As Officer of the Watch for the first watch Alec Seton had his work cut out. Almost every quarter of an hour the engine-room had to be telegraphed to, either to increase or decrease speed slightly, while the Morse flashing-lamp was practically in constant use, calling upon this vessel to close station or that to increase distance by so many cables. And so the weary watch went on. The wind, hitherto off-shore, had suddenly veered to the south-east and blew with considerable violence right in the teeth of the convoy. Even at reduced speed the _Bolero_ was "shipping it green" right over her raised fo'c'sle, while stinging showers of icy spray lashed viciously against the canvas dodgers and rattled like hail against the plate-glass windows of the chart-house. There was a marked change in the Sub's appearance, as he crouched under the lee of the dodger. His hitherto slim figure looked podgy, and for a good reason. Underneath his great-coat he wore his monkey-jacket, three sweaters, and a muffler. Oilskin trousers tucked into and turned over the tops of his sea-boots, and a weather-beaten cap rammed well down over his eyes completed his watch-keeping kit. With him stood the signalman and quartermaster, both enveloped in duffel suits. On deck everything was battened down, for the glass was falling rapidly and giving every indication of a sharp, if short, blow before very long. Already the wind was moaning dismally through the wireless aerials, and causing the bridge canvas to bag in a double series of almost inflexible bulges. At six bells (10 p.m.) the signal was given to the convoy to alter course eight points to port. Then ensued an anxious time, some of the vessels obeying with alacrity, others dallying in the carrying out of their instructions. With the wind now abeam, the lumbering craft rolled horribly, while the long, lean destroyers, which largely rely upon steadiness by reason of their speed, were constantly rolling rail under. Torn clouds of reeking smoke from the vessels to windward, mingled with icy spray, swept over the _Bolero_, whose position on that account was the most undesirable of the escorting craft. "It's Fritz's chance, absolutely," thought Alec. "A U-boat could be lying awash a cable's length away and we shouldn't spot her. And it's a dirty night to have to stand by a sinking tramp." "There's something on our port bow, sir," reported the look-out, stretching a glistening oilskin-enshrouded arm in the direction indicated. "Yes, by Jove," ejaculated Seton. "It's a dirty Fritz. Starboard two, quartermaster, and let her have it." It was for one thing fortunate that the _Bolero_ was running at greatly reduced speed, otherwise the lurking U-boat might have been passed unnoticed.