When under the water, and in imminent danger of drowning, seconds count as hours.

If they perished, now, Page would be spared the deep horror of it all, for his mind was already clouded again through his recent injuries.

He retained only consciousness enough to fight like a dying wild beast.

With one of Darrin’s arms pinioned Page seemed fighting to get the other in an equal state of helplessness.

Dave fought to free himself.  Yet he did not struggle too hard.

“If I free myself abruptly, I may lose Page!” was the thought that rushed through his brain.

To free himself of his comrade in order to get to the surface alone and safe was furthest from the young midshipman’s mind.

“It’s a tough fix, but I’m going to get Page to the surface, or stay down here with him!” throbbed Dave.

They were near enough to the surface to enable Darrin to see his comrade, though not with much clearness.

Down under the water all forms looked indistinct.

While Darrin struggled cautiously his mind worked fast.

It would have been easy enough to choke Page into insensibility, but that would cause the unreasoning midshipman to open his mouth, insuring his drowning.

Suddenly Dave saw his chance!  He made up his mind at once.

Swiftly moving his free hand back, he struck Page on the forehead with his clenched fist.

At that moment, Page began to fight harder to keep them both down. 
But Darrin struck him again on the head with his fist.

The injured midshipman now collapsed, senseless.

Cautiously though swiftly Dave freed himself, got a left hand grip on the collar of Page’s blouse, and with his right hand struck out for the surface.

His feet aided.  With joy Dave saw the water overhead growing lighter and lighter.  Then his face shot up into the life-giving air.

Darrin took in a great gulp of it, then turned to make sure that the unconscious Page’s mouth was above water.

Close at hand one of the sailboats of the fleet was bearing down upon them.

“There are Mr. Darrin and Mr. Page!” shouted a voice.

Splash! splash!  Two classmates were over in the water, swimming superbly toward the exhausted Dave.

“Keep up a moment or two longer, Mr. Darrin!” hailed the voice of Midshipman Hallam encouragingly.

All these young midshipmen were on duty.  Therefore, throughout the mishap and its attendant circumstances the ceremonious use of “Mr.” had been followed.

“Won’t I keep up, though!” thrilled Dave, as he heard the cheering hail.

All but forgetting himself, Dave turned to make sure that Page’s mouth was kept above water.

“Let me have Mr. Page!” called out Midshipman Botkin, ranging up alongside and taking charge of Darrin’s burden.

“How are you, Mr. Darrin?  Enjoy a little help?” queried Midshipman Hallam, throwing out a supporting arm to his classmate.

“I’m nearly all in,” confessed Dave, with a ghastly smile.

“But not all in?  Good enough!  Get hold of my arm, and don’t try to do much more than float.  They’re gathering the men in fast, now.”

Two sailboats were now engaged in the work of rescue, and a third was heading for Mr. Salisbury and his engineer.

In almost no time, it seemed, Dave and Page, and their supporters, were hauled into one of the boats.

“Give Mr. Page first aid for the injured ­quick!” urged Dave, almost in a whisper.  “He has gone close to being drowned.”

Hardly had he spoken the words when Darrin’s own eyes closed.  The strain had been too much for him.

When the steam launches came up, Dave and Page, as well as the other drenched fourth class men, were transferred, and fast time was made back to the dock.

Mr. Salisbury and his engineer were also taken back by steam power.  The owner of the launch had a most satisfactory explanation to offer.

He and his engineer had both believed that they had abundant room in which to clear the sailboat.  When, at last, they had tried their helm, it was found that the steering gear had broken.  There was no way in which to change the course of the motor boat in time.  The reversing gear was promptly used, but it was impossible to stop headway and dart back before the collision came.

It was accident, and that was all there was to it.  Yet, had it not been for Darrin’s prompt judgment, and the cool conduct of some of the members of his crew, there might easily have been some fatalities to report among the midshipmen.

As it was, nothing but Darrin’s splendid conduct had saved Midshipman Page from speedy death by drowning.

Dave opened his eyes on his way back to Annapolis.  Page, however though he was “pumped dry” of the water that he had involuntarily swallowed, remained in a stupefied condition all the way back.

An ambulance had been signaled for, and was waiting at the dock.

“I don’t want to go to hospital, sir,” Dave objected weakly.

“You’ll come with me, Mr. Darrin,” responded the Naval surgeon, without argument.  “Of course we can discharge you at any time we find you strong enough for duty.”

So Dave was taken to hospital, stripped, rubbed down, put to bed and dosed with hot drinks.

Midshipman Page was put on the cot next to Dave’s.  Now the surgeons discovered the injury that had been done Page’s head by the falling gaff.

Some four hours later Commander Jephson, commandant of midshipmen, came through the hospital, accompanied by Lieutenant Edgecombe, who had been the sailing instructor of the afternoon.

“Good evening, Mr. Darrin,” was the commandant’s very cordial greeting.

“Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening, Mr. Darrin,” came from Lieutenant Edgecombe, which greeting Dave also acknowledged.

“The surgeon says, Mr. Darrin, that you a fit to do some talking,” continued the commandant.

“I am certain of that, sir,” smiled Darrin.  “In fact, my only trouble is that the surgeon insists on my staying here tonight.”

“Then it is an official order, and can’t be dodged,” laughed the commandant pleasantly.  “But, Mr. Darrin, you were crew captain this afternoon.  Lieutenant Edgecombe wishes to secure your official report of the accident.  He will reduce it to writing, read it over to you, a then you will sign it.”

“Very good, sir,” responded Dave briefly.

The Navy lieutenant’s questions drew out only the simplest account of the affair.  Of all the heavy, swift work he had done for the safety of his crew after the foundering Dave gave only the barest sketch.  Lieutenant Edgecombe then wrote down a brief, dry recital of fact, read it over, and Darrin signed it.

During this time the commandant of midshipmen had sat by, a quiet listener.

“Mr. Darrin,” said Commander Jephson, at last, “I am obliged to say that, in some respects, your report does not agree with that of members of your crew.”

“I have made a truthful statement, sir, just as I recall the incidents of the affair,” replied Dave, flushing to the temples.

“Don’t jump too speedily at false conclusions, Mr. Darrin,” cautioned the commandant.  “My remark is founded on the statement, made by other midshipmen of your crew, that you displayed the utmost judgment and coolness, with great bravery added.  That you clung to Mr. Page to the last, and even went below with him at the almost certain risk of being drowned yourself.”

“You didn’t expect me, sir, to include any praise of myself, in my official report?” questioned Darrin.

“You have me there, Mr. Darrin,” laughed the commandant, while the lieutenant turned to hide a smile.  “I am quite satisfied with your official report, but I wish to ask you some questions, on my own account, about your own experience in rescuing Mr. Page.”

This it took some minutes to draw out.  Darrin did not balk, nor try to conceal anything, but he had a natural aversion to singing his own praises, and answered questions only sparingly at first.  Yet, at last, the commandant succeeded in drawing out a story, bit by bit, that made the old seadog’s eyes glisten with pride.

“Mr. Darrin,” announced the commandant, “from experience and observation, through a rather long life in the Navy, I am able to state that the kind of courage which enables a man go down in drowning with a comrade, sooner than leave the comrade to his fate, is the highest type of courage known among brave men!”

“You must have been aware, Mr. Darrin,” added Lieutenant Edgecombe, “that you were taking at least ninety-nine chances in a hundred of offering up your life.”

“Gentlemen,” replied Dave, rather restless under so much praise, “I have signed under the Flag, to give my life up for it at any time in the line of duty.  Does it make very much difference in which year I turn that life over to the Flag?”

“Edgecombe,” said the commandant, rather huskily, as the two officers left the hospital, “I am glad ­mighty glad ­that we didn’t lose Darrin today.  We are going to need him in the Navy of tomorrow!”