With quick, gruff commands Captain Bluntt had a boat in the water, with four seamen at the oars and another at the tiller, as quickly as man could do it. “Pull for your lives now! Pull for your lives! Save those lads! Pull, pull, you men!” “Get your gun, sir! Get your gun, and shoot signals!” he commanded Remington, and in a moment Remington had his rifle on deck, shooting at regular intervals. Two or three shots were heard far away, and very faint, and then came silence. Remington, Ainsworth and Captain Bluntt, in a state of intense suspense, listened between the shots that Remington fired, and waited. An hour passed, and another hour before they heard the clank of oarlocks, and presently the boat loomed up in the fog and gathering dusk. “Did you find them? Did you find them, Tom Hand?” shouted Captain Bluntt. “No, sir, they’s no findin’ un,” reported Tom. “They’s lost, sir. We picks up an oar an’ a sleepin’ bag, but we’s not seein’ th’ boat, sir.” “Lost! Lost!” exclaimed Remington in consternation. Captain Bluntt stood speechless and overcome. When Tom Hand reached deck, with the sleeping bag and oar, he examined the things critically, and asked: “Where did you find these? Where’d you find ’em?” “Full two miles t’ th’ s’uthard, sir. We hears shots an’ pulls for un, and then th’ shots stop. We keep pullin’ t’ the’ s’uthard till we most loses th’ sound o’ your shootin’, an’ here we picks up th’ oar, an’ a bit farther th’ sleepin’ bag. We hollers an’ hollers, but gets no answer, an’ we pulls around through th’ fog, but finds no more, an’ we comes back. ’Twere growin’ dusk, sir, an’ no use lookin’ farther sir.” “No, ’twere no use lookin’ further. No use.” Turning to Remington, “They’s lost, sir. They’s lost,” and Captain Bluntt blew his nose on his handkerchief and gave an order to Tom Hand in as gruff a voice as he could assume, that he might hide his emotion. “My God! Is it possible!” said Remington, quite stunned. “This is awful! Awful!” Ainsworth exclaimed. “I can never go back home without Paul--never! Never! How could I face his father?” Remington half moaned. Ainsworth could offer no consolation. There was nothing to be done. No tragedy ever came more unexpectedly, and the young men were made sick with the realization of it. “There’s nasty weather comin’, an’ we’ll move out into the open and lay to for th’ fog to clear,” explained Captain Bluntt a little later, to the two sportsmen whom he found sitting dejectedly in the cabin. “Barometer falling. Blow comin’. Hard blow comin’, I fears. Cruise to th’ s’uthard when fog clears and look for wrecked boat. No use though. No use!”