The mate cut one of the anchors because they were afraid of fouling the sunken torpedo, and we steamed slowly out from the shelter of the sandbank.

No escort was visible, and soon the sailors began to look anxious.  They scanned the horizon anxiously.  At last one cried, “There she is.”  Far away against the western dawn could be seen a thin needle mark of smoke.  In half an hour we were quite close, an Italian destroyer was convoying a small steamer.  The destroyer swung round under our stern, while the steamer, its funnels set back, raced for San Giovanni looking like a frightened puppy tearing towards home.  The grey warship surged past us, and out towards the horizon once more, our captain shouting to them that he could get to Brindisi by midnight.  Far away on the sky-line could be seen the three funnels of a cruiser.

We breakfasted on tinned mackerel, an unlucky dish.  The Harmonie, empty of cargo, was like an eggshell in the water.  She bounced and rolled and bounded from wave to wave, half of the time her screw out of the water.  The breakfast did not nourish many.  Far on the horizon could be seen the destroyer and the cruiser sweeping in gigantic circles.

Half a kilometre away a periscope suddenly appeared, then the submarine dived, rose once more, showing the rounded conning tower, dived, rose again, like a porpoise at play.

“See,” cried the sailors, “how well are we guarded.  Outermost the cruiser, then the destroyer, and innermost the submarine.”  The cruiser and destroyer took big sweeps once more and steamed off behind us towards Cattaro.

Our boat rolled its way from dawn to dusk.  We sought refuge in the coal hole, some lay down in the little officers’ cabin.  After dark the sea grew more rough, and splashing over the deck drove even the most ill to find shelter.  Whatmough staggered to the companion, tripped over something, and fell the length of the stair accompanied by a hard object which hit him and made hissing sounds like a bicycle pump.  He was too seasick to investigate, but next morning found the ship’s tortoise lying on its back and feebly waving its feet and head.

Then the engines slowly ceased, and there was silence.  What had happened?  The steamer gave four timid hoots.  The people in the cabin lay in the darkness wondering if they had broken down, for it was not nearly midnight.  At last the mate came in.

“Why, you’re all in the dark,” he said.

Some one asked, “When shall we get to Brindisi?”

“We’re there,” said the mate.

The steamer rocked on the sea, waiting for an escort through the mine field, lights were sparkling in the distance, and now and then flashlights cut the dark blue of the sky.  Great black ships surged by in the gloom, ships with insistent queries as to who we were and whence we came.

At last an escort came:  we were berthed and lay about waiting for the dawn.