THE FREEDOM OF THE SEAS
that stretch of water hemmed in by the British Isles and the coasts of Germany and Denmark. Shallow and treacherous and generally vile, it is abhorred by sailors the world over, and those on the Gyandotte could find nothing good to say of it. All that day the mist held and hid everything a mile or so distant, and the lookouts never kept their eyes peeled any more thoroughly than they did while the line of ships steamed on toward the north. It was an area well infested with German submarines, while it was no unusual thing for a pack of destroyers to dart out from one of the protected bases on the chance of picking off a lone prey. But, save that the sharp, short waves kept the decks wet and made everyone uncomfortable—life on the destroyers must have been miserable indeed, Nelson thought—no incident pleasant or unpleasant broke the monotony. Forty-six hours after passing Dover the American ships reached the Skager Rack and dropped anchors off Christiansand, where, during a long, black night, they rolled and tumbled miserably. Nelson always recalled that night as one of the most unpleasant of his life, for they had suddenly penetrated into Winter weather and few of the men had as yet received their heavy clothing. Even below deck it was cold, and in the hammocks sleep was a chill
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