“I tell you it’s so. You’ve settled two feet in five minutes. You can’t save her now. You’d better get your boats out or you’ll get wet. There’s no time to lose,” and the boatmen began to push off apprehensively. “How much water is there here?” asked the officer on the bridge, in the same tone he would have inquired what was the population of Southampton. “About six and a half fathoms.” “Oh, well, that will keep my feet dry. Guess we’ll let her sink,” and the gold lace cap disappeared. The men in the boats were dumfounded. They pushed off at a safe distance, and then sat at their oars waiting for the catastrophe. The noise of in-rushing water continued, though not so distinctly, for some minutes longer, and the steamship settled steadily to a lower level. She was fully four feet deeper in the water than when the boatmen rowed out to her. They were now able to look over her low rail, and they saw half a dozen of the crew putting things to rights about the decks as unconcernedly as though the ship was safely at her dock. The rush of water was no longer heard. One of the boatmen hailed a friend in the other dory: “I say, Ben, I believe she’s stopped filling. What kind of a craft is she? Some of her compartments must be full, and the others are keeping her afloat.” “She beats me. Mind her smoke-stack, Jim. It’s no bigger nor a ferryboat’s, and not a whiff of smoke or steam has she shown since she came in.” Just then the ship lowered one of her small boats, and a couple of sailors rowed ashore a man in citizen’s clothes, who carried a package of papers. He was Captain Penniman of the private yacht _Mystery_, on a roving commission from New York, he told the official on duty at the custom-house as he handed in the ship’s papers. “But there is something wrong with your papers, captain,” remarked the collector a moment later. “They have cleared you in New York last Thursday, only four days ago. Didn’t you notice the mistake?” “Oh, it is quite right. We left New York at nine o’clock Thursday morning. Won’t you have a New York _Herald_ of that day?” and the captain nonchalantly offered a newspaper to the customs officer. “Crossed from New York to Southampton in four days? Impossible! It’s more than steam can do,” and Her Majesty’s customs representative looked at the captain in incredulous and rather resentful amazement.