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Metcalf had resigned as ensign to take up the study and practice of medicine, but at the beginning of the war scare had returned to his first love, relinquishing a lucrative practice as eye-specialist to tender his services to the Government. And the Government had responded by ranking him with his class as junior lieutenant, and giving him the aforesaid command, which he was glad to be released from. But his classmates and brother officers had not responded so promptly with their welcome, and Metcalf found himself combating a naval etiquette that was nearly as intolerant of him as of other appointees from civil life. It embittered him a little, but he pulled through; for he was a likable young fellow, with a cheery face and pleasant voice, and even the most hide-bound product of Annapolis could not long resist his personality. So he was not entirely barred out of official gossip and speculations, and soon had an opportunity to question some convalescents sent home from Honolulu. All told the same story and described the same symptoms, but one added an extra one. An itching and burning of the face had accompanied the attack, such as is produced by sunburn.

“And where were you that night when it came?” asked Metcalf, eagerly.

“On the bridge with the captain and watch-officers. It was all hands that night. We had made out a curious light to the north’ard, and were trying to find out what it was.”

“What kind of a light?”

“Well, it was rather faint, and seemed to be about a mile away. Sometimes it looked red, then green, or yellow, or blue.”

“And then it disappeared?”

“Yes, and though we steamed toward it with all the searchlights at work, we never found where it came from.”

“What form did it take–a beam or a glow?”

“It wasn’t a glow–radiation–and it didn’t seem to be a beam. It was an occasional flash, and in this sense was like a radiation–that is, like the spokes of a wheel, each spoke with its own color. But that was at the beginning. In three hours none of us could have distinguished colors.”

Metcalf soon had an opportunity to question others. The first batch of invalid officers arrived from Manila, and these, on being pressed, admitted that they had seen colored lights at the beginning of the night. These, Metcalf remarked, were watch-officers, whose business was to look for strange lights and investigate them. But one of them added this factor to the problem.

“And it was curious about Brainard, the most useless and utterly incompetent man ever graduated. He was so near-sighted that he couldn’t see the end of his nose without glasses; but it was he that took the ship in, with the rest of us eating with our fingers and asking our way to the sick-bay.”

“And Brainard wore his glasses that night?'” asked Metcalf.

“Yes; he couldn’t see without them. It reminds me of Nydia, the blind girl who piloted a bunch out of Pompeii because she was used to the darkness. Still, Brainard is hardly a parallel.”

“Were his glasses the ordinary kind, or pebbles?”

“Don’t know. Which are the cheapest? That’s the kind.”

“The ordinary kind.”

“Well, he had the ordinary kind–like himself. And he’ll get special promotion. Oh, Lord! He’ll be jumped up a dozen numbers.”

“Well,” said Metcalf, mysteriously, “perhaps not. Just wait.”

Metcalf kept his counsel, and in two weeks there came Japan’s declaration of war in a short curt note to the Powers at Washington. Next day the papers burned with news, cabled via St. Petersburg and London, of the sailing of the Japanese fleet from its home station, but for where was not given–in all probability either the Philippines or the Hawaiian Islands. But when, next day, a torpedo-boat came into San Francisco in command of the cook, with his mess-boy at the wheel, conservatism went to the dogs, and bounties were offered for enlistment at the various navy-yards, while commissions were made out as fast as they could be signed, and given to any applicant who could even pretend to a knowledge of yachts. And Surgeon George Metcalf, with the rank of junior lieutenant, was ordered to the torpedo-boat above mentioned, and with him as executive officer a young graduate of the academy, Ensign Smith, who with the enthusiasm and courage of youth combined the mediocrity of inexperience and the full share of the service prejudice against civilians.