There had been a wicked electrical storm as we crossed the Gulf Stream. Our boat lit up like a neon sign on Broadway. Our antenna had the look of white hot metal. Our forward deck was constantly awash with mountainous waves. We were dipped and drenched like wet wash.

We had decided to invest our money and time doing some shark research to help broaden the field of skin diving. So finding ourselves on a storm-tossed Gulf Stream was our own doing, and we had no complaints. Besides, with Hugh Brown at the helm we minimized any chance of an accident.

The boat tossed around like a wounded fish for about eight hours, and dawn found us near the Cay Sal Bank, deep in the Bahamas. In the distance I saw a lighthouse silhouetted against the gray dawn. We checked the chart and saw that it was North Elbow Light, built by British prison labor in the 1800s and then abandoned. It figured—a ghost island guarded by a ghost light.

Q. Underline two words which prove that the narrator himself is involved in the incident.