As long as he lives Nelson will never recall that struggle through the angry waters without a sudden sinking of the heart. Wind and wave were dead against him, mocking his frantic efforts at haste, burying him for moments at a time in ugly swirls of white-frothed water, that blinded and confused him. In those moments which, brief as they must have been, seemed minutes long, the monotonous sound of rushing wind and splashing wave were silenced and only the stealthy swish of water flowing over his submerged head reached him. It was pleasant, that calm, after the confusion of the world above, and once he found himself giving way to a sort of stupor. What was the use of struggling? Under the water it was calm and peaceful; down here there was rest for tired limbs. Involuntarily his aching arms and legs ceased their labors, and even the swirling of water past his ears no longer came to him, and he knew that he was sinking. Then the benumbing stupor passed, fright gripped him with icy hands at his heart, he opened his mouth to cry aloud, and arose, fighting wildly, to the surface, his lungs half filled with water. For a moment a panic held him; he fancied unseen hands were clutching at him, striving to drag him down again to that awful stillness, and he thrashed and struggled and shrieked at the leaden sky. Then recollection of Dan came to him and the terror passed. Blinking his streaming eyes, he looked about him. Almost at hand was something half submerged that at first he thought might be his companion. But as he reached it, swimming hand over hand with the waves breaking above his head, he saw that it was only the canoe tent, which, partly on account of its wooden pole and partly because a certain amount of air was imprisoned beneath the canvas, was still afloat. Grasping it with one hand he turned to search the water. And as he turned fingers gripped themselves about his wrist in a feeble clutch and Dan’s face arose white and drawn beside him. The eyes were wide open and staring, and for a moment Nelson believed that they were the eyes of a dead person. But the clutching fingers told a different tale, and as he reached across the tent and seized Dan under one armpit the staring eyes seemed to flicker with recognition. Then the lids closed slowly, wearily over them. He was not dead, thought Nelson with a sudden rush of blood to his chilled heart. And then, driving before it that brief sensation of relief, came to him a knowledge of the hopelessness of their situation. The canoe was drifting bottom upward hundreds of feet away. No hail came from Bob or Tom. He must keep afloat himself and sustain Dan as well, and for aid there was only the canvas tent lashed about its pole and already half water-logged. But the feeling of panic was a thing of the past. Even fear had gone from him. Discouragement was left, but with it was a determination to fight the battle to the very end and win if strength and wit could do it.