With great rapidity the huge monster made straight for its prey, and from the boats shouts and cries of terror arose when the men became aware of their peril. Some of the crew stood up, brandishing their oars, to offer a puny resistance to the oncoming mass of animal energy, others jumped overboard, and swam in all directions, while the bos'n, with admirable presence of mind, drew his knife and cut the painter that led from the stern of the whaler to the gig. The next instant the whale seemed to lift its ponderous carcass clear of the water; then, diving deeply beneath the downed boat, it struck it an irresistible blow with its massive tail. A shower of splinters and spray rose in the air, and amidst a veritable maelstrom, the whaler, with its priceless freight, disappeared beneath the waves, and the troubled water was dotted with the heads of the swimmers and a jumble of floating oars and pieces of broken wood. The bulk of the treasure of the "San Philipo" was irrecoverably lost. Satisfied with the mischief it had wrought, the whale had disappeared. The crew of the lost boat swam towards the gig, and several began climbing over the low sides of the deeply laden little craft. "Why, if they are not careful, they'll sink her, too," exclaimed my father in blank despair, but, fortunately, the swimmers realised the risk, for, taking hold of the gunwales and lightly supporting themselves, they allowed the men who had already clambered on board to take the oars, and the gig made slowly for the "Fortuna." Happening to look towards Dr. Conolly, I noticed he had his eyes fixed on the boat and was counting in an audible voice "... eight, nine, ten, eleven," and simultaneously the awful truth flashed in our minds--there was one man missing. "Surely not!" exclaimed my father in a horrified voice. "Surely not! Count again, Conolly. Perhaps we cannot see every one. Isn't that a man's head just showing above the boat's quarter?" "... nine, ten, eleven." There was no mistake in the numbers. Another man had gone to his last account, and who was it? Not my uncle; he was in the water, holding on to the side of the boat; nor the bos'n, nor Lord, the quartermaster. Dailey, Stainer, and Mills were in the boat. Hinks, Money, Lewis, Burbidge, and Alec Johnston, they were safe. Then only Joe Dirham remained to be accounted for. "Where's Dirham?" shouted my father as the boat crept alongside and was made fast. "Gone, sir," replied the survivors in a chorus. "Dragged down by the whaler as she sank." The men came in over the side, and the gig, with four of the boxes of specie, was hauled up in the davits, and despondently, the crew went for'ard to change their saturated garments. For a while my father remained lost in thought, gazing blankly at the spot where the whaler had sunk, the blue now peaceful and unruffled. At length, overcome by the bitterness of his emotion, he turned on his heel and sought the solitude of his cabin.