Howard and Jackson climbed down the Jacob’s-ladder that still swung at the Queen’s counter, and dropped lightly to the deck of the water-logged schooner that lay there. Of this, nothing but a few inches of the deck and the stumps of the masts were above water; whatever deck-houses there might have been had been carried away, together with the entire rail. Consequently there was nothing to investigate, nothing that could help the castaways in their efforts to escape, and the two men crossed over her with merely a glance, using her as a bridge to reach a ship floating high in the water just beyond. The second vessel had a gangway lowered down her side, evidently to help her passengers to reach the boats. Her masts were gone, but otherwise she seemed intact. “Crew and passengers taken off by another ship,” explained Howard, “probably in fair weather after a storm. Most likely another storm was brewing and the crew expected their own vessel to sink.” A rapid search showed that the ship had nothing of value to offer. Her boats were gone; her compasses, charts, chronometers, and sextants all were gone. Some tools remained, but were so rusted as to be of little value. Howard soon led the way to her taffrail, whence he could clutch the shrouds of a full-rigged ship which had evidently been in a collision. As he stepped on the deck of this craft, there was a scurry of feet, and a dozen huge rats bolted across the deck and disappeared under the poop. “Confound the brutes,” he muttered. “I hate them! Wonder what they have been eating.” The answer was not far to seek. Close beside the davits of the quarter-boat lay two skeletons; one with a smooth, round hole drilled through the fleshless skull, the other with a broken backbone. Howard looked at them and nodded. “Probably the crew made a rush for the boats,” he suggested. “Somebody--one of the officers, I suppose--tried to stop them. He shot one, but the others ran over him and broke his back. Then came the rats. Well, it was a man’s death. If you can find a couple of bags, Jackson, we will commit the bones to the sea.” From the ship the two men descended to a steamer, much down by the stern, with a gaping hole in her port counter, where something must have driven deep into her vitals. From this they climbed upon a small yacht, floating just awash. (“Held up by water-tight compartments,” explained Howard.) Thence they passed to another vessel, and to another, and another, each bearing mute record to the manner of its ruin.