The blockade-line, which now lay before us, and which we must break through, unless we were to go north-about round Iceland, was the strongest of all the blockading cordons. We had reason to believe that it was formed by no less than ten to twelve large auxiliary cruisers. The distance from Iceland to the Faroes is, at the narrowest point, about two-hundred nautical miles. Assuming, therefore, that the average speed of these vessels was not more than fifteen knots, it was scarcely to be expected that we could slip through, except in thick fog, for the intervals between the patrolling cruisers must be very small. Never in my life have I done so much calculating of courses and distances as that night. All available charts and sailing directions were requisitioned, and for hours we bent over the charts with pencil and dividers, calculating, and weighing arguments. In the end we always came back to the point that we _must_ make the attempt to break through; for all other alternatives were too unpromising. The conclusion we finally came to was, to make the attempt next day--provided the weather conditions became appreciably more favourable. We looked at the barometer. Good heavens! Was it possible? In the last four hours it had fallen nearly a tenth. At that moment there came a whistle down the voice-pipe beside my bunk. 'Well, what is it?' 'Waterspout to starboard, captain; come up at once,' shouted some one from the bridge. Scarcely had we reached the deck, when the portent swept past us, a great black column of water some five yards in diameter, narrowing in the middle, and spreading wider as it mounted into the clouds above. The amazing thing was the speed at which, in spite of the dead calm, it swept along the surface of the water. Its force was evidenced by the whirlpool at its base, which left behind it a seething wake of foam. It was well that it did not happen to take our little vessel in its track, for it would certainly have left us some unpleasing mementoes of its visit. CHAPTER XII RIGHT THROUGH THE BLOCKADE By next morning the barometer had fallen another tenth. Dirty-gray storm-clouds were slowly moving up from the west. From time to time faint cat's-paws appeared upon the water, now from the north, now from the west, and again from a south-westerly direction. That was very satisfactory, for it meant beyond all doubt, an early change of weather. The second-officer searched the horizon keenly with his glasses, and then muttered something to himself. 'I'm betting on a north-wester,' said I, 'with rain, and perhaps also fog. Can't you smell anything?' The mate sniffed suspiciously. 'I don't think I'll take you,' said he. 'I was just going to say myself that I felt as if----' 'We shan't quarrel over that, then! I believe I can smell the fog coming. Wait and see.'