movement aboard
the little outbound ship; one of her crew ran aft and hauled sharply at
the halyards, and then at her peak there was broken out not the
brilliant tri-coloured banner, gay and brave and clean, but a little
length of bunting, tattered and soiled, a faded breadth of stars and
bars, a veritable battle-flag, eloquent of strenuous endeavour, of
fighting without quarter, and of hardship borne without flinching and
without complaining.

The ship with her crowding escorts held onward. By degrees the City was
passed; the bay narrowed oceanwards little by little. The throng of
people, the boom of cannon, and the noise of shouting dropped astern.
One by one the boats of the escorting squadron halted, drew off, and,
turning with a parting blast of their whistles, headed back to the City.
Only the larger, heavier steamers and the sea-going tugs still kept on
their way. On either shore of the bay the houses began to dwindle,
giving place to open fields, brown and sear under the scudding sea-fog,
for now a wind was building up from out the east, and the surface of the
bay had begun to ruffle.

Half a mile farther on the slow, huge, groundswells began to come in; a
lighthouse was passed. Full in view, on ahead, stretched the open, empty
waste of ocean. Another steamer turned back, then another, then another,
then the last of the newspaper tugs. The fleet, reduced now to half a
dozen craft, ploughed on through and over the groundswells, the ship
they were escorting leading the way, her ragged little ensign straining
stiff in the ocean wind. At the entrance of the bay, where the enclosing
shores drew together and trailed off to surf-beaten sand-spits, three
more of the escort halted, and, unwilling to face the tumbling expanse
of the ocean, bleak and gray, turned homeward. Then just beyond the bar
two more of the remaining boats fell off and headed Cityward; a third
immediately did likewise. The outbound ship was left with only one
companion.

But that one, a sturdy little sea-going tug, held close, close to the
flank of the departing vessel, keeping even pace with her and lying
alongside as nearly as she dared, for the fog had begun to thicken, and
distant objects were shut from sight by occasional drifting patches.

On board the tug there was but one passenger--a woman. She stood upon
the forward deck, holding to a stanchion with one strong, white hand,
the strands of her bronze-red hair whipping across her face, the