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.