The weather had changed. It was steadily blowing up from the westward. The sea, under a dull sky, had turned to the colour of lead, and the heavy swell told of what was coming.
They had not sighted a ship since leaving the Chilean coast, but three days after altering their course the smoke of a steamer appeared, blown high by the wind and far to westward. The wind had scarcely increased in force, but the sea was tremendous and spoke of what was coming.
The Captain, on the bridge, stood with a glass to his eye, trying to make out the stranger. He succeeded, and then, without comment, handed the glass to Harman.
Harman, steadying himself against the rolling and pitching of the ship, looked.
A waste of tempestuous water leaped at him through the glass, and then, bursting a wave top to foam with her bows, grey as the seas she rode came a ship of war.
A cruiser, with guns nosing at the sky as if sniffing after the traces of the Penguin. She was coming bow on, and now, falling a point or two, her fore funnel seemed to broaden out and break up. It was the three funnels showing, now en masse and now individually. Then, as she came to again, the three funnels became one.
“She’s a three-funnel German,” said Harman, “and she has spotted us.”
Even as he spoke the wind suddenly increased in violence.
“I’m not bothering about her much,” said the Captain. “I’m bothering about what’s in front of us.”