I followed his eye and watched the hand flicker with each stroke of the engine. Pound by pound the pressure from the boilers was shoving it up. When it reached 160, the chief gave the wheel that opens the valve in the main steam pipe from the boilers a half turn and said: “Now count her revolutions.” With my eye on the second hand of my watch, I counted “105, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12,” and snapped the lid with approbation. “We’ve more coming yet,” grinned the sturdy little Greek. His interest once aroused, he was doing his best. A moment later I counted 115. “She did 117 on her trial trip,” volunteered the engineer, “and she’ll do it again if she holds together,” and he opened the valve to its full and screwed in the valve gear until he had the steam cut off to its minimum stroke to keep pace with the up and down racing of the pistons, while his second crawled about dropping oil in cupfuls on the working bearings to keep her from heating. The chief timed her himself. I watched him. “What is she doing?” I asked, as he closed his watch. “You count,” he said. “I make it 118,” I replied, looking at him with my best smile of approval. “Right you are,” he said. “One hundred and eighteen it is, and just one better than she’s ever done before,” and he winked as he rubbed the oil off his grimy face with a piece of cotton waste. “I’d put her up some more,” he said apologetically, “but I’m afraid she’d prime. Anyhow,” (with a glance at the gauge) “she blows at 180 pounds, and we’re 178 now.” “Keep her where she is,” I said, “and you’re doing fine.” And I wrung his hand and went on deck. Trembling from end to end with the revolution of her engines, the _France_ was beating her way toward the cable at nearly 11 knots an hour, and going into a heavy head sea at that. I blessed the sporty little Greek and went below to try and get a bit of shut-eye before daylight. In the saloon I found Morris and the second engineer, who had just turned out of his bunk preparatory to going on his watch in the engine room at 1 A. M. With one shoe on and the other in his hand he sat spell-bound as he listened to the narration of one of Morris’s hair-raising Philippine experiences. I had intended turning in at once, but lighted a cigar instead for a chat with the machinist for the few minutes he had to spare. Our conversation naturally drifted to the subject which we both had in common, and before we knew it we were deep in a discussion as to the respective merits of turbine and reciprocating engines. The engineer was still nursing his unshod foot, forgetful of all but the question we were arguing. “For my part,” he was saying, “give me for all around service triple expansion—I don’t say but what for high speed like torpedo boats and such, turbines may not be good, but they do say the blades sheer in bucketsful at high pressure driving. Now you take a four-cylinder triple turning her darndest—”