“How about the illuminating buoy?” inquired Ned.
“Oh, that’s slung aft, with a hand watching it, of course. But even that wouldn’t be much use on such a night.”
Chatting thus, the shivering, wet watch managed to pass the time. At frequent intervals Ned peered into the inky blackness. Against the pitchy background he could see ragged clouds of lighter shade being ripped viciously past overhead by the gale.
“If this wind ever hit the farm, gran’pa wouldn’t have a roof over his head in the morning,” shouted Herc in his comrade’s ear.
Ned was about to reply in a similar vein when a sudden cry rang above the uproar of the laboring destroyer and the howling of the wind.
It was a shout that chilled the blood of every man in that group—the most terrible cry that can be heard at sea on such a night.
“Man overboard!”