ons, who broke up the meeting and went on deck.

The prospect of things there proved, beyond all doubt, that Britons
never did, and never will, rule the waves.

The storm, which had been brewing for some time past, was gathering
fresh strength every moment, and it became abundantly evident that the
floating light would have her anchors and cables tested pretty severely
before the gale was over.

About eight o'clock in the evening the wind shifted to east-south-east;
and at ten it became what seamen term a _hard gale_, rendering it
necessary to veer out about fifty additional fathoms of the hempen
cable. The gale still increasing, the ship rolled and laboured
excessively, and at midnight eighty fathoms more were veered out, while
the sea continued to strike the vessel with a degree of force that no
one had before experienced.

That night there was little rest on board the _Pharos_. Everyone who
has been "at sea" knows what it is to lie in one's berth on a stormy
night, with the planks of the deck only a few inches from one's nose,
and the water swashing past the little port that _always_ leaks; the
seas striking against the ship; the heavy sprays falling on the decks;
and the constant rattle and row of blocks, spars, and cordage overhead.
But all this was as nothing compared with the state of things on board
the floating light, for that vessel could not rise to the seas with the
comparatively free motions of a ship, sailing either with or against the
gale. She tugged and strained at her cable, as if with the fixed
determination of breaking it, and she offered all the opposition of a
fixed body to the seas.

Daylight, though ardently longed for, brought no relief. The gale
continued with unabated violence. The sea struck so hard upon the
vessel's bows that it rose in great quantities, or, as Ruby expressed
it, in "green seas", which completely swept the deck as far aft as the
quarterdeck, and not unfrequently went completely over the stern of the
ship.

Those "green seas" fell at last so heavily on the skylights that all the
glass was driven in, and the water poured down into the cabins,
producing dire consternation in the minds of those below, who thought
that the vessel was sinking.

"I'm drowned intirely," roared poor Ned O'Connor, as the first of those
seas burst in and poured straight down on his hammock, which happened to
be just beneath the skylight.

Ned sprang out on the deck, missed his footing, a