Elder Malby soon retired.  Chester remained in the saloon for a time, studying the various aspects of life about him; then he made a good-night visit to the deck.  He looked into the men’s smoking room, where a few yet sat with pipes and beer, playing cards.  Among them were two men, fat-cheeked, smoothly shaven, who were dressed in priestly garb.  There was an expressive American in the company, an Englishman and a quiet German.  Before the American could carry into effect his intention of asking Chester to join them, the latter had passed by and out beyond the stench of the tobacco smoke.

“This air, washed clean by a thousand miles of scouring waves, is good enough for me,” thought he.

The wind was not blowing so hard.  The sky was nearly clear of clouds.  The moon hung full and bright above the heaving horizon.  Here was another aspect of the wonderful sea, and Chester lingered to get its full beauty.  The steamer rolled heavily between the big waves.  The young man leaned on the railing, and watched the ship’s deck dip nearly to the water, then heave back until the iron sides were exposed nearly to the keel.

Chester was about to turn in for the night when he heard a commotion, apparently among the third class passengers.  He walked along to where he could look down on the forward main deck.  A number of people were running about shouting excitedly.  Chester ran down the steps to get a nearer view.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I don’t know.  Someone overboard, I think.”

People were crowding to the rail at the extreme forward end of the ship.  Someone with authority was trying to push them back, using the old-fashioned ship-board language to aid him.  Chester drew near enough not to be in the way, but so that he could observe what was going on.  By leaning well over the rail, he could see what appeared to be two persons clinging to the anchor, which hung on the ship’s side, about half-way down to the water.  One was a dark figure, the other appeared in the moonlight to be a woman dressed in white.  Other ships-men now rushed up.

“Clear way here!  Where’s the rope?  Hang on, my man; we’ll soon get you”—­this down the side of the ship.  There came some words in reply, but Chester did not hear them.  A rope was lowered.  “Slip the loop around the lady,” was the order from above.  The man on the anchor tried to obey.  He moved as if cautiously and slowly.  “Hurry, my man!” But there was no haste.  Limbs and fingers made stiff by long exposure and cramped position, clinging desperately to prevent himself and his burden from falling into the sea, were not now likely to be nimble; but in a few minutes, which, however, seemed a long time, some words were spoken by the man on the anchor, the command to haul in was given, and slowly the nearly-unconscious form of a young woman was drawn up to safety.

“Now, my man, your next,” shouted the officer.  The rope soon dangled down again, the man reached out a hand for it.  The ship cut into a big wave, whose crest touched the man below.  He grasped wildly for the rope, missed it, and fell with a cry into the sea.  Chester tried to see him as the ship rushed on, but the commotion and the darkness prevented him.