beg your pardon, Hale, for forgetting that you are ranking officer here,” Dave apologized, keeping his gaze out over the water.
“There’s no apology needed,” returned Ensign Hale. “Our only need is to reach the spot as quickly as possible.”
The motor boat had stopped. Captain Chapin at the first realization of the incident, had leaped up, and now stood scanning the water for the first glimpse of his sister when she would rise to the surface.
So great was the excitement on the naval launch that neither Dave nor Dan really noticed it when another man aboard the motor boat rose more slowly, showing his head for the first time above the gunwale.
As the motor boat put about on her course both Captain Chapin and this other man dived overboard.
“I wonder if they see Miss Chapin yet?” muttered Dave, as the naval launch raced to the scene.
It was speedily apparent that Miss Chapin had not yet been found, for both hatless swimmers swam about uncertainly, going down head first, from time to time, as though to explore the water near the surface.
Then the naval launch plunged into the scene. From it dived three ensigns and two sailors aboard who were not engaged with the handling of the craft.
With seven expert swimmers now in the water, Miss Lucy Chapin stood an excellent chance of being found.
Hardly had the Navy men dived when Captain Chapin’s male companion swam with long overhand strokes away from the rest.
“I see her!” shouted this swimmer, and dived.
“He has her!” panted Dalzell. “Hooray!”
Instantly six swimmers turned and swam toward the rescuer, who now appeared on the surface supporting a woman’s head on his shoulder.
“Good work! Fine!” cheered Dave.
Captain Chapin was the first to reach his sister’s rescuer.
“Is Lucy dead?” cried Chapin anxiously, when he beheld his sister’s white face.
“Stunned,” replied the rescuer. “I think she must have been struck on the head by the boat as it passed her.”
Silently the other swimmers turned in behind the young woman, her rescuer and brother.
“Better bring Miss Chapin to the ‘Castoga’s’ boat, Captain,” Dave called. “It’s larger. We’ll take her directly to the gunboat and have the surgeon attend her.”
The boatswain’s mate ran the naval launch up within easy distance, and Miss Chapin was lifted aboard.
On one of the cushions Miss Chapin was laid, while all gathered about her anxiously.
“Make the ‘Castoga’ with all speed,” ordered Ensign Hale. “The young lady must have prompt attention.”
On the way to the “Castoga” Captain Chapin did everything he could think of to revive his sister. The others stood about, ready to help.
Then it was that Dave happened, for the first time, to face the rescuer.
“Pembroke!” he called in astonishment.
“Howdy do?” asked the Englishman, with a smile holding out his hand.
Though Dave felt himself chilling with suspicion of the pleasant stranger, he could not withhold his hand.
“I was on my way out to visit your ship,” smiled Pembroke, as he released Dave’s hand after a warm grip. “Captain Chapin was good enough to say that he would present me on board.”
“And glad indeed I am that I undertook to do so,” exclaimed Chapin. “If it hadn’t been for you, Pembroke, I am afraid my sister would have been lost.”
Pembroke was now engaged in shaking hands with Dalzell, who felt obliged to present him to Ensign Hale.
“A splendid rescue, that,” said Hale warmly.
The gunboat’s launch was now speedily alongside the “Castoga,” the motor boat, a small craft that carried passengers on the bay for hire, following at slower speed.
“We’ve a half-drowned young lady on board, who needs the surgeon’s attention,” called Hale, between his hands, just before the launch ran alongside.
Miss Chapin was immediately taken on board, and carried to the quarters of the executive officer, where she was laid in a bunk. Only her brother and the surgeon remained with her.
Dave felt obliged to introduce Pembroke to his brother officers. The Englishman proceeded to make their acquaintance with evident delight.
Five minutes later the executive officer recovered his presence of mind sufficiently to send ashore to Cavite for dry garments of a size suitable for Miss Chapin’s use. In an hour or two that young lady, revived and attired in dry clothing, was brought on deck on her brother’s arm. She was weak, but out of danger.
“We came out in order to make a call aboard,” Captain Chapin explained to the officers under the quarter-deck awning, “but we had no idea we were going to make such a sensational visit.”
“I fancy that women are always nuisances aboard naval craft,” smiled Miss Chapin, whereupon the assembled officers promptly assured her that women were nothing of the sort.
In the meantime the three officers who had leaped over into the bay had had time to change their clothing. It became a merry party on deck.
Up to Mr. Warden stepped a messenger, saluting.
“The Lieutenant Commander’s compliments, sir, and will the executive officer report to the Lieutenant Commander at once?”
“Immediately,” replied Lieutenant Warden, returning the salute, taking his brief adieu by merely raising his uniform cap before he left the party.
Ten minutes later Lieutenant Warden stepped briskly on deck. He paused long enough to say something in an undertone to the officer of the deck, who smartly passed the word for a messenger.
“I am sorry to announce,” said the executive officer, approaching the group of officers who surrounded Miss Chapin, “that our pleasant days in Manila are ended for the present.”
“I should say so,” cried Captain Chapin. “There goes your recall flag to the mast-head.”
“Right!” replied Mr. Warden crisply. “Our sailing orders have just been wirelessed from shore. We sail at seven this evening, if our few men on shore leave can be recalled in that time. Mr. Hale, you are to take the launch and go ashore after the leave men.”
“Very good, sir,” replied that ensign, saluting, next raising his cap to Miss Chapin and hastening away.
“Leaving, are you?” asked Pembroke, in a tone of regret. “And what is your destination?”
“China,” rejoined Lieutenant Warden tersely.
The Englishman’s face changed expression.
“Not – ” he stammered. “Not the – ”
