CHAPTER XII


Throughout the night reigned an almost sepulchral silence, and when
the morning broke, the _City of Boston_, at a scarcely reduced speed,
was ploughing her way through great banks of white fog. The decks, the
promenade rails, every exposed part of the steamer, were glistening
with wet. Up on the bridge, three officers besides the captain stood
with eyes fixed in grim concentration upon the dense curtains of mist
which seemed to shut them off altogether from the outer world. Jocelyn
Thew and Crawshay met in the companionway, a few minutes after
breakfast.

"I can see no object in the disuse of the hooter," Crawshay declared
querulously. "Nothing at sea could be worse than a collision. We are
simply taking our lives in our hands, tearing along like this at
sixteen knots an hour."

"Isn't there supposed to be a German raider out?" the other enquired.

"I think it is exceedingly doubtful whether there is really one in the
Atlantic at all. The English gunboats patrol these seas. Besides, we
are armed ourselves, and she wouldn't be likely to tackle us."

Jocelyn Thew had leaned a little forward. He was listening intently.
At the same time, one of the figures upon the bridge, his hand to his