For some hours O'Hara and Armstrong dozed fitfully on the bottom of the canoe, regardless of the spray that dashed over their recumbent forms. Denbigh, crouched aft, kept an occasional look-out, while at intervals he baled with half a coco-nut shell. The sea showed no signs of moderating. The prospect of spending a night afloat in a mere cockle-shell became imminent. Just then the sub heard a faint cry. He looked in the direction from whence the shout came, but could see nothing. He was about to put it down to a freak of his imagination when the cry was repeated. Fifty yards or more to leeward was a man hanging on to an upturned boat. "Wake up, you fellows!" exclaimed Denbigh. "There's someone overboard." Seizing the paddles O'Hara and the mate checked the drift of the canoe until its course would bring it close to the upturned craft. "Steady!" cautioned Denbigh. "As close as you can to her bows." His ready mind grasped the situation. Could he but effect a communication with the waterlogged craft a double purpose might be served. Down swept the canoe. As her quarter slipped past the boat Denbigh leant over the side. With one hand he staved off the sharp stem, the metal-bound edge of which would have crushed the side of the canoe like an egg-shell. With the other he grasped the painter, which was trailing from the bow ring-bolt. "Stand by and take a turn!" he shouted to the mate, throwing him the slack of the rope. Promptly Armstrong, who was up for'ard, made the running part of the painter fast to the rope of the sea-anchor. With a jerk the canoe brought up fifty feet to leeward of the waterlogged boat. Here, sheltered by the latter, and with her drift apparently reduced, the canoe was in relatively smooth water. The unfortunate seaman, rallying his remaining energies, struck out. Almost exhausted, he was on the point of sinking when Denbigh seized him by the hair. It was a difficult matter to get the man into the canoe. He was a great hulking fellow. The safety of the three officers was gravely endangered, but proceeding with the utmost caution they hoisted him over the side. "Do you recognize him?" asked Denbigh. "Eh?" exclaimed his chum. "No; do you?" "Rather," replied the sub. "He's one of the _Pelikan's_ mob, and yonder craft is the whaler I saw buried on Latham Island. I'm afraid they haven't had much of a run for their money. But what's one man's meat is another man's poison. The whaler may prove a godsend." "She will," rejoined Armstrong. "See, she acts as a perfect breakwater. We must be almost stationary, owing to her drag in the water." "Even more than that," added Denbigh. "I propose when the weather moderates to have a shot at righting her. Since they provisioned her we are bound to find some tinned food in her after locker, for I don't suppose the whole lot of her gear was slung out when she capsized."