Wind. South wind. It was coming now—just what we had been praying for. A few minutes more and it would have reached us. While the water slowly began to crisp under the breeze, the horizon line began to waver; the clear, sharply-defined line which marked the division between sea and sky seemed in places raised and undulating—the first presage of coming fog. Towards ten o'clock the wind jumped round to the south-west, and freshened. Light wisps of vapour began to drift down on our port bow, and sometimes from right ahead. Half an hour later the horizon was so dim that it was impossible to take an altitude.
'What about it?' asked Düsselmann, who was taking the watch, giving me, as he spoke, a keen, sidelong glance, his right hand already on the lever of the engine-room telegraph.
I thought a moment, then: 'Carry on,' I said. 'Half speed! Course, south-west!'
The telegraph rang. In engine-room and stokehold things got lively. Heavily and slowly the screw began to revolve, there was a churning and frothing at the stern, and the Aud got slowly under way. Once more in the charthouse there was a frenzy of calculating and measuring; with the result that we decided to proceed as far as a certain point at reduced speed, so that it would still be open to us, if necessary, to choose the northern route. But if, by the time we reached that point, the misty weather continued, then during the night we would try for the break-through.
By midday we estimated the strength of the wind as 3.[5] From time to time there were light showers of fine rain. Pity that we were still a day's steaming from the danger-line, otherwise we might well have got through that night, for the moon was completely obscured by clouds. The barometer fell slowly but steadily. For the present it was still too high to mean an immediate storm, but if it continued to fall at the same rate we might have more than we bargained for later on. For the present we were well content. We were now nearing the point which must mark for us the parting of the ways, and I decided for the southern route—through the blockade.
The look-outs were now doubled. Even the cook had to 'stand his watch,' and was greatly delighted at being allowed on the bridge, close to the exalted beings who performed the mysteries of navigation.
Now, more than ever, the motto for every one was: 'Keep your eyes skinned!' Ahead of us were the enemy outposts in imposing numbers, and on our starboard bow, on the east coast of Iceland, enemy auxiliary cruisers had also been reported.
Next day was the 16th of April. At 4 a.m. there was entered in the log-book under the heading 'Weather' the following remark: 'Overcast, increasingly misty, occasional heavy showers, wind, south-west 4[6], freshening, corresponding sea.'
We reckoned out the course and the distance. It was still 150 nautical miles to the line on which the enemy cruisers were patrolling. If we aimed straight for the middle of this line, we should, at an average speed of ten knots, arrive at that point at about 8 p.m.