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monkey wrench. The fireman looked into my eyes and backed away, thus preventing me from becoming a murderer. I threw down my weapons and went topside. My dreams of the sea were poisoned and shattered beyond redemption.

And yet, though I spent three years aboard a deadly destroyer from hell, I could not help loving my ship. In 1960, while operating off the coast of Nova Scotia in a squadron of seven destroyers and the aircraft carrier Wasp, we encountered the hurricane Donna (As of this writing, that would be forty-six years ago, and I hope that I am correct about the year and the hurricane!). With rising winds and increasingly rough weather, the admiral radioed to all the ships that operations were terminated, and it was every man for himself. The squadron was scattered all over the ocean, and we were by ourselves. The sea became so heavy, that we locked her into fifteen knots headway going south, just to be able to steer. We took the waves from behind, and were slowly pulled into God's violent glory and power. At about 37 degrees latitude the Old Man caused the helmsman to steer west, because he wanted to run into Norfolk, our home port. This happened at midnight, while I was on gyro-compass watch. I was lying on the deck next to the compass when suddenly the ship went into the trough and we took an enormous broadside. The ship leaned way over, and I slid yelling along the floor until I came to stand on the opposite bulkhead. She righted herself, shuddering like an old maid in a pawnshop (her screws were out of the water), and when she was almost back, she took the next broadside. During this time the Old Man was screaming at the helmsman, and the OD was flinging the Engine-Order-Telegraph every which way, ringing alarm bells, and hollering through the intercom. They gunned her for all she was worth, and pulled her out of the trough somehow, and headed her southward again. We had taken several sixty-degree rolls through fifty-five foot broadsides, which is something that no other creatures except human fools would think of doing.

For more than a week my ship took punishment that beggars description, and all we did was hang on, so as not to be flung across space, eating only sandwiches and tying ourselves down when we wanted to catch a wink of sleep. The captain left orders that no one was to go topside unless it was absolutely necessary, an order that I disobeyed. I snuck past the pilothouse and hooked my arms into a railing behind the forward stack, looking

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