It was midnight when Phil found himself by Lazar’s side on the high bridge of the battle-ship, as junior officer of the watch. The wind, which had been light at the start, had increased steadily in violence until now the vessel was plunging heavily into the teeth of a moderate gale. Her powerful engines crowded her steel shod prow with terrific force into the rising seas, flinging tons of spray on to her high forecastle. Lazar stood with his face close to the canvass weather cloth, for the protection of those on the bridge against the force of the blast, and peered through the inky blackness. The responsibility for the ship rested upon his shoulders for the next four hours. Turning toward the younger man, he motioned him nearer. “Mr. Perry, your duties are to muster the watch on deck,” he shouted in Phil’s ear, in order to be heard in the roar of the wind; “examine both life-boats; see that everything movable about decks is secure. We are going to have a bad night,” he added, glancing at the angry sea. “Your duty is to go in the life-boat if she is called away; but I shall not lower a boat to-night.” Phil glanced in amazement at the officer of the deck. He could but see the outline of his face in the gloom of his southwester. “Did I understand you, sir, to say you would not lower a life-boat to-night?” he asked incredulously. “Yes, sir, you did,” snapped Lazar, “in this sea to do so would mean sending seven men to death.” Phil made his way aft, to where the watch had gathered to keep dry against the heavy seas of spray that periodically were flung over the deck. O’Neil held the lantern while Phil called off the men’s names. Then he and O’Neil climbed out and examined the life-boats, one on each side, swung securely from their davits, overhanging the angry water. Then Phil went on the quarter-deck and questioned the marine sentry at the patent life-buoy. Every one seemed to be well instructed. All was secure. “Keep your men from the side,” he cautioned the boatswain’s mate of the watch; “we don’t want any one overboard in a sea like this.” “Aye, aye, sir,” replied the sailor, “there ain’t any danger now; maybe when they hoists ashes some of them lubberly firemen may get too near the side. But I’ll warn ’um, sir.” Returning to his station on the bridge, he sought the friendly shelter of the weather cloth against the increasing fierceness of the wind and stinging spray. The sound of flapping canvas and the sea breaking its fury on the steel bow were the only sounds above the roar of the wind. Phil counted not the time. All was too new and absorbing. His thoughts had turned to many things when his breathing stopped and his heart sank as a terrifying cry from aft came faintly but clearly to his ears. “Man overboard.” He was rooted to the spot. In helpless consternation he looked to his officer for instructions. A human being was adrift in this angry sea, or maybe had been already killed by a swiftly moving propeller blade.