Paragraph 10. Scoot was hurled upward, legs and arms flying, her head striking the after galley bulkhead and then the
companionway steps and the interior deck, which was now
the ceiling. She instantly blacked out.

Paragraph 11. Everything loose in the cabin was scattered around what
had been the overhead. Water was pouring in and was
soon lapping at Scoot's chin. It was coming from a four-
inch porthole that had not been dogged securely and a
few other smaller points of entry. Paragraph 12. Sully's feet were caught under forestay sailcloth, plastered
around his face, but then he managed to shove clear and
swim upward, breaking water. He looked at the mound of
upside-down hull, bottom to the sky, unable to believe
that the fine, sturdy Sea Dog had been flipped like a cork,
perhaps trapping Scoot inside. Treading water, trying to
collect his thoughts, he yelled, "Scoot," but there was no
answer. Heart pounding, unable to see over the mound of
the hull, he circled it, thinking she might have been
thrown clear. But there was no sign of her.

Paragraph 13. He swam back to the point of cabin entry, took several
deep breaths, and dove. He felt along the hatch boards and
then opened his eyes briefly to see that the doors were
still closed. She was still inside. Maneuvering his body, he
pulled on the handles. The doors were jammed, and he
returned to the surface for air. Paragraph 14. He knew by the way the boat had already settled that there
was water inside her. Under usual circumstances, the hull
being upright, there would be four feet, nine inches of hull
below the waterline. There would be about the same to the
cabin overhead, enabling a six-foot-person to walk about
down there.

Paragraph 15. Panting, blowing, Sully figured there was at least a three-
foot air pocket holding the Sea Dog on the surface, and if
Scoot hadn't been knocked unconscious and drowned, she
could live for quite a while in the dark chamber. How long,
he didn't know.