quartermaster also wore a knitted, blue watch-cap that he could pull down over his ears.
When Henry stared into the dark void ahead of and around them he could at first see nothing. The sky was like a dome of black. No star, no feeblest ray of light of any sort, came from it. And the water beneath was its twin for darkness. Overhead the rigging sang ever more eerily, and, when the wind rose in sharp crescendo, the cordage fairly shrieked. The woodwork creaked and groaned. From every side came the tumultuous roar of the waves, a sound so overpowering, so insistent, so awesome, that Henry shuddered when he listened to it. A feeling almost of fear came to him. He could not help thinking how awful it would be if the ship should sink in such a wild waste of water. But when he glanced at the motionless figure in the wheel-house, and when he thought of the radio, he was reassured. But he would have felt safer, he thought to himself, if young Belford or the chief electrician had been on watch in the wireless shack.
Already the latter had left the bridge and returned to his cabin. But Henry stayed on the bridge a long time. Occasionally he spoke briefly to the officers on watch, but mostly he watched in silence, peering into the darkness, drinking in the sounds of the night, filling himself with new sensations, not all of which were