house for his
less fortunate brothers-in-arms.

On this wild winter night the interior looked excessively cosy and
inviting. Before a big blazing fire of logs sat three officers, talking
between copious sips of whisky and soda. Their conversation was subdued
and their inhalations of cigar smoke long. By their side were the
faithful women who had followed them from the comforts of home and the
gaieties of the great southern cities to this remote corner of northern
Scotland. They too were talking among themselves and knitting for the
crews of their husbands' ships.

This quiet domestic scene would have gone on uninterruptedly until a
late hour, for it was seldom that such precious moments of rest and
contentment could be snatched amid the ever-recurring duties and the
turmoil of war, had it not been for one of the officers who glanced
ruefully at his wrist watch and then apologetically informed his host
that it was his turn for night duty on the signal tower.

Scarcely had he risen from the fire and moved towards the door of the
room, however, before the dull boom of a gun was borne on the howling
wind. All stood still and listened. The women ceased their knitting and
looked up apprehensively. Then a minute or so later the boom came again,
this time in a lull of the storm, and it sounded nearer.

The three officers hurried into the hall to get on oilskins and
sea-boots, but almost before this could be done there came a report
which echoed sharply through the little town. They knew the sound only
too well, for the coast was a dangerous one. It was the reply of the
life-boat crew to the call of distress, and with one accord they moved
towards the door. Almost instantly it was thrown violently open and the
rush of wind and rain extinguished the hall light. For the next few
minutes they were struggling against the gale, battling their way to the
lofty little signal station, impeded