“Clifford Faraday, sir.”
“Humph! was he asleep?”
“I do not think so, sir.”
“He’s a bright lad, Mr. Watson,” interposed the officer of the watch. “I stationed him up there for that reason. He’s not the one to sleep on duty.”
“But he must have been dreaming to act in that manner,” impatiently replied the executive officer. “What did the other lookouts——”
“Ship ahoy! She’s dead ahead! Watch——”
The cry rang out sharply above the roaring of the gale, and, as before, it came to a sudden ending. There was a moment of silence, then the cadet officer of the forecastle, who had just made a report, exclaimed wonderingly:
“It’s Faraday again!”
Brandishing his telescope like a sword, the executive officer sprang forward, followed by the other officers and a score of men and cadets.
On reaching the forecastle they found Clif leaning far out over the rail, hanging with one hand from a stay.