The warships and the allied transports were traveling with few lights or completely dark.
The sentinels on the bridge were no longer scanning the surface of the sea with its pale phosphorescence.

Their gaze explored the horizon, fearing that before the prow there might suddenly surge up an enormous, swift, black form, vomited forth by the darkness.
If at any time the captain tarried in his stateroom, instantly that fatal memory came to his mind.
"Esteban!...

My son!..." And his eyes were full of tears.
Remorse and wrath made him plan tremendous vengeance.

He was convinced that it would be impossible to carry it through, but it was a momentary consolation to his meridional character predisposed to the most bloody revenge.
One day, running over some forgotten papers in a suit-case, he came across Freya's portrait.

Upon seeing her audacious smile and her calm eyes fixed upon him, he felt within him a shameful reversion.