Yet with the same cheerfulness that the British bluejacket will voluntarily choose a two years' exile in the desolate Arctic, or risk the perils of the miasmic, mosquito-infested swamps of tropical Africa, did R19's officers and men set forth on their hazardous adventure. In the common cause of the Allies it mattered little whither they went, so long as they could strike a blow for king and country. CHAPTER VIII "Accidents will Happen" Grey dawn was breaking when submarine R19 approached the waters of the Skager-rack. Well on their port bow could be faintly discerned the rugged cliffs of Norway, but it was yet too hazy to sight the low-lying shores of Jutland. The strong wind had blown itself out, and although the waves still ran high they had lost their angry look. It was possible to stand on deck without having to hang on like grim death, as the water surged waist-high over the comparatively low-lying structure. Scorning to take advantage of the doubtful security afforded by the "three-mile limit", R19 kept a mid-channel course, prepared to dive the instant a suspicious craft was sighted. She was to keep awash as far as practicable, in order to economize her electrical propulsive powers. As yet not a single craft had been sighted. The once-crowded waterway, from whence vessels laden with timber and iron-ore for Great Britain issued in the piping times of peace, was deserted. The hardy mariners of Norway still kept the sea, their fearful losses in shipping notwithstanding, but they took a different route; while the mercantile flag of Sweden had practically disappeared from the North Sea and its approaches. Clad in oilskins, Donald Macquare and Noel Fordyce stood on the navigation-platform. At the Sub's feet crouched Flirt. The dog, having completely recovered her "sea-legs", was sniffing eagerly at the offshore breeze, as if sighing for the land that was denied her. From the electric stove in the galley wafted the appetizing odours of frying bacon, to mingle with the salt-laden air. "It looks like a dirty sky to windward," observed the Lieutenant, as he lowered his binoculars and rubbed his eyes. It was nearing the end of his "trick", and he was longing for his watch below. "It will be a jolly good thing for us, if it doesn't get too thick. Bless my soul, these neutrals may be quite all right as a whole, but goodness only knows when there isn't a pro-Hun ashore armed with a powerful telescope." "In which case the news will be telegraphed to Kiel," added Fordyce. "Hang it all, I never could understand how these fellows get the hang of things!" He was on the point of confiding to the Lieutenant the information of R19's date of departure and destination, as told by Councillor Mindiggle, when the look-out reported a sail dead ahead. The craft was a tramp, deep in ballast. At a distance of four miles she stood out distinctly against the approaching cloud of misty rain, until the pall of vapour swept down and hid her from sight.