As she met each succeeding sea, the ship shuddered ever so slightly, as though shivering in the cold and clammy atmosphere, and every minute her siren sang its monotonous one-note song. Thank goodness that the siren could be heard such a long way away—it gave one a comforting feeling to know that nothing could get anywhere near the ship without hearing that deep, deep boom. As she pursued her stealthy, almost cat-like way through the water, the dripping decks were lapped by a faint breeze, a wind produced only by her own motion.

It would be very different at home now, right in the heart of the country. The sun would be shining and the garden looking at its best. The old man had worked hard in his garden ever since he retired, and in the summer it was one of the finest in the village. He would be walking 'round it now, looking for odd weeds and smoking one of his home made cigarettes which were always going out. Hopefully, it was a good year for roses, for they were his pride. Heavens, but it would be good to be sitting in the garden now, watching the bees busy in the ramblers, and the intricate, ever changing patch of shade which was the shadow of the chestnut tree on the lawn. The sky would be very blue against the green of the tree, and in the far distance one could just catch a glimpse of the sea in the sunshine.

Sunshine and the sea! What a pity they didn't always go together. So much time spent at sea seemed to be taken up with bad weather of one sort or another and though storms could be exhilarating, fog was really accursed.

The trouble was, it did not seem to be lifting at all. For nearly twelve hours now the ship had been slowed down and the fog stand-by had been in operation, with double watches being worked in the engine room. In fog, the normal four hour watch was followed by a four hour stand-by, in which there was literally nothing to do but just stand by and try to keep awake. If the fog had not lifted by midnight, it would be his turn again for this duty.

Down below in the brilliantly lighted engine room, the telegraphs stood at "Slow Ahead" and the noise of the turbines was subdued. Down there it was difficult to realise that the ship was groping her way through a thick fog, except by the slow speed of the engines and the presence of the stand-by engineers in their blue patrol suits. There was no fog in the air that was being forced down in solid streams onto the heads and shoulders of the engineers on the Starting Platform. Occasionally, a watertight door would open and shut with much clanging of bells as an engineer came through from one of the boiler rooms.

The Chief would be down there, he thought, standing with his hat characteristically on the back of his head and like the rest of them, just waiting. Waiting and listening—just as up on the bridge they would be waiting and listening, hoping that nothing untoward would happen, and yet ready to spring into instant action at the slightest signal.