“There’s the pirate!” shouted one nervous woman, leaping up and down, and pointing.  “Oh, Captain!  Captain!  Save us from all being murdered!”

Two or three young children, who also saw the floating, queerly-shaped little craft dancing on the waves just off the steamship’s starboard bow, began to scream in terror.

Even several of the men, who should have known better, experienced a shock of fright for a moment.

The “submarine pirate” that had been joked about for so many days, now seemed a thing of reality.

Down amidships, on the main deck, a pretty girl had sat, balanced on the rail, her stalwart brother standing by to hold her securely.

Yet, in the excitement that followed, the girl uttered a shriek and tottered.  Her brother’s hold was loosened for the instant, in his own bewilderment.  Before he could recover, the girl had plunged down toward the water.  With a frantic yell, the brother leaned too far out to seize her.  He, too, plunged over the rail.

How either escaped being drawn in toward the great hull was marvelous.

But now both appeared in the foam astern, bobbing on the water, yet far apart.

The “Farnum” was near by.  Midshipman Osgoodby threw the helm over once more, then started in to get closer to them.

At the same time he passed the word below.  Captain Jack Benson was the first to reach the tower.

In an instant the young submarine skipper threw the power off.

“We can’t go closer without the danger of running ’em down,” quivered the submarine boy.

The instant he had the power off Captain Jack threw the manhole cover of the tower open.  As he bounded out on the platform deck several of the midshipmen followed, with Ensign Trahern and others.

No sooner had his feet touched the platform deck than Jack threw down his cap.  His blouse followed, almost in the same instant.  Racing to the rail, the submarine boy calculated his distance, then sprang overboard, striking out desperately.

Word had been carried to the “Greytown’s” bridge, and the big craft was slowing up as rapidly as her headway permitted, while an officer and several men rushed to lower and man a boat.  Yet the boat, when it struck the water, was something more than a quarter of a mile away from the spot where the young woman and her brother had fallen overboard.

“Why don’t some of the champion swimmers of the class go overboard to Mr. Benson’s assistance?” rang Ensign Trahern’s voice, sternly.

Apparently that was all the middies were waiting for.

Instantly uniform caps littered the platform deck.  Uniform blouses followed.  A group of white-shirted middies raced for the rail.

Splash! splash! splash!  The water shot up in tiny columns of spray with so many young midshipmen diving overboard.

Even Ensign Trahern was startled by the promptness with which his question had been met.