He went heavily into the wheelhouse and bent over the chart. Outside, the lieutenant blew his whistle and shouted an order. An instant later the shrill piping of the boatswain repeated the call. There was a scurry of men along the deck towards the bows and the clank of a capstan hauling in the heavy chain. The staff-engineer stood in conversation with the captain. In the low murmur of their voices certain words were emphasised by repetition--"Knots--this coal--revolutions--coal." The captain nodded. "Do your best," he said briefly. "We make a dash for it?" queried the engineer. Still he worried at his ragged moustache and the protruding eyes above his beaklike nose moved with little quick stares like a frightened bird. The captain smiled grimly. "We rejoin the fleet--while we can--those are the orders. We will do our best and God be with us--do you find that maxim in Zarathustra, Herr Wollenmetz?" The engineer shrugged his shoulders. "Ach! I know no longer, Herr Kapitän--anything is better than this--anything!" "We start at once," said the captain and went out onto the bridge without more words. The ship's bugler saluted and stood stiffly to attention as he emerged. "Battle stations!" said the captain. The howl of the gale in the rigging was lost in the sternly joyous run of brazen notes, taken up and repeated all over the vessel. For a minute or two the erstwhile deserted decks swarmed with hurrying men. They disappeared rapidly into turrets, fighting-tops, fire-control stations or stood, alert, behind the unprotected anti-torpedo guns.