"Give her a few more revolutions, Cole," he said. He hung up the tube. "We look like carrying this weather with us for a few days," he said, "and, as I don't feel competent to depend entirely upon my own eyesight, I shall bring up the Magneto and the Solus to help me watch this beggar."
Obedient to signal, two destroyers were detached from the following flotilla, and came abreast at dusk.
The weather grew rapidly worse, the squalls of greater frequence. The sea rose, so that life upon the destroyer was anything but pleasant. At midnight, T. B. Smith was awakened from a restless sleep by a figure in gleaming oilskins.
"I say," said a gloomy voice, "we've lost sight of that dashed Doro."
"Eh?"
T. B. jumped from his bunk, to be immediately precipitated against the other side of the cabin.
"Lost her light—it has either gone out or been put out. We're going ahead now full speed in the hope of overhauling her——"
Another oilskinned figure came to the door.
"Light ahead, sir."
"Thank Heaven!" said the other fervently, and bolted to the deck.