The one aimed at us came straight, one
could see the whorls of the water coming straight at us, but it just
tipped the sandbank and dived underneath our keel. It stuck in the mud
then, and the water boiled over it for a long while."
The mate cut one of the anchors because they were afraid of fouling the
sunken torpedo, and we steamed slowly out from the shelter of the
sandbank.
No escort was visible, and soon the sailors began to look anxious. They
scanned the horizon anxiously. At last one cried, "There she is." Far
away against the western dawn could be seen a thin needle mark of smoke.
In half an hour we were quite close, an Italian destroyer was convoying
a small steamer. The destroyer swung round under our stern, while the
steamer, its funnels set back, raced for San Giovanni looking like a
frightened puppy tearing towards home. The grey warship surged past us,
and out towards the horizon once more, our captain shouting to them that
he could get to Brindisi by midnight. Far away on the sky-line could be
seen the three funnels of a cruiser.
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