The moments that now followed were certainly the most anxious we had yet experienced. The cruiser seemed to be steaming towards us at full speed, for the mast, with its high wireless, could now be seen from our bridge as well as from aloft. 'A second lower mast now visible,' reported the look-out. As he described the relative position of the masts it became evident that the Englishman was heading about north-east. Had he really seen us yet, or not? I gave her four points more to starboard, so that we were now on an easterly course. Perhaps we might still escape.
The great difference in the height of the masts left no doubt that we had here to do with one of the very newest and fastest English cruisers. If she had sighted us, any attempt at flight was useless. But we counted on the English look-out not being as sharp as ours. It is natural that on monotonous outpost duty, cruising to and fro day after day in the same waters and hardly ever seeing anything but the same sea and sky, sky and sea, one's watchfulness should in the end get blunted. And that was just what happened.
A joyful shout from aloft suddenly announced that the cruiser was turning away. As we examined her more closely we could, in fact, see that the high fore-mast, which had originally been visible to the east of the lower mast, now showed to the north-west of it. Evidently the cruiser had turned on to a westerly course, and that meant that she had not sighted us. A short time later, nothing was to be seen of either mast, and soon only a pair of light wisps of smoke lay on the misty horizon. The whole thing had happened so swiftly and surprisingly that we could hardly believe in our good fortune.
On working out our position, I found that we were some seventy-five miles east of the Shetlands. A light bank of mist had now completely hidden the cruiser from us, and as we could see nothing more in any direction, we might conclude with some assurance that she was the easternmost cruiser of that outpost line which, a few weeks before, had almost proved disastrous to the returning Möwe. Only, the chain seemed now to have been lengthened out a little farther to the east. Barring the chance, then, that one or two English vessels were stationed well over towards the Norwegian coast, we might take it that we were already clear of the Shetland cordon, and had successfully eluded the first of the blockading forces, whose special task it was to frustrate just such attempts as ours to break through from the North Sea to the Atlantic.
So far, all well. The next problem was, which of the possible alternative routes we were to follow from this point onwards. The shortest routes were, of course, those between the Orkneys and the mainland, and between the Shetlands and the Faroe Isles. Both, however, would be very thoroughly watched, and I gave up at once the idea of following either. The much more circuitous route between the Faroes and Ireland meant eight and a half days' steaming, at an average speed of ten knots, before we could reach our destination. Moreover, here lay the main blockading force, consisting of large and powerful auxiliary cruisers, patrolling at short intervals its two hundred miles of open water.
There was yet another alternative, to go right round by the north of Iceland, but the feasibility of this depended on the ice-conditions, and on these I had not been able to get my exact information before sailing.
So much depended upon wind and weather that it would have been foolish to fix my plans unalterably for more than a day ahead, but, on the whole, the route between Iceland and the Faroes seemed to offer the best chance of getting through. I decided, therefore, to steam north, parallel, at a sufficient distance, to the blockading line, and wait for a favourable opportunity of slipping through.
The barometer was high and steady, indicating the continuance of fine weather. The main thing now was to get an accurate observation, for since leaving Paternoster we had no opportunity to get an exact 'fix,' and it was quite possible that the current might have carried us some distance out of our course. But towards noon the sky was overcast, and a mist lay on the horizon, making it impossible to take an accurate altitude, so there was nothing for it but to stand in towards the coast, in order to determine our position by soundings or by shore-bearings. We headed in, therefore, at full speed for Bremanjerland on the Nordfjord. Almost at the exact point we had calculated on, we got a sounding of the 'hundred-fathom line,' and so determined our longitude. There was now only the latitude to be fixed, and for that luck came to our aid sooner than we had hoped.
About half an hour before midday the fog-bank ahead of us suddenly lifted. A long, low strip of darker gray lay resting on the water. From minute to minute it grew longer and higher, till it became definitely recognisable as land, and the bold outlines of the high, precipitous coastline began to appear. And then—it might have been on the stage, so rapid was the transformation—suddenly the fog broke, as though we had been an enemy charging down upon it, the sun shone through the clouds, and before ten minutes had passed, a panorama of enchanting beauty lay before us.