auled back like a hooked fish.

All I could do was to steam in a big circle, and at one point would be
running before it, and could work for an instant or two with the seas
running up to our waists. When they get over your head, you probably
won't be there any longer. At that time I didn't really expect to stay
afloat, but was too busy with the matters in hand to care. Well, we
finally got it fixed, though we could only use about 15 degrees of
rudder instead of full.

[Sidenote: Lack of fuel causes worry.]

All this time we were drifting merrily to leeward at a rate that I hated
even to guess at, with the certainty, unless matters mended, of
eventually piling up on the Spanish coast, then not far away, though I
hadn't had sight of sun or stars in days, and didn't know within fifty
miles where I was. Well, when I finally headed up into it, I could just
about hold her, without making any headway to speak of. You cannot drive
a destroyer dead into a heavy sea at full speed without bursting her in
two. Still, the situation would have been nothing to worry about much if
I had had sufficient fuel. Now, you on shore may fancy that a ship just
keeps on steaming till she gets there, whether it takes a month or more;
but such is far from the case. Every mile you go consumes just so much
fuel, and, if your margin of safety is too small, you are liable to be
out of luck. And my calculations showed me that while I was using up oil
enough to be making ---- knots, in the teeth of the gale we were only
making ---- knots, and that at that rate I never would make port.

[Sidenote: Three courses are possible.]

[Sidenote: The destroyer makes France.]

[Sidenote: Steel the aristocrat among metals.]

There were three courses open to me: to let her drift, consuming my oil,
in the hope that it would blow over; to run into a Spanish port; or to
run for France, my destination, and, if I fell short of it, to yell for
help by radio, and trust to luck that they could send out and pick me
up. The first course was too risky. I would be making untold miles to
leeward all the time, would probably roll the masts and funnels out of
her, and maybe burst down anyhow, too far off for help. The second
choice was the safest. I could reach Ferrol or Vigo all right, but they
would probably try to intern me; and while I had heard that King Alfonso
was a regular guy and a good scout to run around with, the ensuing
diplomatic complications would make me ab