With eyes gazing fixedly ahead, the man, tense and alert, sought to penetrate the blackness. Squalls of rain swept down and lashed his face, the flying spume of spray shot up to intermingle with the rain, leaving a tang of salt on his lips. The liner lurched and rolled through the night, while thousands of souls aboard slumbered without fear, placing implicit trust in this one man to whom the pulse of the engines driving the ship was as familiar as the pulse of his own heart. Rain and spray and wind were part of his life, and he accepted them without demur because he realized that the weather was indifferent alike to praise and blame. Raising the night-glasses to his eyes, he concentrated a…
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