"Suppose I can manage it," replied Morpeth. "I'll fix it up with my opposite number. Right-o. I'll be aboard by eight bells."
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE RELIEF VESSEL
The next day dawned bright and clear. Hardly a ripple disturbed the placid surface of the Flow, although beyond the harbour the flood tide was boiling and seething through the Pentland Firth, with a roar that sounded like a continuous peal of thunder.
M.L.'s 1497 and 1499 were ready to cast off when Cumberleigh stepped on board the former—Meredith's command. Morpeth had forestalled the R.A.F. officer by a good hour.
"When do you pick her up?" inquired Cumberleigh, referring to the German vessel bringing stores and relief crews to the fleet in bondage. "I hope," he added anxiously, "that it won't be like that."
He pointed to the turbulent tidal current. "We'll be miles outside that," replied Meredith. "I expect to sight her fifteen or twenty miles east of Duncansbay Head—off the Pentland Skerries, to be exact. Hullo! Wakefield's moving."
With much spluttering of exhausts, No. 1499 swung out, gathered way, and headed for the open sea.
"Let go for'ard... let go aft!" ordered Meredith.