uld be saved. Yet a
few did manage to swim ashore, but it has always been a perfect miracle
to me that they did. Now, looking at that surf yonder, it is, if
possible, a still greater one."

"It wasn't only the surf and the rocks they had to reckon on," said
Harley Greenoak. "These waters are simply swarming with sharks."

"Yes, one heard that at the time, which renders it still more miraculous
that a single man jack of them should have escaped."

"I know a man who did. He's in the Police, and came out here as a
youngster in the _Birkenhead_. He said men were dragged down on each
side of him while they were swimming. I tell you what it is, Sir
Anson--if I were offered half a million of money to swim ashore from
here now, even with a boat a score of yards behind me, I'd say `No thank
you.' Of course a man is bound to `go under' sooner or later, but I
don't hanker after that method of doing so."

And the speaker, rising, went to the rail to knock the ashes out of his
pipe.

"God bless my soul! What's that?" cried Sir Anson, half starting out of
his chair.

For a cry rang out, sharp and clear--a cry which, next to that of
"Fire," is the most thrilling of all to a floating community.

"Man overboard!"

A rush was made aft. The confusion and excitement among the passengers
were indescribable. Men talked, women shrieked, and one fainted. And
above this scene of terror and uproar, a tall figure, lightly clad, was
seen to spring upon the taffrail. For just a second it stood poised,
then with hands joined above the head, sprang far out in a splendid
dive. And in that second the dismayed onlookers had time to make out
the form of Dick Selmes.

At the sight a cheer broke forth, somewhat quavering, to be sure.
Roughly charging through the crowd a quarter-master leapt aft, and with
deft and powerful sweep of the arm hurled the lifebuoy in his hand far
out and across the path of the swimmer. But the latter passed it
unheeded. He required nothing to hamper his pace, as with a strong,
swift side stroke he clove his way through and over the tumble of the
waves. The "man overboard" was now seen to be a small boy, and he had
already sunk twice. No, there was no time to be lost.

But even in that brief fraction of a minute Harley Greenoak had flung
off his coat, and muttering, "He's bound to need help," had leaped upon
the rail and sprung out into the sea, cleaving his way with no less
powerful strokes to where