de
up of four battle-ships of uncouth, foreign design and murderous
appearance, while the right column contained the flag-ship and three
others, all heavily armored cruisers. Flanking each fleet, far to the
rear, were torpedo-boats and destroyers.

"We're outclassed, Dalrymple," said Captain Blake. "There are the ships
we expected--_Warsaw_, _Riga_, _Kharkov_, and _Moscow_, all of fighting
weight, and the _Obdorsk_, _Tobolsk_, _Saratov_, and _Orenburg_.
Leaving out the _Argyll_, we haven't a ship equal to the weakest one
there. This fight is the _Argyll's_."

"And the _Argyll_ is equal to it, captain. All I fear is torpedoes. Of
course our ends and superstructure will catch it, and I suppose we'll
lose men--all the quick-fire men, perhaps."

"Those in the tops surely," said the captain. "Dalrymple, what do you
think? I don't feel right about Finnegan. He belongs in the turret, and
I've sentenced him. Have I the right? I've half a mind to call him
down." He pushed a button marked "Forward turret," and listened at a
telephone.

"Mr. Clarkson!" he called. "I've put your man Finnegan in the upper
top; but he seems all right now. Can you use him?"

The answer came:

"No, sir; I've filled his place."

"Die, then. On my soul be it, Finnegan, poor devil," muttered the
captain, gloomily.

His foot struck the bottle under the binnacle, and, on an impulse due
to his mood, he picked it up and uncorked it. Mr. Dalrymple observed
the action and stepped toward him.

"Captain, pardon me," he said, "if I protest unofficially. We are going
into action--not to dinner."

The captain's eyes opened wide and shone brighter, while his lip
curled. He extended the bottle to the lieutenant.

"The apologies are mine, Mr. Dalrymple," he said. "I forgot your
presence. Take a drink."

The officer forced a smile to his face, and stepped back, shaking his
head. Captain Blake swallowed a generous portion of the whisky.

"The fool!" mused the navigator, as he looked through the peep-hole.
"The whole world is watching him to-day, and he turns to whisky. That's
it, dammit; that's the bond of sympathy: Blake and Finnegan, Finnegan
and Blake--dipsomaniacs. Lord, I never thought. I've seen him drunker
than Finnegan, and if it wasn't for his position and obligations, he'd
see spiders, too."

Mr. Dalrymple was not the only one on board who disapproved of "Dutch
courage" for captains. The Japanese servant, whose station was at the
forward-tur