The instant the blow came Rod sprang to his feet, and as he did so a part of the rigging caught him, and swept him overboard.  With a wild cry for help, he tried to grasp something, but he could find nothing upon which to place his fingers.  The cold waters closed around him.  He tried to swim, to keep afloat, but the oil-skin suit hindered him.  He battled with the desperation of despair.  It was a terrible fight he made for life there in that inky blackness, with the water surging about him, and trying to win him for its victim.  It seemed that he had been struggling for a long time, and could resist no longer.  His strength was going, and he had little power for any further effort.

Just at this critical moment a firm strong hand clutched him like a vise, and he knew that the captain had come to his rescue.  This roused him to new hope and energy.

“Keep cool, now,” the captain cried.  “I’ve got hold of the riggin’ here.”

All this had happened so suddenly that for a few seconds the doctor was dazed.  He could see nothing, but he knew by the cry of the boy, and the startled roar from the captain, that something was seriously wrong.  Then he heard the splash as the latter went over the side.  In dismay, he waited, peering through the darkness in an effort to find out what had become of his companions.  It seemed like an age that he stood there until he heard the captain’s voice bidding him to give a hand, and pull him in.  He sprang at once to the side of the yacht, leaned far over, and stretched out his right arm.  But he could touch nothing.

“Where are you?” he shouted.  “I can’t reach you.”

“Out here,” was the reply.  “Try ag’in.”

Leaning farther out now upon the overturned mast, he tried once more, and had the satisfaction of feeling the sudden grip of the captain’s fingers as they closed upon his own.  Carefully and with much difficulty, for the strain was heavy, he was able to draw the submerged man toward him.

“Here, take the boy,” the captain gasped.  “Never mind me.”

With his left hand the doctor clutched Rod’s oil-skins, and was soon able to drag him into the yacht.  This had scarcely been accomplished before the captain pulled himself aboard, and stood by his side.  Forgotten was everything else as the old seaman bent over Rod as he lay in the bottom of the cock-pit.

“I believe he’s unconscious, Doc,” he cried.  “Is there anything ye kin do fer him?”

“We must get his wet clothes off at once,” was the reply.  “I’ll wrap him up in my great-coat.”

“I’ve a couple of blankets in the locker there,” and the captain turned around, and began to fumble with his hands for the latch of the little door.  “Ye’d better strip him, Doc.”

It took the latter only a few minutes to get the soaked clothes off the unconscious boy.  He then wrapped him up securely in the two blankets, and laid him in a sheltered place in the cock-pit.