As in a dream he saw Lazar grasp the handles of the telegraphs to the engine room and signal “full speed astern.” There could be but one interpretation. Lazar would lower a life-boat after all. Phil ran down the bridge ladder and swung himself nimbly out on the life-boat gallery. There he found the lee life-boat ready for lowering; six sailors sat quietly at the thwarts, while those of the watch had led out the boat-falls. O’Neil, the coxswain, with his hand on the strong-back, stood ready to leap into the boat. That they were doing more than their duty did not occur to these stout American hearts. A fellow-being was in danger of drowning--that was enough reason for them. “Shall I lower, sir?” the coxswain shouted to Phil as the latter swung himself over the rail of the superstructure and stood by his side; “he can’t live long in this sea.” Phil surveyed hastily the strongly built boat, then his gaze traveled down to the angry sea beneath him. The engines were backing. He saw the heavy surge of the sea astern as the propellers threw a powerful race current forward. Why did not the order come? After the ship had started astern the boat could not be lowered. Far away on the lee quarter the chemical flame of the patent life-buoy showed a dim light against a background of troubled waters. Under the spell of one of those impulses that seem to take possession so absolutely of the mind in times of emergency, Phil cried: “Lower away,” and he and O’Neil swung themselves on board the life-boat as she dropped evenly and quickly toward the black sea beneath her. Phil seized the handle of the steering oar in both hands, motioning O’Neil away. The boat shivered as she struck the lumpy sea. “Sit here, O’Neil, and hang on to my legs,” shouted Phil at the top of his lungs, through the roaring of the gale, as the boat shot ahead on her life-line, while with the steering oar he swung her stern in toward the white wall of the battle-ship towering above them. The life-line sheered the boat clear of the menacing ship. “Let go,” shouted the youth. “Give way! Bend to it, men,” he cautioned, turning the life-boat’s prow toward the flicker of light appearing periodically on the crest of a wave and quickly disappearing down into its deep trough. Straight-backed and supple the six oarsmen sent the long, narrow boat over the seas that seemed ready to engulf her. “Never mind me,” shouted Phil to O’Neil, bracing his legs firmly against the stern boards. “Stand by forward there, we shall be at the life-buoy in a moment.” O’Neil glanced with grave concern at the midshipman. “Aye, aye, sir. Keep your weather eye open, sir,” he cautioned. “If you go overboard with them rubber boots on, you’ll go to the bottom like a shot.” Protesting at the boy’s recklessness, he crawled forward and stood ready to grasp the man if he were clinging to the life-buoy or yet swimming on the surface of the angry water.