eached out to seize their struggling comrade, who had hold of a
black arm with one hand, and swam with the other.

"Now then, lay hold quick," roared the lieutenant.

"Mind! Take care!" shouted Mark.

The words were necessary, but useless, for as the men reached over and
raised the coxswain and his burden, the gunwale of the boat sank too
low, there was a rush of water, and in what seemed like one beat of time
the crew were all thrown out, and as they rose to the surface after an
unexpected dive, it was to find the oars floating about, with straw hats
here and there, and a couple of yards away the cutter lying bottom
upwards.

Mark's first instinct as he caught sight of the glistening keel was to
strike out and seize it, his next to look wildly round for help; and now
he fully realised the fact that they were alone and in deadly peril,
with the help that should have been at hand gliding rapidly away.

"Hi! help! your hand!" cried a choking voice close by; and instinctively
Mark stretched out the asked-for help, to feel one hand seized and the
other glide from the slippery keel. The next moment the water was
thundering over his head.

CHAPTER FIVE.

A FIGHT WITH A BOAT.

Were you ever nearly drowned? Did you ever feel the sensation of the
waves rushing and roaring over you, as if full of triumph at having
captured a human being to drag down into their depths and devour?

It is to be hoped not, and that you never will be in such jeopardy as
that in which Mark Vandean found himself as the pale, soft moonlight was
suddenly shut out from sight, and he went down into the black darkness,
too much startled and confused to grasp his position and make a calm,
matter-of-fact attempt to save his life. He was conscious of receiving
a kick, which sent him lower, and then of rising and striking his head
against something hard.

This blow roused him into action, and, realising in a flash that he had
knocked his head against some portion of the boat, he struck out
strongly, and the next moment was gazing around at the agitated water,
and then made out, close at hand, what looked like the glistening back
of some sea monster.

It was only the imagination of the moment. Directly after he was
swimming for it, seeing that it was the bottom of the capsized boat,
about which the crew were clustering.

Then a strong hand was stretched out to him, and he was drawn to the
keel, Tom Fillot, who had rowed stroke oar, helping