Since the squall a full watch had been kept on duty. Scott was in charge of the deck when the darkness, deep and dense, settled down upon the scene. Even with only the jib and the double-reefed foresail, the Tritonia rolled till the water frequently came in over her high bulwarks, while the seas broke in heavy sheets over the top-gallant forecastle. “This will be a nasty night, Scott,” said the captain, pausing in his walk on the weather side of the vessel. “I never saw any thing worse,” replied the second lieutenant. “But I think we shall be able to keep most of the water on the outside of her.” “She is wetter on deck than I ever saw her before,” added Capt. Wainwright. “Or behind either.” “I am afraid we shall lose sight of the Josephine before morning.” “If we do, I suppose, like any other old wine-bibbers, we can find our way to Madeira.” “But I am very sorry that Mr. Pelham was unable to return,” continued the captain. “I think he will feel worse about it than any one else,” answered Scott. “It is for his sake that I am sorry.” “I don’t object to a cruise on our own account as long as we keep within the strict line of duty.” “I am not alarmed, though in such a night as this I cannot help feeling a little anxious about the vessel,” said Capt. Wainwright. “I had no idea that we should have such a storm as this proves to be. I don’t see the lights of the Josephine.” “I saw her starboard light within five minutes,” added Scott, as he peered through the gloom of the night in the direction the consort had last been seen. “She can’t be far from us.” “I see it now,” added the captain. “The tops of the waves shut it out from our view at times.” “Now we have lost it again.” The Tritonia rolled and pitched fearfully, and of course the Josephine was doing the same. The night was a long and dismal one. Twice it became necessary to call all hands to lay the vessel to under the storm staysail. Even the jib and reefed foresail were too much for her. Shortly after the captain and second lieutenant were observing the lights of the Josephine, they disappeared, and were not seen again. A very heavy rain began to pour down, and it was thought that the thickness of the weather alone prevented them from seeing her. Capt. Wainwright declared that it was the worst night he had seen since he had been in the Tritonia; and Mr. Marline confirmed his view of the matter. The morning broke dull and heavy, with a fierce rain-storm still battering against the rigging. The captain had been on deck about all night, and had turned in at eight bells in the morning when the watch was changed, leaving the first lieutenant in charge of the deck. “Heard a gun off the port bow,” reported the lookout on the top-gallant forecastle. “Are you sure it was a gun?” asked Richards, the fourth master, to whom the report was made. “It was a good way off; but I’m pretty sure it was a gun,” replied the seaman. “There it is again! I am sure of it now.”