He attempted to sit up, but promptly subsided upon the gratings in the stern-sheets, and in a very short time he began to talk incoherently, and finally dropped off into a fitful slumber.
The fog had now increased in density, so that it was no longer possible to see more than a hundred yards ahead. Several vessels moving at high speed passed within hailing distance, but no reply came to the lads' shouts.
"There's a hail!" exclaimed Vernon.
Again came the sound of a human voice. It was a call for aid, and was uttered in German.
"Steady!" cautioned Vernon, as Ross put the helm down. "We don't want to run alongside a cargo of Huns."
"There's only one, I should imagine," replied his chum. "At any rate we'll have a look. If there are too many, we'll sheer off."
Guided by the repeated calls for assistance, the midshipmen came in sight of a disabled boat. It had been holed, and was kept afloat only by some of its air-tanks which had escaped damage. The gunwales, jagged by shell-fire, were showing only a few inches above the water. The stern was almost awash, but the bows rose sufficiently high for the forefoot to be seen. Crouching on the for'ard thwart was a German officer. He was bareheaded. The collar of his greatcoat was turned up. His face was blanched by the intense cold. As the whaler approached and he saw that it was a British one, he held up his hands in token of surrender.
Dropping to leeward, Ross luffed smartly. The whaler lost way almost alongside the waterlogged boat.
Awkwardly the German clambered over the gunwale, for his limbs were numbed. Then, as soon as he was safely on board, he drew a revolver from the pocket of his greatcoat and fired twice in quick succession.
Ross saw his chum throw up his arms and pitch across the centre thwart. The next instant he felt a stinging pain in his shoulder, as if it were pierced by a red-hot needle.