To be buffeted about in a vast inky inferno of tumult, not knowing where one is, not knowing what reef is ahead of one, not knowing what the next wave will do, not knowing when some part of the rigging will break, is a trying situation. Yet the powerful, sturdy engines are driving on and on, fighting the waves blow for blow, keeping the boat in the face of the wind, pushing forward toward a calm harbor, foot by foot. And from that dogged persistence men take courage. But when they stop, the only weapon against the elements gone, something sinks and dies out in a man’s heart. There is always a lurking fear in the mind of those who go out to sea in gas boats that they may develop engine trouble, in bad weather. Gas engines are not the most dependable means of locomotion. The gloom was beginning to stifle me. My nerves were on edge. I checked a panicky impulse to swing the wheel hard over to where I thought land ought to be. I was beginning to doubt the compass. Back of me I heard the clock sound eight bells, twelve o’clock, midnight. We had been out six hours on a trip that ordinarily took two, and hadn’t yet picked up the far-away glimmer of the beacon that marked out the entrance into calmer, quieter waters. Bob was peering into the sweeping, whistling, shrieking blackness. “Course now, Hal?” “North, a quarter east, about.” He moved impatiently. “Ought to have picked up Morey Light long ago.” “Don’t suppose the dang thing’s still on the bum, do you?” queried Ed, groping his way forward and wiping clear a place on the foggy pane. Morey Rock Light had been out of order for a month or more and we had constantly notified the superintendent of the Light Service at Ketchikan about it. “Shouldn’t be. We sure are out of luck if it is. Blow’s taken us ’way off our course; must be somewhere near Kiegan’s Chuck. If we can’t pick up that Light we’ll have to beat up and down here all night--and take our chances.” Both men pressed their faces against the windowpanes. I swung the wheel to port after coming out of a trough and tried to force all my energy into one intense gaze that would bore a hole through the blackness. But my eyes were tired and the lids burned in an irritating fashion. My arms were bruised and sore. With each successive pitch and roll of the boat my weary leg muscles responded less readily. I was tired, so darned tired! With a supreme effort I nursed the spokes over and dug my feet into the deck cleats as we made another sickening, dizzy sideward roll. Then through half consciousness I heard a voice close to me. “Hell, Hal, I plumb fergot. You been wrassling that wheel for six hours.” Ed grasped the spokes. “Lemme have it. You better see if you can’t grab off a couple of winks.”