rolled over
him incessantly.

With the numbed, trembling fingers of one hand he struggled with the
stubborn, water-soaked straps while with the other he clung to the rods
of the rigging. To loosen his grip for an instant, once the straps were
unfastened, meant almost certain death.

After what seemed an eternity of time the last strap gave way and, with
a wild pounding of his heart, he gripped the rods and began to climb.

As he tumbled upon the platform, new hope set the blood racing through
his veins.

"There might yet be a chance," he murmured, almost joyfully; "the storm
is breaking." His eyes wandered to the fleeting clouds. "Dawn's coming,
too. I--I--why, I might send a message. The motor's gone dead, of
course, but there are still storage batteries. If only the insulations
are good. If water has not soaked in anywhere!"

With trembling fingers he tested the batteries. A bright flash of fire
told him they were still alive. Then with infinite care he adjusted the
instruments. At last he tapped a wire and a grating rattle went forth.

"She's still good," he exulted.

Then slowly, distinctly, he talked into the transmitter, talked as he
might had he been surrounded by the cozy comforts of home. He gave his
name, the name of his aircraft; told of his perilous position; gave his
approximate location and asked for aid. Only once his voice broke and
fell to a whisper. That was when he tried to tell of the sad fate of
his companion.

Having come to the end, he adjusted the receiver to his ears and sat
there listening.

Suddenly his face grew tense with expectation. He was getting something,
an answer to his message.

For a full moment he sat there tense, motionless. Then, suddenly,
without warning, a new catastrophe assailed him. A giant wave, leaping
high, came crashing down upon the wreckage of the plane. There followed
a snapping and crashing of braces. When the wave had passed, the
platform to which he clung floated upon the sea. His radiophone
equipment was water-soaked, submerged. His storage batteries had toppled
over to plunge into the sea.

So there he clung, a single individual on a mass of wreckage, helpless
and well-nigh hopeless in the midst of a vast ocean whose waves were
even now subsiding after a terrific storm.

CHAPTER XXII

THE WRECK OF THE _KITTLEWAKE_

"I'm getting a message!" exclaimed Curlie excitedly. "Getting it
distinct and plain, and it's--it's from them."

"Oh, is