r nip-cheese owners have put on her are unable to range the
tiers. Twenty fathoms of chain remain yet under water, the locker is
jammed, and the mate, roughed (and through a megaphone, too), from the
bridge, is calling on strange deities to take note that, 'of all the
damn ships he ever sailed in. . . .' The pilot calls out from the bridge
that they are going to pay out and restow, and the convoy officer,
blessing the forethought that had bade him send off Number Four, swings
off to speed the succession.

High water has made and the tide ebbs, swinging the ships yet anchored
till they head inshore, and adding to the pilots' worry of narrowed
vision the need to turn short round in crowded waters. For this the tugs
have been sent out in readiness, and the convoy launch has a busy
mission in casting about to find and set them to the task of towing the
laggards round. It is nothing easy, in the fog and confusion of moving
ships, to back the _Seahorse_ in and harness her by warp and hawser, but
with every vessel, canted, that straightens to her course, the press is
lightened by so much sea-room cleared. Gradually the hail and
counter-hail, hoarse order and repeat, whistle-signals, protest of
straining tow-ropes, die away with the lessening note of each sea-going
propeller.

To Number Three again, last of the line and out of her station, the
convoy officer seeks to return. The fog is denser than ever, and the
echoes of the bay, now transferred to seaward, augment the uneasy
short-blast mutterings where the ships, closed up at the narrow
'gateway,' are slowing and backing to drop their pilots. In his traverse
of the anchorage the coxswain has lost bearing of the _Cinderella_ and
steers a zigzag course through the murk. The sun has risen, brightening
the overhead but proving (in sea glare and misty daze) an ally to the
veil. No sound of heaving cable or thunder of escaping steam that would
mark a vessel hurrying to get her anchor and make up for time lost is to
be heard. Frankly puzzled, the coxswain stops his engines. "Must 'a
sailed, sir," he says at length. "There ain't nothin' movin' this end o'
th' bay."

The convoy officer nods. "_Mmm!_ She may have gone on, while we were
dragging _Marmion_ clear of th' stern of that 'blue funnel' boat. A good
job. Well, carry on! Head in--think that was th' pier-head bell we heard
abeam!"

At easy speed the launch turns and coxswain bends to peer at the
swinging compass-card. As one