From the yard-arm of the latter a string of bunting fluttered in the breeze. It was the signal to part company. Then gathering way the armed merchantman circled to port, and steamed in a westerly direction.
Left to himself Terence proceeded to take the necessary steps for the safeguarding of his charge. The Norwegian crew were ordered to keep for'ard; the officers were allowed the run of the deck aft, while the passengers, with the exception of the American, were placed under arrest as German subjects capable of bearing arms.
Since the ship's officers bluntly refused to take any part in navigating the ship, Terence had a bed prepared in the chart-room. He knew that it meant forty-eight hours' duty.
He was short-handed. With sentries posted at the wireless-room, the fo'c'sle, and over the prisoners, the number of men at his disposal was far too small. He could not compel the engine-room staff to work; so some of his own men were sent to the stokehold and engine-room under the charge of an experienced engine-room artificer. Yet in spite of the willingness of the volunteer stokers, it was impossible to keep a full head of steam. Eleven knots was the maximum speed that could, under these circumstances, be screwed out of the captured "Roldal."
Before night the wind freshened. By six bells in the middle watch it was blowing a gale from the east'ard. The "Roldal" made bad weather of it. Broadside on to the direction of the wind she rolled like a barrel, shipping green seas amidships.
Clad in oilskins Terence remained on the bridge throughout the terrible night. He mentally condemned the fate that put him in charge of a cranky tramp-steamer, when he might be sleeping soundly on board the weatherly "Strongbow." Hour after hour he stood gripping the rail of the erratically swaying bridge and peering through the welter of broken water and pitch-dark sky. For the first time in his nautical existence he realized the responsibility of being in sole charge of a ship and of the lives of men.
Before it was dawn a hideous clamour, distinctly audible above the howling of the gale, came from somewhere for'ard. Terence strained his ears to try to detect by the nature of the sound what had gone adrift. It was the clanging of metal against metal.
Watching their opportunity during the slight interval when the broken water receded from amidships, two of the prize crew dashed aft from the fo'c'sle and sprang up the bridge-ladder.
"Starboard anchor broken adrift, sir," reported one. "It's hammering against the bows for all it's worth."
Aubyn considered the problem for a few moments. To send some of the scanty crew to work upon the exposed fo'c'sle to secure and re-cat the recalcitrant anchor would be a difficult task even with sufficient hands and in a moderate sea. Better by far unshackle the cable and allow the anchor to go.