"The Herr Kapitän is coming, Herr Leutnant."
The engineer disappeared. His friend went to the starboard rail of the bridge and looked over. A motor-boat was approaching in a smother of flying spray.
A boatswain's whistle shrilled loudly. A minute later the captain came up the ladder onto the bridge, shaking the water from his oilskins like a wet dog and dabbing at his square reddish beard with a handkerchief. The lieutenant saluted, searching his commander's face for a hint of the orders he bore. The captain's eyes were hard, the eyes of a man who had been contemplating desperate possibilities. His bluish lips cut in a thin straight line across his beard. He spoke curtly.
"Get the starboard anchor up. Tell the Herr Stabs-Ingenieur I wish to speak to him."
He went heavily into the wheelhouse and bent over the chart. Outside, the lieutenant blew his whistle and shouted an order. An instant later the shrill piping of the boatswain repeated the call. There was a scurry of men along the deck towards the bows and the clank of a capstan hauling in the heavy chain.
The staff-engineer stood in conversation with the captain. In the low murmur of their voices certain words were emphasised by repetition—"Knots—this coal—revolutions—coal." The captain nodded.
"Do your best," he said briefly.
"We make a dash for it?" queried the engineer. Still he worried at his ragged moustache and the protruding eyes above his beaklike nose moved with little quick stares like a frightened bird.
The captain smiled grimly.
"We rejoin the fleet—while we can—those are the orders. We will do our best and God be with us—do you find that maxim in Zarathustra, Herr Wollenmetz?"