... I reached the bridge deck unobserved and was drinking in the glorious sight. It felt fine to be so high that nothing could hit you but the spray. I hooked my elbow around a metal support of the searchlight platform. The officers had no good hand-holds and were slipping about like drunken men on roller skates. Our captain was almost unrecognizable in a saffron-colored slicker that hung down to his heels, and on his head was perched a sou’wester to match. He reminded me of the old salt who swings an enormous fish over his shoulder and advertises cod liver oil. Our junior lieutenant appeared to have unusually good sea legs, for he could stand with his arms folded, shifting from foot to foot, stolid and Napoleon-like. Our ensign was staggering under the weight of a life-preserver and a number of coals, all bundled up like an Eskimo, nothing showing but his eyes. Our chief petty officers, hanging under the wings of the chart-house, had not shaved for days and looked as if they might have made good if given a try-out as modern Captain Kidds. Grotesque figures draped in horse-cloth outer clothing, topped with hoods, aviator style, hovered wherever they could find a corner. Blown far away from her base port in France, the _Corsair_ was thankful to find shelter in the Spanish harbor of Vigo as a brief respite. She could not be called crippled, as a matter of fact, for in a rough sea she picked up speed to twelve knots and so made a landfall. Her condition was that of a pugilist with a broken nose, blackened eyes, and a few teeth missing, who still “packs a punch” and has no idea of taking the count. The _Corsair_ no longer resembled a trim, taut, and orderly ship of the American Navy, nor would her weary crew have cared to line up for an admiral’s inspection. They wore whatever clothes they could lay hands on, and might have spilled out of the fo’castle of a Cardiff collier. All that really concerned them was the hope of getting dry and eating a few regular meals. There were obvious reasons why Commander Kittinger preferred to seek some other port than Vigo in which to repair and refit for several weeks. The American Consul warned him that the Spanish authorities were bound by the laws of neutrality to intern the ship until the end of the war, a fact of which he was well aware. On the other hand, the senior Spanish naval officer of the port waived such formalities aside and most courteously assured the _Corsair_ that she would not be meddled with and was at liberty to remain for necessary repairs and to depart when they were completed. [Illustration: CLEANING UP AT LISBON, AFTER THE HURRICANE]