Atherton shook his head. All that was humanly possible for them to do had been done. He knew that it was not the first time by any means that men had been drowned in full view of their would-be rescuers. "Forepeak's full o' water," announced the last of the saved crew. "That's where there's many a coil o' rope." "Couldn't they dive for it or fish it up with a boathook?" asked Atherton. "Maybe they haven't thought o' that, sir," was the reply. "Tell them to make another attempt to find a rope," ordered Atherton. "Failing that, their only chance is to jump overboard and trust that they lay hold of the ropes we lower to them." But before Phillips could send the signal, Tom Mayne gave vent to a loud shout. "Look! Look!" he exclaimed, pointing seaward. "The lifeboat!" The Scout was right. Riding lightly over the mountainous seas was the red-white-and-blue painted lifeboat from Gwyll Cove. Under sail she stood down till within a cable's length of the wreck. To approach closer under sail or oars would be fatal, for the heavy seas would carry the craft upon the jagged rocks. Breathlessly the Scouts watched the completion of their work of rescue. Anchoring well to windward of the wreck the lifeboat men veered out fathom after fathom of stout cable, till the craft drifted to within twenty yards of the fast-disappearing wreck. From this distance it was a fairly easy matter to heave a loaded cane, to which was attached a line, across the steamer's deck, and in a very short time means of communication were established between the lifeboat and the doomed vessel. One by one the three remaining seamen were dragged into safety; the lifeboat hauled out, buoyed and slipped her cable, and hoisted sail. Washed again and again as she pounded against the heavy seas, she beat up for Gwyll Cove, her errand of mercy completed. "Come on, lads," said Atherton. "We must be getting back to camp." Two by two the "Otters" were hoisted to the top of the cliffs, whither the last of the men rescued by the Scouts had preceded them. Breaking into a run, for their work and subsequent wait in the salt-laden atmosphere had chilled them to the bone, the lads made their way towards their temporary home. Presently Phillips overtook his Leader. "Don't stop," he panted. "Wait till I fall back a bit and then look at the left side of the ruins. There's some one watching us." Atherton followed this advice. Standing close to the ruined chapelry, and clearly defined against the skyline, was a figure that the lad recognised as Paul Tassh, the butler at Polkerwyck House. "How on earth did the fellow get to the Island?" thought the Leader. "It has been much too rough since yesterday evening for a boat to put across." When he again glanced in the direction of the ruins, Tassh was no longer to be seen.