One can well believe Crawford when he says that he suffered "mental
agony" that night. After all that he had planned, and all that he had
accomplished by many months of personal energy and resource, he saw
complete and ignominious failure staring him in the face. He realised
the heavy financial loss to the Ulster Loyalists, for his cargo
represented about £70,000 of their money; and he realised the bitter
disappointment of their hopes, which was far worse than any loss of
money. He pictured to himself what must happen in the morning--"to have
to follow a torpedo-boat into the naval base and lie there till the
whole Ulster scheme was unravelled and known to the world as a ghastly
failure, and the Province and Sir Edward and all the leaders the
laughing stock of the world"--and the thought of it all plunged him
almost into despair.

Almost, but not quite. He was not the man to give way to despair. If it
came to the worst he would "put all the foreign crew and their
belongings into the boats and send them off; Agnew and I would arm
ourselves with a bundle of rifles, and cut it open and have 500 rounds
to fight any attempt to board us, and if we slipped this by any chance,
he and I would bring her to England together, he on deck and I in the
engine-room. He knew all about navigation and I knew all about engines,
having been a marine engineer in my youth."

But a less desperate job called for immediate attention. The men engaged
in transferring the cargo from the barges to the steamer wanted to knock
off work for the night; but the offer of double pay persuaded them to
stick to it, and they worked with such good will that by midnight every
bale was safely below hatches in the _Fanny_. Crawford then instructed
the shipping agent to be off in the tug at break of day, giving him