"I have heard of derelicts that have followed the ocean currents for fifty years and more," declared the Lieutenant. "This craft looks as if she might date back that far. Certainly she has been a long time adrift. Sailors sometimes become panic-stricken and leave their ships when there is no real necessity for so doing. A case in point is that of Captain Larsen of the _Two Sisters_, which sailed from Bath, Maine, for a West Indian port. She was abandoned in a hurry after a hurricane, and the captain and crew took to the boats. After drifting for weeks--they had had time to provision the boats well--they arrived in Kingston, Jamaica, and the first sight that greeted the captain's eyes was the hulk of the _Two Sisters_. She had drifted close to the island and had been towed in, arriving ahead of the crew that had forsaken her!" "Hark!" cried Merritt, while they were still commenting on the Lieutenant's story, "what was that?" "Sounded like a bell tolling," exclaimed Rob. "It is a bell!" cried Merritt. Sure enough, borne over the gently heaving water, there came to their ears the melancholy ding-dong of a deep-toned bell. Coming as it did from the abandoned sea-riven hulk it cast a gloom over them. "Who can be ringing it?" cried Tubby, in what was for him, an awe-stricken voice. "No mystery about it, I guess," said Lieutenant Murray; "it is the ship's bell, and as the craft rolls it is ringing a requiem for the dead." "Ugh! It gives me the shudders!" exclaimed Hiram. "It's not a cheerful sound certainly," agreed Rob. "Bom-boom; bom-boom," chimed the bell, waxing now faint, now loud, as the wind rose and fell. "I'd like to go aboard that boat and explore her," declared Merritt. "That's an opportunity you shall have," said the Lieutenant. "It is our rule to explore all such derelicts for a hint as to the fate of their crew before we consign them to the deep." Orders were given to check the speed of the _Seneca_ and to prepare to lower a boat. "Are we to go?" chorused the Scouts eagerly. "Of course. Mr. Hargreaves will accompany you." "Aren't you going?" asked Rob. "No. It's an old story with me. While we are waiting for you, I will work out our position, which must go in with my report of the derelict's destruction." Five minutes later, in one of the _Seneca's_ whale boats, the boys were skimming over the sea toward the melancholy old derelict. As they glided along, the bell kept up its monotonous booming with the regularity of a shore bell summoning worshippers to church. As the whaleboat was pulled around the derelict's stern they could see a name painted on the square counter, surrounded with many a scroll and flourish in the antique manner. These flourishes had once been gilded and painted, but the gilt and color had long since worn off them. "_Good Hope of Portland, Me._," read out Rob. "What a contrast between her name and her fate!" "Bom-boom," tolled the bell as if in answer to him.