Then, though Dave did not see it, a face peered over the rail above. There came a tug at the rope, but Dave would not let go. He found himself being dragged slowly along with the hull of this craft that was battling a head wind. When the man above found that he could not haul up the rope he peered down at the water, then set up a yell in some strange jargon. An instant later a second face appeared behind the first. The bright gleam of a pocket flash-lamp cut the blackness to the water. There was a second exclamation, quickly followed by a command. A third man joined the other two at the rail. Dave blinked upward at the pocket flash-lamp. He saw something descending, heard a faint whish above the noise of the gale, and felt a noose drop down over his head and shoulders. Just how he did it Darrin cannot remember, even now, but he managed to slip that noose first under one arm pit, then the other, all the time keeping a desperate hold of the trailing rope. A pull from above, then a dull throb of hope sent the blood through Darrin's frame as he felt the noose gather tightly under his arms. Slowly, his body bumping against the rolling hull, he felt himself moving upward. Ready hands seized and hauled him in over the rail. At that instant Dave's senses forsook him. He collapsed on the deck, a limp, huddled, drenched human form. Nor could he judge how much later it was when he opened his eyes again. But cold? Not a bit of it! He felt as though he were in a furnace room. Stripped, he lay in a berth, two stalwart sailors rubbing him under the direction of a third person, while a fourth was slowly forcing a hot drink down his throat. It was a strangling cough, on account of some of the fluid entering his wind-pipe, that had brought him back to consciousness. Opening his eyes, Dave lay quietly, enjoying the warmth after his bitter experience. He noticed that the sailors who were rubbing him were dripping with perspiration. Indeed, they had a right to drip, for the steam in this little cabin had been turned on through two separate services. Dave tried to speak, but all he could say was: "Ugh!" "Good! You don't feel chilled, now?" questioned the man who held the hot drink to his lips. "Gracious, no!" Darrin whispered, hoarsely. "I'm roasting." The man spoke to the sailors, who stopped their rubbing and spread a few thicknesses of blanket over him. Dave's next realization was that this unknown craft did not roll so heavily as might be expected. He reasoned that the ship must be a freighter of broad beam. Languor was stealing over him as the questioner asked: "How do you feel?" "Like having a big sleep," Dave whispered drowsily. His eyes closed and he dozed even before he could think to wonder if his brother officers on the "Grigsby" and "Reed" knew that he was all right.