Damn it all, is the fellow going to escort us in to the Faroes? It almost looks like it, for those rocky islands must lie right ahead, though still a day's steaming from here. Time goes on, and we still wait, bracing ourselves for what may come. When the chronometer shows 7.30 I order 'seven bells' to be loudly and clearly struck on the ship's bell. We had, for good and sufficient reasons, hitherto pointedly neglected this universal usage of board-ship life. The men standing watching us at the cruiser's rail gradually drift away again. A dirty little collier is, of course, no very interesting object. Moreover, it is cold and wet on deck, and at eight o'clock the watch will be changed. Perhaps, also, a tot of steaming grog is being served out below. It began to grow dusk. In order to confirm the Britisher in his conviction of our innocent character, I gave orders to light the masthead light and side lights. The English and Norwegian signal books lay ready to our hand on the flag-locker. We had already looked up the signals that we were likely to want. But it was all for nothing. No activity was to be observed either in the neighbourhood of the guns or of the boats. Gradually even the bridge was left to the sole tenancy of the officers of the watch. Was the Britisher keeping some big surprise up his sleeve, or did he really take us for what we pretended to be? That they could read clearly on our side. The course, however, on which they found us might surely have given them food for thought. Did they really not find anything curious in the idea that a ship of our type should be coming straight from the North Pole? I must confess that the conduct of this English auxiliary cruiser--whose name, unfortunately, we could not make out, as it had been painted over, was one of the greatest puzzles of my life, and has remained so to this day. Eight bells. Change of watch. On board the English ship also the new watch came on deck. She was now so close to us that every movement on her deck could be seen, although it was now growing perceptibly darker. Good God! If we had only had a torpedo or a submarine in attendance; a more favourable opportunity for a hit with a torpedo could hardly be imagined. Boof! the cruiser buries her nose deep in a sea and takes a considerable quantity of water over her bows, to come pouring in great streams out of her forward scuttles. 'I believe the fellow funks the weather,' said one of my men. Well, that was always a possibility. With the sea then running--the wind had increased to force 5 or 6[7]--the Britisher may not have fancied getting out a boat with a prize crew. Moreover, the day was Sunday. Perhaps his idea was to escort us till we fell in with the cruiser on the next station southward, and leave the job to her. However, if it came to taking a prize crew on board, we thought we knew how to deal with them.