They were there before morning. The A shore looked much as Bobby remembered it, except that now there was a raft there; the craft which Dick had used to float out to the sunken ship on previous visits. The three of them boarded this, paddled out to the bobbing buoy that marked the Cuchulainn's watery resting-place.
Dick donned his bulger, weighted his boots, and went below. The sun rose higher in the east. After a while, green wavelets rolled and Dick was up again.
"It's no use, Pop. It's like I said. The ship has continued to settle; the airlock is jammed tight against the bottom. I can't get in any more."
Pop said, "And I suppose there's no way to attach a drag to the ship, work it loose?"
"It would take more power than we have." Gloomily.
And then Bobby remembered, suddenly. He said, "Hey, Dick—!"
"Never mind, kid. Help me off with this suit."
"But listen, Dick. I read a story once—"
"Do what your brother asks, Robert."
"Will you let me finish, Pop? Listen, Dick, in this story a rocketeer got locked out of his spaceship. So he unfastened the stern-braces and got in through the rocket jet!"