Phil, who was near enough to hear every word of the above conversation, began to feel a little alarmed, in spite of himself.

It was past midnight, the waves rolling mountains high and the ship laboring heavily.  He wondered if Mr. Herdic knew how hard it was blowing, and, if he did, how it was possible for him to lie calmly in his berth and listen, undisturbed, to the tumult raging on every hand around him.

“A light!” shouted the lookout, from the maintop.

“Where away?” cried the captain.

“Broad on our weather-beam.”

“Right you are!” was the quick response, just as there loomed through the darkness a lurid red light, like the eye of some huge sea-monster, that had reared its head above the boiling waves for a momentary view of the wild scene.

“That must be Largo Light,” said the mate, somewhat doubtfully.

“Yes,” replied the captain, with a look of great relief.  “Now we know where we are, though it’s not often I am so far out in my reckoning.  Tell Mr. Rolf to keep her close to the wind, and I’ll go forward and take a look at the chart.”

So saying, Captain Barrett went away to his cabin to consult his charts, while the mate hurried to give his instructions to the man at the wheel.

An hour passed—­an hour of darkness, storm and gloom.

Phil was beginning to feel very chilly in his wet clothes and started to go below, when the ship suddenly seemed to rise in the middle and then pitch forward again, with a dull, grating sound, the meaning of which he knew only too well.

“Breakers!” shouted the voice of the mate, from somewhere near the companion-way.  “We are on the reef!”

As he spoke the red light went out, as if swallowed up by the angry sea, and then they knew the nature of the false beacon that had lured them on to destruction.

Phil was making his way as fast as he could to Mr. Herdic’s state-room, when that gentleman himself appeared on deck, with Thad, half-dressed and in a terrible state of excitement, following him.

“What is it?” cried Uncle Walter.  “What has happened?”

“The ship has struck!  The infernal wreckers, with their misleading false lights, have brought us on the rocks,” replied Captain Barrett, who stood near, perfectly calm in the midst of the indescribable confusion and the wild howlings of the storm.  “Lower the life-boats, Mr. Moore, and God be our trust, for it’s every man for himself now; but steady!  Life is life, and he who saves his must be brave, cool and stout-hearted.  The rockets, boatswain.  It may seem a vain hope, but help may be nearer than we think.”

Two boats were lowered, but who got into them, or what became of them, Phil did not know.  In far less time than it takes to relate it, he had pulled off his coat, vest and boots, put on a life-preserver and stood heroically awaiting his fate, whatever it might be.

He was pretty badly scared—­there is no denying that—­and he felt a little weak in the knees; but when the struggle came, and the battle waged was for life, he felt quite certain of making as brave a fight as anybody.