und from the ships around us, not a light glimmers in the
darkness. The eerie atmosphere through which we pass has effect on the
night-life of the ship. On deck there is an inclination to move quietly,
to preserve a silence in keeping with the weird spell that seems to
environ us. There is no longer chatter and small talk among the duty
troops; they sit about, huddled in glistening _ponchos_, peering out at
the ghostly glow on the water. From far down in the bowels of the ship
the rattle of a stoker's shovel on the plates rings out in startling
clamour, and rouses an instant desire to suppress the jarring note. It
seems impossible that there can be ships in our company--vessels moving
with us through mystic seas. We peer around, on all the bearings, but
see nothing on our encircling wall. Smell? We nose at the air, seeking a
waft of coal-smoke, but the rain is beating straight down, basting the
funnel-wraiths on the flat of the sea.

An average of eight hours' steaming, seven-three revolutions, may be no
good guide, considering the racing and the plunging we have gone
through. In proper station we ought to see the loom of _Neleus_ ahead,
or, at least, the wash of her fog-buoy. It is important that we should
be in good touch at daybreak. We go full speed for a turn or two and
post an officer in the bows to scan for our leader.

New and vexing problems come at us as time draws on. We are due to start
a zigzag, 'in execution of previous orders,' before the day breaks. We
see a royal 'hurrah's nest'--a rough house--before us if we lay off
without a proper sight of our fellows. So far there has come no negative
to our orders; we are somewhat concerned. A message cannot have been
missed, surely! "Nothing through yet, sir," is the wakeful assurance
from the wireless operator. "X's fierce with this rain, but should get
any near message all right."

At eight bells we come in sight of one unit of the convoy. She shows
up, broad off on our lee bow, in a position we had hardly looked for.
There is little to see. A darkling patch, a blurred shadow, in the face
of sea and sky, with a luminous curl of broken water astern. We cannot
identify her in the darkness; flashing signals are barred in the
submarine areas; we must wait daylight for recognition. She should be
_Neleus_, but a hair-line on our steering-card may have brought us to
the leader of the outside column. In any case we are in touch, and it is
with some relief we ease spe