“Stand by the oars. Hold your bow to the wind. Keep them up, lads. And not a signalman on board to tell the ship we are in trouble!” the officer muttered to himself. Off on the battleship, however, a dozen glasses were leveled in their direction and as many keen eyes were gazing toward them over the troubled sea. “Small boat appears to be in trouble, sir,” called the quartermaster, who, standing on the quarter-deck of the battleship, was bracing his glass against a stanchion. The ship’s lookouts had failed to catch Dan Davis’s quick signal of “accident.” “Have they asked for assistance?” questioned the executive officer. “No, sir. I have seen no signals in some time.” “Not since the diver went overboard?” “Not since they made signal that the mine had been located.” “What do you think about it, Coates?” asked the captain, peering through his own glasses, now and then catching a glimpse of the boats through the mist of white spray that enveloped them. “Two men missing from the wherry, sir,” called the quartermaster, with no trace of excitement. “Steamer number one!” roared Lieutenant Commander Coates, the executive officer. “Aye, aye, sir,” came the answer, borne faintly on the gale. “Cast off and proceed full speed to the assistance of boats on the mine field.” The steamer’s crew needed no urging to leap to their work. Some of their comrades were in distress. Lines were cast off, boat hooks were quickly thrust against the side of the ship to prevent the little steamer from being dashed to pieces against it. “All clear!” With a shrill blast of her whistle steamer number one rounded the ship’s bow in a cloud of blinding spray and headed for the mine field. The officer in charge had been given the number of the mine, and the bearings, as he started away, so that by the aid of the compass he was enabled to direct a straight course to the scene of the trouble. It seemed as if the staunch little steamer must turn over as she plunged along through the seas that were smiting her with increased force every moment. In the meantime the men in the little boats on the mine field, were fighting desperately to keep their craft near the spot where two men had gone down to battle for the life of a third down under the sea. The Battleship Boys were splendid swimmers else they never would have been able to wriggle their way through the water to the bottom. Dan was somewhat hampered too, by the coil of line that he had instinctively gathered in his hand as he prepared to leap from the boat. By rare good luck, his hands gripped the helmet of Kester, who lay on his back drifting slowly along, the weight at his feet holding him down not far from the sea bottom. Dan made a desperate effort to pass the line about the drowning man. By this time, however, it seemed as if the boy’s breath would burst from him. He could hold it only a second or so longer.