me to. Far in the distance the flash and smoke and roar of battle marked where the last American ship was being done to death, the dear old flag flaunting its "no surrender" message to the bitter end. And then, as the sad vision and all vision began to fade away, I heard sharp words of command, and the swish of backing propellers, and something jerked me violently by the collar, and I was lying upon my back, and a familiar voice was saying: "Bless my soul, if it isn't Watson! What in the name of the unexpected and impossible are you doing here?"
And I had been fished out of the water by a boat hook and landed on the deck of the U. S. destroyer Patterson; and there was Commander Judson, whose guest I had been on this very boat, during a never-to-be-forgotten week of the summer maneuvers last year.
"I came down to witness director firing
