"Make fast the rope round me, old chap," said Atherton calmly. "I'm going to look over the edge to see what it is like down there." Thus secured, the Leader of the "Otters" crawled over till he was able to command a view of the base of the cliffs. The outlook was not promising. In the grey dawn the kelp-covered rocks were barely distinguishable from the water that lashed itself against the bulwarks of Seal Island. Close to the foot of the cliffs, and immediately below the place on which he was lying, Atherton descried a ledge about twenty feet in breadth. Although slippery with spray this flat-topped rock was sufficiently high to be out of reach of the actual waves. From it other lower ledges ran seaward, and between two of these the ill-fated steamer had piled herself up on the rocks. "Simpson," said Atherton, hurriedly, "we must get half a dozen of our fellows down there. There we may be of use. Signal to the ship and tell them to try and send a rope ashore. It is impossible for us to heave a line to them in the face of this gale. Send down half a dozen staves after us: they may come in useful." While Simpson was flag-wagging the message, Atherton, Phillips, Green, Mayne, Everest and Baker were lowered down to the ledge, the two Tenderfoots of the "Otters" remaining with the "Wolves." Before the last Scout was down a man was observed standing in the bows of the wrecked craft. Wave after wave broke over him, but secured by a lashing he worked desperately in order to form a means of communication with the shore with a coil of rope and a life-buoy. "Look out!" cautioned Atherton, as the life-buoy was hove into the raging waters. "We must get hold of that, somehow." Jack Phillips, ever resourceful, had already uncoiled about thirty feet of thin but strong line, and had bent one end to the centre of his staff. Steadied by his companions the Second of the "Otters" stood on the brink of the ledge, his staff held harpoon-wise, ready to make a thrust at the life-buoy, that was momentarily drifting nearer and nearer the shore. Up went his arm; the ash pole darted obliquely towards the crest of a wave on which the buoy was being swept. He missed the mark by less that a foot, and the life-buoy, left by the receding wave, was jammed in an almost vertical position between two jagged rocks. "I must wait till the next wave shifts it," he bawled to his comrades, for the roar of the wind and waves made ordinary conversation inaudible. With a smother of foam the next breaker hurled itself against the cliff. It was lower than the preceding one and failed to dislodge the life-buoy from its resting-place. "Has it gone?" shouted Atherton. "No," replied Phillips, "I wish it would." Then seized by an inspiration, he cast off the line from his staff, tied it round his body and called to his chums to lower away. The next moment he was on his way down to the stranded life-buoy.