chase, manoeuvring at utmost speed and
exploding depth-charges in the area. We are now some distance from them
but the crash of their explosion sends an under-running shock to us
still. Our sheer has brought us broadside on to the position from which
the enemy loosed off his torpedo. At full astern we bring up and swing
over towards the receding convoy. If we are barred from carrying on a
zigzag by the mishap to our helm, we can still put a crazy gait on her
by using the engines. Backing and coming ahead, we make little progress,
but at least we present no sitting target.

Reports come through from aft that the broken chain, springing from a
fractured link, has jammed hard under the quadrant; the engineers are at
work, jacking up to release the links; they will be cleared in ten
minutes! The chief asks for the engines to be stopped; sternway is
putting purchase on the binding pressure of the rudder. Reluctantly we
bring up and lie-to. In no mood to advertise our distress, we lower the
'not under command' signals, and summon what patience may be left to us
to await completion of repairs.

A long 'ten minutes!' Every second's tick seems fraught with a new
anxiety. Fearfully we scan the sea around, probing the line of each
chance ripple for sight of an upstanding pin-point. Anon, steam pressure
rises and thunders through the exhaust, throwing a battery of spurting
white vapour to the sky, and letting even the sea-birds know we are
crippled and helpless.

The torpedoed ship still floats, though with a dangerous list and her
stern low in the water. A sloop is taking her in tow, and we gather
assurance of her state in the transport's boats still hanging from the
davits; they have not abandoned. She falters at the end of the long
tow-rope and sheers wildly in the wake of her salvor. The convoy has
vanished into the grey of the east, and only a lingering smoke-wreath
marks the bearing where they have entered the mist. The sun has gone,
leaving but little afterglow to lengthen twilight; it will soon be dark.
Apparently satisfied with their work the destroyers cease fire; whether
there is oil on their troubled waters we cannot see. They linger a
while, turning, then go on in the wake of the convoy. One turns north
towards us, with a busy windmiller of a signalman a-top the
bridge-house. "_What is the matter? Do you wish to be towed?_" We
explain our case, and receive an answer that she will stand by, "_but
use utmost dispatch