The diver had put what he considered to be a strong hitch on the mine with the end of the hauling rope. On account of the depth at which he was working, however, the darkness compelled him to operate solely by the sense of feeling. The mine was now swaying on the gunwale of the rolling small boat, the waves from the rising sea breaking over into the cutter as well as into the other boat, until the men were standing in the salt brine. “Look out! There she goes!” With a great splash the mine struck the water, having slipped its lashings, and quickly sank out of sight. “Warn the diver!” shouted the ensign. A jerk on the signal cord conveyed the message that the mine was falling toward him. “Does he answer?” “No, sir.” “Quick! Give him another warning!” “He does not answer, sir.” “There goes the signal line! It’s fouled, sir!” A violent wrench on the supporting line with which the diver was to be hoisted to the surface tore it loose from its fastening on board the diver’s boat. “The line’s gone, sir!” All hands were standing up in the rocking boats. The sky had suddenly become overcast and spray was dashing over them in blinding sheets. Sam stood as if dazed. He did not catch the full significance of the scene, but his mind was working. Like a flash it dawned upon him. “There goes the air tube. That settles him, sir!” “What does it mean?” stammered Sam. “The diver is drowning three fathoms under the sea. Nothing can save him,” groaned some one. An instant of silence followed. Dan threw up his flag signaling, “accident.” Then a body flashed through the air. The dazed spectators caught sight of a white service uniform, as the intrepid Dan Davis plunged into the sea, disappearing beneath the waves. Sam’s flagstaff struck the gunwale with a bang an instant later, toppled over and was quickly carried away. Ere it had reached the water, however, the second Battleship Boy had leaped to the bow of the boat and before they could utter a word of warning, he had followed his chum Davis with a long, clean dive into the ocean. CHAPTER XXIII—HEROES TO THE RESCUE “Men overboard from the wherry!” bellowed a voice in the motor boat that had brought out the second diving suit. “Stand by to pick them up!” roared the ensign. “They’ll never make it. Shall we go over, sir, and help them out when they come up?” asked a seaman. “Stand by! Not a man of you goes over. You couldn’t live in this sea. The fools—to do a thing like that!” The wind had increased to a gale, great walls of water hurling themselves against the frail craft and breaking over them in quick succession. “Bail boat,” commanded the ensign. “Aye, aye, sir.” It seemed as if every moment would be the last for the small boats, but not a man showed the least trace of excitement, either in face or voice. “Anchor’s giving way, sir.”