Rockets were at once suggested, but Sir Anthony explained that the distance was too great for a rocket line to cover, and that the tides precluded the floating in of a buoy. Nothing could be done but wait and pray that the vessel might not break up during the next twelve hours. Some one asked if she were likely to, and Sir Anthony admitted that she had signalled her fears of such an event. "Couldn't some one swim to her?" said a voice from the taffrail. Sir Anthony shook his head; to cross the ledge with the break of water on it at present would be to court almost certain death. There was a pause; all eyes were turned towards the reef, where the vessel lay in the gay morning, like some masquerade of death, between the lovely colours of the sea and shore. Caragh leant back in his chair with a yawn, and looked up at the sky. "I'll take a line to her," he said placidly. The backs of the heads between him and the ship's side became suddenly a ring of faces, and the first stupidity of surprise was expressed by the question, "Can you swim?" Caragh looked at them with no expression of interest, and Sir Anthony shook his head. "You couldn't do it, my dear fellow," he protested; "you couldn't do it!" "Perhaps not," said Maurice; "but I can have a try." Sir Anthony's hands and head shook in voluble negation. "The captain wouldn't permit it for a moment," he asserted. "Well," said Caragh, "of course the captain can refuse me the use of a line, but he can't, without being very unpleasant, prevent my going overboard." There was an instant's pause, and then the group about the chair burst into simultaneous suggestion and advice. Caragh was slapped on the shoulder; his previous performances in the water were demanded; encouragement and remonstrance were alternately tendered, and everything obvious on the situation was said. "I'm not a professional performer," he explained at last, "but I can keep afloat as long as most men, and if I'm ready to take the risks of a swim, I don't think it should be any one's business to stop me." This met a varied response, and with a general acclamation for the captain the speakers were moving forward when that officer appeared, looking for Sir Anthony, who at once put the case to him. The captain, with a glance at Caragh still seated in his chair, dismissed the matter with a shrug of his shoulders. But he had miscalculated the passiveness of the man before him. Caragh got quietly upon his feet, looked across the water at the wreck, and then turned to the captain. "If you can't spare me a line to take on board her, I'll have to bring you back one of hers," he said. "I forbid you to leave the ship," replied the other briefly. "Of course you can do that," said Caragh, looking again across the sea, "but it won't make a pretty story if those poor devils are drowned under our eyes." At that moment a sailor brought the signalling slate aft to the captain, who looked glum and handed it to Sir Anthony.