That night there was little rest on board the Pharos.  Everyone who has been “at sea” knows what it is to lie in one’s berth on a stormy night, with the planks of the deck only a few inches from one’s nose, and the water swashing past the little port that always leaks; the seas striking against the ship; the heavy sprays falling on the decks; and the constant rattle and row of blocks, spars, and cordage overhead.  But all this was as nothing compared with the state of things on board the floating light, for that vessel could not rise to the seas with the comparatively free motions of a ship, sailing either with or against the gale.  She tugged and strained at her cable, as if with the fixed determination of breaking it, and she offered all the opposition of a fixed body to the seas.

Daylight, though ardently longed for, brought no relief.  The gale continued with unabated violence.  The sea struck so hard upon the vessel’s bows that it rose in great quantities, or, as Ruby expressed it, in “green seas”, which completely swept the deck as far aft as the quarter-deck, and not unfrequently went completely over the stern of the ship.

Those “green seas” fell at last so heavily on the skylights that all the glass was driven in, and the water poured down into the cabins, producing dire consternation in the minds of those below, who thought that the vessel was sinking.

“I’m drowned intirely,” roared poor Ned O’Connor, as the first of those seas burst in and poured straight down on his hammock, which happened to be just beneath the skylight.

Ned sprang out on the deck, missed his footing, and was hurled with the next roll of the ship into the arms of the steward, who was passing through the place at the time.

Before any comments could be made the dead-lights were put on, and the cabins were involved in almost absolute darkness.

“Och! let me in beside ye,” pleaded Ned with the occupant of the nearest berth.

“Awa’ wi’ ye!  Na, na,” cried John Watt, pushing the unfortunate man away.  “Cheinge yer wat claes first, an’ I’ll maybe let ye in, if ye can find me again i’ the dark.”

While the Irishman was groping about in search of his chest, one of the officers of the ship passed him on his way to the companion ladder, intending to go on deck.  Ruby Brand, feeling uncomfortable below, leaped out of his hammock and followed him.  They had both got about halfway up the ladder when a tremendous sea struck the ship, causing it to tremble from stem to stern.  At the same moment someone above opened the hatch, and putting his head down, shouted for the officer, who happened to be just ascending.

“Ay, ay,” replied the individual in question.

Just as he spoke, another heavy sea fell on the deck, and, rushing aft like a river that has burst its banks, hurled the seaman into the arms of the officer, who fell back upon Ruby, and all three came down with tons of water into the cabin.