rounded the Naze. Here, we thought, we should
certainly come across some British vessel. But that day and the next
passed--it seemed as if we too were to get in during the week-end!--and
hope of rescue disappeared. Many messages had been dropped overboard in
bottles and attached to spars, etc., during the voyage, but all,
apparently, in vain. The bearing of the Germans towards us became
markedly changed, discipline more rigid, and still greater care was
taken that no vestige of light showed anywhere at night. We were almost
in their clutches now, the arrival at Kiel and transference to Ruhleben
were openly talked of, and our captors showed decided inclination to
jeer at us and our misfortunes. We were told that all diaries, if we had
kept them, must be destroyed, or we should be severely punished when we
arrived in Germany. Accordingly, those of us who had kept diaries made
ready to destroy them, but fortunately did not do so. I cut the
incriminating leaves out of mine, ready to be torn up and thrown
overboard. I had written my diary in Siamese characters during the whole
time, so the Germans could not have gained much information from it.

Sunday, February 24th, dawned, a cold, cheerless day. "I suppose this
time next week we shall be going to church in Kiel," said one of the
prisoners to the chief mate at breakfast. "Or," the latter replied, "I
might be going to church with my brother, who is already a prisoner in
the Isle of Man!" We were now in the comparatively narrow waters of the
Skager-Rack, and we saw only one vessel here, a Dutch fishing boat. Our
last chance had nearly gone. Most of us were now resigned to our fate
and saw no hope--in fact, I had written in my diary the day before,
"There is no hope left, no boat of ours to save us"--but some said we
still might see a British war vessel when we rounded the Skaw. At
mid-day the sailor on the look-out came into the saloon and reported to
the Captain that a fog was coming on. "Just the weather I want," he
exclaimed, rubbing his hands. "With this lovely fog we shall round the
Skaw and get into German waters unobserved." It looked, indeed, as if
our arrival in Germany were now a dead certainty.

But the fog that the Captain welcomed was just a little too much for
him; it was to prove his undoing rather than his salvation. The "Good
old German God," about whom we had heard so much, was not going to see
them through this time. For once, _we_ were to be favoured. The