"Crikey! 'Ere's something on the top of us!" he exclaimed. "Shout, guv'nor, quick!" Once more Aaron Rodd drew a long breath and shouted. His voice sounded like a child's falsetto, lost in the stentorian roar of his companion's demand for immediate help and rescue. Then the grey fog was suddenly pierced. A huge, dark mass seemed to be gliding almost on the top of them. From somewhere up in the clouds came an answering shout. Aaron Rodd's companion was moved to one supreme and successful effort. A clear, loud voice shouted directions to them. "We're lowering ropes. Catch hold, if you can, before the wash. We'll lower boats in a minute." Half a dozen ropes came down like curving snakes. One of them hit the water scarcely a foot from Aaron. He gripped it tightly. "Twist it round your body, mate," his companion spluttered. "Twist it two or three times round and hold on for dear life." The next few minutes were barely realisable. Aaron felt himself tossed like a cork on to the top of a seething mass of churned-up sea, flung down again with the roar of it in his ears, left for a moment in peace and then dragged through the water at such a pace that he found himself wondering whether his arms were going to be torn from his body. Then he was shot forward with a new impetus. His body and arms ached with the strain. He was only half conscious. "That's done it, matey," he heard his companion shout. "Hold on, there's the boat coming." Aaron Rodd never wholly lost consciousness. He heard the measured beat of the oars, the sharp, clear voice of the officer standing up in the stern. He saw the boat emerge from the gloom, heard the quick orders, felt himself lifted up by the shoulders, felt the luxury of something solid beneath his feet. The officer in charge of the boat looked at the two men curiously. "What's this?" he asked. "Collision?" Aaron Rodd's companion took a long breath and tried to explain what it was. The officer listened to him, spellbound. The men almost forgot to row. "Some one seems to have been playing a dirty trick on you, eh?" the former remarked, when at last the mariner ceased through sheer exhaustion. "Well, you can tell the Commander when we get on board." Gradually a fuller consciousness returned to Aaron Rodd. He was able to walk along the deck of the ship they boarded, to grope his way, unaided, down the narrow stairs into the small cabin below, where a man was seated at a table with a chart before him. He pushed it away as the two men were ushered in. "Hullo, what's this?" he exclaimed. The officer who had brought them made a brief report. The Commander nodded. "Fetch them some hot whisky, quick," he directed. "Now tell us your story." The tug-master got in first, but after a few sentences the Commander stopped him. "I think I'll get at the truth quicker from you," he decided, nodding to Aaron. "Quick, please."