Before pursuing the animal, the Scoutmaster opened the door of the starboard or captain’s cabin. Everything was in order. The skipper must have been on deck when the collision occurred and had not waited to save his personal belongings before taking to the boat. Closing the door, Mr. Grant stepped into the other cabin. At the after end pale daylight showed through the jagged gap in the counter. Water gurgled sullenly under the floor, a portion of which had been violently up-heaved by the compact, causing the swing table to be capsized together with a quantity of splintered woodwork. “Puss! puss!” he called again. “Bother the animal! Where’s it got to?” Suddenly the Scoutmaster caught sight of a man’s legs protruding from the pile of debris. The occupant of the cabin had been caught and pinned down—crushed more than likely—by the sudden and unexpected blow of the colliding vessel’s bows. A few minutes’ desperate work enabled Mr. Grant to remove most of the tightly wedged woodwork and disentangle the motionless form of the luckless man. Then, without waiting to see whether he were alive or dead, the Scoutmaster dragged him out of the cabin, up the steep and narrow ladder, and across the deck. “Stand by, Peter!” he exclaimed breathlessly, and passing a bowline round the unconscious form, he unceremoniously lowered him into the dinghy. “I’ll have a look into the forepeak in case there’s anyone else!” he announced. “Where’s the cat, sir?” shouted Craddock, after the retreating form of his Scoutmaster. The question was answered by the animal itself. Springing on the bulwarks, the cat leapt fearlessly into the boat and proceeded to curl itself upon the chest of the motionless figure in the stern-sheets. Presently Mr. Grant returned. “No one else is aboard,” he reported. “Hello! You’ve got the cat, I see!” Cautiously he lowered himself into the dinghy and crouched in the bows. There was no room aft. “Push off, and give way, lads!” he exclaimed. By this time the _Kestrel_ had forged ahead and had increased her distance to about a cable’s length. The dinghy had not covered more than two-thirds of the distance when the stricken _Euterpe_ disappeared beneath the surface. She went with very little fuss. There was a slight explosion of compressed air, followed by a swirling movement of the water. There appeared to be very little suction and hardly any commotion in the form of breaking waves; but—and Mr. Grant gave an inward prayer of thanks—the schooner had heeled to starboard as she disappeared. Had the dinghy been close alongside she would have been crushed by the vessel’s mainmast or else entangled in the still set canvas as the schooner capsized. The rowers rested on their oars and watched the vessel’s disappearance with awestruck faces. “That was a close shave for us,” said Heavitree, breaking the silence. “It was,” agreed Mr. Grant. “Give way; another dozen strokes will do the trick.”