"Here y'are, lady!" coaxed one seaman from the first launch, catching a line at twenty feet and placing it in the hands of a frightened woman whose teeth chattered and who was nearly dead from the cold that the icy water sent through to the marrow of her bones. "Think y' can hold on, lady? If y' can, I can go back and help some one else." The woman, though she spoke no English, guessed the meaning of the question, and shrieked with terror. "Oh, all right, ma'am," the sailor went on, in a tone of good-humored resignation. "I'll make sure of you, and hope that some one else won't drown." With one arm around her, the other hand holding tight to the rope the jacky allowed himself to be hauled in alongside the launch. "Take this lady in, quick!" ordered Jacky. "She's about all in with the cold." "Better come on board, too, Streeter," advised a petty officer on the launch. "Too much to be done," replied Seaman Streeter, shoving off and starting to swim back. "Your teeth are chattering now," called the petty officer, but Seaman Streeter, with lusty strokes, was heading for a hatless, white-haired old man whom he made out, under the searchlight glare, a hundred yards away. This man, too chilled to swim for himself, though buoyed up by a belt, Streeter brought in. "Come on board, Streeter," insisted the same petty officer. But surely that jacky was deaf, for he turned and once more struck out. By the time that the liner had been down four minutes, and the last visible and living person in the water had been rescued, Seaman Streeter had brought in six men and women, five of whom would surely have died of the cold had he not gone to their aid. And he had turned to swim back after a possible seventh. Nearly six hundred passengers and members of the sunken liner's crew had been saved. Of these the greatest sufferers were taken aboard the "Grigsby" and the "Reed" and the remainder were left in the boats, which were towed astern. Dave decided that the rescued ones should be landed at an English port twenty-two miles away. This port had rail communication and prompt, effective care could be given to these hundreds of people. As soon as the start had been made for port, roll-call was held of those who had put off in the launches. Seaman Streeter was not present, nor even accounted for. Promptly Darrin ordered the course changed and the two destroyers went back, making careful search under the searchlights of the surface of the sea near the scene of the foundering. No trace of the missing seaman was found. Seaman Streeter did not die in battle. He perished in the gentler but no less useful field of saving human life! An orphaned sister in Iowa, his only living near relative, gazes to-day at the appreciative letter she has received from the Navy Department at Washington. Then she turns to a longer and more glowing letter written by the, to her, strange hand of David Darrin, Lieutenant-Commander, United States Navy.