“What did you see, boys?” Arnold called out to his companions on deck.  “Did we hit something or did it hit us?”

“Looks to me as if we had run down a row boat and cut her right in two!” declared Tom.  “I was sure I saw the stern of a boat just sinking here on the starboard side.”

Jack reeled against the wheel, covering his face with his hands.  Despite his efforts a groan escaped him.  Arnold sprang toward his chum and put an arm about his shoulders with a friendly air.

“What’s the matter, Jack?  Are you hurt?” he asked solicitously.

“Only inside” replied Jack.  “I’m sure I saw a man in a row boat loom up out of the fog just before we struck.  The shudder that ran through the Fortuna told me only too plainly that we had hit something more than a mere board or two.  I can’t bear to think that we’ve run down a man out here in the Gulf!  It’s too bad!”

“Maybe it was only an empty boat, Jack,” comforted Arnold.  “Did you hear anyone cry out or see anything of a man overboard?”

“No,” was Jack’s answer, “I didn’t.  I just felt that something was going to happen and then we struck the boat.  I guess it’s all right and we’d better get the Fortuna with her nose into it or we’ll roll the engines off their beds.  This is surely a choppy sea!”

Suiting the action to the words Jack reached for the levers on the switchboard just as Tom and Harry returned to the shelter of the pilot house dripping from the sheets of spray that had come aboard while the vessel lay rolling in the trough of the sea.

“Great Wiggling Pollywogs!” exclaimed Tom, “this is sure a nasty piece of weather!  I’m glad I’m on top and not sloshing around in the Gulf right now.  Bet that fellow in the boat is wet all right.”

“Hark, Tom!” cautioned Harry.  “You mustn’t talk like that.”

“I’m going back to finish my cooking,” announced Arnold.  “We’ll all be hungry enough to eat a raw dog.  And speaking of dogs,” he continued pointing at the white bulldog still holding his position at the pilot house window, “what’s the matter with Rowdy?”

“Rowdy scents something he doesn’t like,” explained Tom.

“I wonder,” began Jack and then without finishing his half begun sentence he dashed madly from the pilot house and flung himself into the bow of the yacht now gaining headway under the impetus of the engines.  Flat on deck he fell and crawling to the rail peered eagerly over the side.  His friends saw him turn an agonized and pleading glance in their direction and then reach far over the rail of the vessel.  In an instant Tom and Harry were by his side eager to be of any possible assistance to their chum.

“What is it?” began Tom, but Harry motioned him to silence.

“Sit on his legs!” he commanded and Tom with a flash of comprehension obeyed unquestioningly.  His weight on Jack’s feet enabled the captain to lean far over the rail and grasp the wrists of a clinging figure gripping with the tenacity of despair the links of the cable that still hung from the hawse pipes.