His relief said something under his breath, and emerged shivering from the blankets, blinking in the light of the lantern. Once his feet were fairly on the deck, the other turned and scampered up the ladder again. The bell struck eight times as the Lieutenant and Midshipman of the Middle Watch climbed the ladder to the fore bridge. The Fleet was steaming in two divisions, with a flotilla of destroyers stationed on the beam. Beyond them the silhouette of an island was just visible in the pale moonlight. At the last stroke of the bell the pipe of the Boatswain’s Mate shrilled out, calling the Middle Watch. "A-a-all the starboard watch! Seaboats, crews, and reliefs fall in!" Fore and aft the ship the mantle of responsibility changed wearers. Sentries, seamen, stokers, signalmen, their tale of bricks complete for a few hours, turned over to their reliefs and hurried to their hammocks. On the bridge the two Lieutenants walked up and down for a few minutes, while the newcomer received details of the course and speed of the Fleet and the Captain’s orders for the night. Then the Officer of the Watch that was ended unslung his binoculars and turned towards the ladder. "I think that’s all.... She’s keeping station very well now, but they had a bit of trouble in the Engine-room earlier in the Watch. Captain wants to be called at daybreak. Good-night." "Good-night." The Midshipman of the Watch was already in position on the upper bridge, settling down to his four hours’ vigil with a sextant on the lights of the next ship ahead. From the battery below came the voice of the Corporal of the Watch mustering the hands. Overhead the wind thrummed in the shrouds and halliards: the steady throb of the engines beat out an accompaniment—a deep _pizzicato_ accompaniment as if from some mighty bass-viol floating up through the open casings—and, somehow dominating all other sounds, the ceaseless swish and murmur of the waves breaking along the ship’s side. The Officer of the Watch crossed over to the Midshipman’s side. "Are we in station all right?" The boy lowered the sextant: "Yes, sir, quite steady." "Right: give me the sextant and go and brew some cocoa in the chart-house. There’s a spirit-lamp there." The Midshipman vanished and reappeared a few minutes later with two cups of steaming beverage. They drank together, gulping it hastily to warm themselves. "A-ah!" sighed the Lieutenant gratefully. "That’s better. Now put the cups back, and come and show me Arcturus—if you have shaken off your fat head!" * * * * *