Then ensued a game of marine blind-man’s buff. Captain Rollok, having steamed at full speed some miles through the fog,—and this time there were no protests from passengers,—altered his course and deliberately steamed in circles.
“Hark!” exclaimed Jack, during one of these manœuvers. “What was that?”
Out in the fog somewhere they could hear a sound like the soft beating of a huge heart. It was the throbbing of another vessel’s engines. To the fear of the chase now was added the peril of collision, for in the fog, dense as it was, the captain would not permit the siren to be sounded.
It was almost impossible to tell from which direction the sound was proceeding. It seemed to be everywhere. Was it another peaceful vessel like themselves, or a man-of-war? Much depended on the answer to this question.
All at once, with startling distinctness, a huge black bulk loomed up alongside them. Through the fog they caught a sudden glimpse of crowded decks and great guns projecting from grim-looking turrets. It was one of the British cruisers. By grim irony, the fog had delivered them into the hands of their pursuers.
“Great Scott, it’s all off now!” cried Bill, as they simultaneously sensed the identity of the other craft.
CHAPTER VIII.
LAND HO!
But the strange cruise of the Kronprinzessin Emilie was not destined to come to an end then, although, for an instant, it appeared so. Whether the Britisher was mutually astonished, and in the confusion the right orders were not given, or whatever the cause was, before they had more than glimpsed her grim, dogged outlines, she faded away in the fog and was blotted out.
“Phew! A few more close shaves like that and I’d be looking in the mirror to see if my hair hasn’t turned gray,” said Jack.