There was no need. The _Kalkis_, on rebounding from the terrific impact on her forecastle, had heeled over to starboard, the side of the ship had been buckled and crushed along the line of the deck, and the concussion had knocked the lamp out of its gimbals and it was rolling on the floor. He picked it up and relit it. He hurried out again to find the engineer. His training was urging him to get the wells sounded. Moreover, the filling of the forepeak through the smashed chain-locker had put the ship down by the head a little. She might be all right, but on the other hand.... He found the engineer calmly hauling the line out of the forward sounding pipes. "Is she making anything, Chief?" he asked anxiously. "Just show a light please, Mister Mate. I got a flashlight here but it's gone out on me. Why, four inches. Nothing much _here_. We'll try the other side, eh?" They scrambled over the hatch and hastily wiped the rod dry before lowering it into the pipe. "Hm!" The engineer grunted as he brought the rod into view again. "_Three feet!_ I reckon she's makin' some water here through that bulkhead, Mister Mate. What say if I try the pumps on her, eh?" "You do that, will you? I was afraid o' that, Chief. You know the bosun's gone?" "Is that so? Gee! That's a big smash! The bosun? Tk--tk! I'll get the pump on her." "Now!" said Mr. Spokesly to himself, "I'm going to see the Old Man." And he sprang up the ladders once more. Captain Rannie was not to be seen, however. Mr. Spokesly went upon the bridge charged with belligerence. But Captain Rannie was an old hand. He had had an extraordinarily varied experience of exasperated subordinates and Mr. Spokesly's conscientious tantrums worried him not at all. Especially did he fail to appreciate the significance of his chief officer's anxiety at this moment since from his own point of view this smash in the fog, supposing they did not meet any inquisitive craft for an hour or two, and this was not at all likely--this smash was a piece of singular good fortune. The cruiser would report ramming a small vessel in the fog, and the people in Saloniki, knowing the position of the _Kalkis_, would conclude she was lost with all hands, when she failed to appear at Phyros. It was so perfectly in accordance with his desires that he decided to run down and get one of his own special cigarettes. Now that he was actually in the middle of carrying out the plans of the owner of the _Kalkis_, Captain Rannie suffered from none of the timidity and truculent nervousness which had assailed him the day before. He had more courage than Mr. Spokesly would ever admit because that gentleman was not aware that his captain was a bad navigator. To the bad navigator every voyage is a miracle.