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"There were three blinding flashes of light even before Garcia's hissed 'You lie' was fairly uttered."
Humdrum, indeed, must have been the existence of that man who, having reached middle age, can look bark on no episode or occurrence in his past life that was either uncanny, outré, or inexplicable by the ordinary laws of physics. When a man has been blessed, or otherwise, by being the chief actor in such incidents, he has food for speculation for the rest of his natural life, and perhaps beyond. Let skeptics scoff—who can blame them, not having taken part in the happenings themselves?—but I, having seen, sensed and felt what I have find it impossible to "laugh off."
It was back in the 80's, in the early days of my novitiate as a United States customs guard, that I was assigned the offshore detail on the passenger steamship Glory of the West as she lay tied up at the Broadway dock in San Francisco one winter's night. Well do I remember it.
To the uninitiated I may explain that the duty of the offshore or deck detail of the customs guarding force consists in preventing the smuggling of goods by boat or otherwise off the vessel by way of the offshore or waterward side.
Brrr, what a disagreeable night! Despite my heavy overcoat and muffler, I shivered. A fine drizzle, driven by a cold, gusty wind, seemed to penetrate to my very marrow as I tramped up and down the deck with feet heavy and chill as two chunks of ice.
I heard quick footsteps approaching—ah, the lieutenant of the watch.
"Hello," said a cheery voice.
"Hello, lieutenant," I returned.
"How's everything?" he asked, gazing round and taking in the general surroundings.
"Oh, everything's all right," I replied, "at least as right as it can be when you're cold and wet and miserable. This job of guarding-officer is no snap. If every night
