The three destroyers, now robbed of their charges, were beginning to slip from sight. “Going to that other fight,” Jack thought. He and Stew were leaving the fight behind, and under the circumstances he was not sorry. It seemed less violent now. Had their comrades won or lost? Had the Jap carrier been put out of action? He did not know the answer. His motor coughed hoarsely, then was silent. They lost altitude rapidly. “Get ready to bail out!” he snapped. The motor coughed, rumbled, then thundered afresh. They climbed once more, then slowly sank. The islands were much closer now. “We’d better head for the middle one,” Jack said. “It’s the largest. Got quite a peak in the middle of it.” “Must be several hundred feet high,” Stew said. “There’s sure to be good, fresh water there. Natives too. There’s an island around here somewhere, they say, where the natives eat shipwrecked Chinamen, or used to.” “Well, we’re not Chinamen!” Jack’s laugh was a bit doubtful. “Could be they’re not choosy.” Stew’s laugh was doubtful too. “Have to take a chance, that’s all war is after all—just one risk after another. We—” The motor went dead again. One more struggle, one more victory. Twice more this was repeated. The last time they were not much more than ten miles from the islands. “That’s all she’ll do,” Jack decided. “Get ready to tumble out if we land too hard. We’re going down.” Gripping the half-inflated lifeboat, Stew shoved back the hood, and stood there, with the wind in his eyes, as they circled downward. The time was surprisingly short. They hit the water hard, bounced, struck again—then with a final splash, the plane almost nosed over into the sea. Stew had the life raft ready in a twinkling—none too soon at that, for their left wing was all but torn away. Stew was on the life raft, with paddle in hand. Jack was prepared to drop down onto the raft when he stopped suddenly. “Wait a second,” he said, climbing into the plane again. He came back after a while with the violin. “After what Ted did for us today,” he confided, “I couldn’t leave it.” And they paddled away toward the middle island. “That Ted must be a real guy,” was Stew’s comment. “You don’t know the half of it. I’ll tell you about it some time.” Jack settled back against the circular side of the raft. “Boy! Am I tired!” “Take it easy,” Stew advised. “We’ll have to paddle ten miles at least. A Jap plane may spot us on the way.” “We don’t really need to paddle at all,” Stew said. “There’s a strong current running toward the islands.” “How do you know?” Jack sat up. “While you went back for the violin I threw a stick into the water. It started right for the island.” “That,” said Jack, “was my whittling stick.” “Too bad!” Stew said. “But then, there must be a million sticks on our island. Seems to be covered with trees.”