craft quivered under the drive of the rapidly
revolving screw.

'Ay, and I reckon we'll need all she's got afore we're through,' replied
Williams dryly, as he squirted oil into a bearing.

'We ought to be all right if the fog holds,' said Ken.

'Ay, if it does. I'll allow it's thick enough up here, but there ain't no
saying what it'll be down in them straits. Fogs is uncertain things at
best and you never can tell when you'll run out o' one into clear
weather.'

Williams's warning made Ken feel distinctly uneasy, and every few minutes
he kept looking out to see what the weather was doing. But so far from
clearing, the mist seemed to thicken, until it was as gray and wet as the
Channel on a late autumn day. Night, too, was closing down, and soon it
was so dark that one end of the vessel could not be seen from the other.

The distance to the mouth of the Straits was about thirty miles, and the
Straits themselves have a length of thirty-five. The launch was good for
fifteen knots, and though it would not be possible to go at full speed
through the Narrows, they hoped, barring accidents, to do the journey in
about five hours.

Having done two hours' work, Ken and Roy were relieved, and after a much
needed wash, went into the cabin for a mouthful of food. Then Ken went
forward, to find his father, wearing a rough black oilskin, combining the
duties of look-out and skipper. At the wheel was a young Englishman named
Morgan, an amateur yachtsman who knew the Straits like the palm of his
hand.

'Where are we now, dad?' asked Ken.

'Opposite Bulair.'

'What--in the Straits?'

'At their mouth, Ken.'

'We haven't wasted much time, then.'

'Indeed we haven't. But I am afraid we shall have to slow a bit now. The
fog is thicker than ever, there are no lights, and we don't want to come
to an ignominious end by piling ourselves up on the cliffs.

'Still the fog's our best friend,' he continued, 'and we have plenty of
time before us. If we average no more than half-speed we should be clear
before daylight.'

For another twenty minutes they carried on at full speed through the
choking smother, then Captain Carrington rang to reduce speed.

'We're off Gallipoli now,' he said. 'That's where I should have been by
this time, Ken, if G 2 had not popped up just at the proper moment.'

'It isn't exactly a salubrious spot,' Ken answered with a smile. 'The
"Lizzie" has been chucking her 15-inchers into the town whenever she
ha