As his head shot above the water a Dave barely paused to expel the water from his mouth.

“Boat’s crew close together, to stand by the poor swimmers!” he yelled hoarsely.

The water being barely ruffled, Darrin was able to count eight heads besides his own.

That meant that five men had still failed to come up.

Midshipman Driscoll, an instant later, shot up beside Dave.

“Help!” sputtered Driscoll.

“Float on my arm, sir,” ordered Dave, swimming with lusty strokes until he had thrust his left arm under Driscoll’s chest.

Then the young crew captain shouted: 

“Who can get here first to support Mr. Driscoll.”

“Here!” called another midshipman, overtaking the pair with lusty strokes.

“Keep Mr. Driscoll up,” called Dave, as he swam away.  “I’ve got to count heads fast.”

Another midshipman came above water, and Dan Dalzell was at him, like a flash, supporting the new arrival, who was one of the poor swimmers.

That left three men to be accounted for.

Further down the stream still another head appeared.  Only for a moment or two, this midshipman succeeded in keeping his head above water.

“I’ll get that man,” cried Farley, as he and another midshipman started with powerful strokes after the man who was going down for the second time.

“There’s a seat floating!” shouted Dalzell.

Darrin plunged forward for it, until he saw one of his crew nearing it ahead of him.

“Hold that as a life-buoy!” called Dave.

Hardly had he given this order when another midshipman made himself heard, as he trod water.

The board was pushed toward him, while Dave made a rapid count.

“All up but Mr. Page;” muttered Dave, but even that thought made him sick at heart.

Only a few moments had passed, but that was time enough for any man to come to the surface if his buoyancy remained.

Darrin had paid no heed to Mr. Salisbury or the latter’s engineer, for he had seen them jumping for their life-preservers.

In the meantime the other boats of the sailing fleet were making for the scene of the disaster.  Yet, with the light breeze, that was no easy thing to do.  It would take some time yet to bring the nearest of the sailing fleet to the scene.

Signals had been sprung to the steam-launch fleet, but the launches were far down the bay, and many minutes must pass before relief could be looked for from that quarter.  Two or three of the sailboats would, in fact, be at hand first.

Though there were some excellent swimmer among the wrecked midshipmen, the best of these were already standing by midshipmen who did not swim well.  Dave Darrin was the only one free to go to Page’s assistance should he show up.

“Every man keep his eyes peeled for Mr. Page!” shouted Dave.  “We simply can’t stand the loss of any member of the crew!”

“There’s a hat!” cried Dan, a few moments later.  “Can you make it out, sir.”

Dalzell was pointing further down the bay.

“A cap, yes,” called Dave, striking out lustily for the spot.  “But I don’t see any head there.  Watch, all of you, and give me a hail if you see Mr. Page’s head show up anywhere.”

Midshipman Farley was in agony over the thought of the loss of his roommate.  Yet Farley was at this time engaged in standing by a less-skilled swimmer.

“That looks like a face, fifteen yards west from the cap!” shouted one of the crew.

Dave Darrin made the greatest spring, he could up out of the water.  It gave him a chance for a better view.

“I see the face!” he roared back.  “Look after yourselves.  I’ll get in close to Mr. Page.”

Dave swam as he had never done before, taking swift yet long, powerful strokes.  He reached the spot, only to see what he had taken for a face sink slowly below the surface.

“That must be the second time going down!” throbbed Darrin, with a feeling of horror.

More powerfully than ever he surged forward.  He was too late to catch another glimpse of the white face.  But he had noted the point at which it had sunk.

Taking a breath, Darrin took a dive downward, duck fashion.  Holding his breath, he went below, his eyes wide open, seeking as best he could.

Down where the light of day reached him poorly Darrin caught sight of something floating slowly past.  It might have been a fish, for all the sense of shape that reached Dave.

With an inward prayer the young crew captain surged downward and forward.  He grappled with ­something ­then fought his way the surface, holding that something tightly.

As they shot above the water Darrin’s blood danced for joy.

It was Page ­“good old Page!” ­whom he had brought to the top.

“Got him safe?” bellowed Farley, over the water.

Dave was too winded to answer.  He thrust one hand above his head, waving it joyfully.  Then he let the hand fall that he might better attend to his work.

For a few moments they floated there.  The nearest of the sailing cutters was now nearing the victims of the wreck.

The boat, however, would reach Darrin last of all.

While Darrin watched Farley and three others clambering aboard the rescuing boat, the young crew captain trod water, supporting Page at the same time.

Then Page opened his eyes, as though returning from a faint, rather than reviving from a partial drowning.

“Hold me tight!” gasped Page, almost in a whisper.  “I’m a fearfully poor swimmer.”

“I know,” nodded Dave, “but I’ve got you, and I never let go of a good thing.”

Darrin’s heart throbbed gratefully.  All of the boat crew were accounted for; not a man of his command lost.

Further off he could see Mr. Salisbury and the engineer of the foundered power boat, each held up by a life-preserve.

But, though all of the wrecked middies were afloat, they were as yet by no means safe.  Some were so helpless that every man who could keep himself afloat and help another was thus engaged.

Dave, after his strong exertions, found himself rapidly “playing out.”  If help did not soon reach him he felt that he would be exhausted.

“Can’t you help yourself a little more, Mr. Page?” he asked.

Unnoticed by Darrin, Midshipman Page had been slowly relapsing into unconsciousness.  In the collision Page had been hit glancingly on the head by the gaff of the falling mainsail.

Page heard Dave’s query with a muddled mind.  All he grasped was that Darrin was doubtful of his ability to keep them both up.

In an agony of unreasoning, stupefied dread, Midshipman Page swiftly wound both arms around Dave Darrin.

“Here!” commanded the young captain the crew.  “Don’t do that!”

But Page either did not hear or did not heed.  His arms clung more desperately around Dave, binding one of the latter’s arms to his body.

“He’ll drown both of us!” was the thought that flashed instantly through Midshipman Darrin’s mind.

There was no time to think of more.  Before he realized that the thing was happening Darrin felt the waters close over his head.

Both midshipmen were going down.  While Darrin’s mind was fully alive to the situation Page, a gallant fellow at heart, and thoroughly brave, was now unwittingly carrying his comrade down with him to death.

Nor, in the first moments, did any of the other midshipmen note the tragic happening.

It was not long, however, before Dan Dalzell’s agonized query shot over the waters: 

“Where’s grand old Darrin?”

Dan groaned with his helplessness.  For Dan was, at that instant, holding up one of the poor swimmers, to leave whom would be to abandon him to death.