"We have, indeed," rejoined Rob, "but we would rather defer the telling of them till we arrive on board your yacht. What's her name?" "The _Brigand_," was the reply; "we are on a cruise through the West Indies." "The _Brigand_," echoed the ensign. "Isn't that J. P. Grant, the great financier's yacht?" "Yes, he's my father," rejoined Donald simply; "he's on board. You'll be glad to meet him, and I know he'll be delighted to welcome you and hear your story." "Did you recognize our signal as soon as you saw it?" inquired Rob. "I sure did," responded Donald; "lucky you sent it up, too, as we were on another course, and would not have passed near enough to see that there was anyone on board what we thought was just an old hulk drifting about the ocean." "You'll be more interested still when you hear how we made the signals," spoke up Hiram. "Well, I knew that the call meant that the necessity was urgent, and although we were going slowly at the time we soon got under full speed. Dad has been a bit sceptical about scouting, but I guess he'll admit there's some good in it now." "It was Scout lore that saved our lives," said the ensign quietly. "Not a doubt of that," agreed Donald; "but here we are, almost alongside the _Brigand_." The boys gazed up at the towering sides of the big yacht, at her glittering brass work, and crowds of white-jacketed sailors gazing over the side curiously. Astern a big bronzed man leaned over the rail gazing down with equal interest. Rob recognized him instantly from pictures he had seen of him in the papers, as Junius P. Grant, the "Wall Street King," as he was called. He greeted them with a wave of his hand. "Welcome to the _Brigand_, young men," he hailed in a hearty tone; "you have the Boy Scout idea to thank for your lives. Had my lad there been five minutes later we'd have been too late to save you." "That's true enough, sir," hailed back the ensign; "we all thank you from the bottom of our hearts for your prompt relief work." "The best thanks you can give me will be to come on board at once and get washed up and partake of the best the _Brigand_ can provide," was the pleasant reply. "Yes; get on board, quick," urged Donald, as the gangway was lowered and the boatmen shipped their oars, "you look about all in." "We look like a lot of tramps, I guess you mean," laughed Rob, but for all that he felt a bit ashamed of their appearance. They were covered with grime from their fire-fighting experiences. Loss of sleep, hunger, and exposure had drawn their cheeks and reddened their eyes. Altogether, they looked very unlike the trim crew that had set out from the Derelict Destroyer _Seneca_ only a comparatively short time before.