"I don't know," replied my uncle, shaking the water from his sou'-wester. "But yonder craft will be lucky if ever she makes port in safety. Look at her now." An extra vicious blast had come, sweeping down, making even the "Fortuna," with her double-reefed canvas, reel; but the schooner staggered as if struck by a solid substance, and heeled over till her topsail yards almost touched the water, and I thought she had actually capsized. At length she slowly righted, and, staggering and plunging, she was soon lost to sight in the rain-laden atmosphere. Shortly afterwards two torpedo-boat destroyers came thrashing along within a cable's length of our stern, their four squat funnels, caked white with salt, belching out volumes of black smoke, through which gleamed dark red flames, the indications of steaming under forced draught. There was no attempt on the part of these dogs of war to ride the waves: their sharp bows simply cut through the heaving water, which fell in cascades from their turtle-back decks. On either bridge could be discerned the glistening sou'-westers of the officers on duty, as, to avoid the blinding spray, they crouched behind the storm-dodgers, while, as the destroyers tore past, we had a momentary glimpse of their weather-worn white ensigns, and both craft were hidden in a chaos of spray and smoke. "You had better get below and have something to eat," shouted my father; but I shook my head. "A bit queer, eh?" "No," I replied, conscious at the same time that I did feel a trifle uneasy. "Then cut off down below," he repeated, "and keep out of the wet for a time. Tell Johnston to make you some tea; you look pinched with cold." I obeyed, and, staggering across the slippery deck, I gained the companion and reached the shelter of the saloon. The place was in semi-darkness, for dead-lights had been placed over the scuttles and the skylight covered over with tarpaulins, and the only illumination was the dim daylight that filtered through the half-closed companion hatch. Coming from the open air, the atmosphere of the saloon seemed close and oppressive, and I would have willingly preferred to remain on deck during the storm (which Uncle Herbert insisted on terming a strong breeze) rather than be cooped up 'tween decks. However, I lay down on one of the sofa-bunks on the lee side, battling with a dizzy sensation that made me lose all interest in life; but I could remember watching the antics of the swing table as it oscillated, in spite of its construction, with the pitching of the vessel, and wondering whether, a soda-water siphon, that was continually sliding from one side of the table to the other, would overbalance and explode.