Before the skipper could make any observation concerning a circumstance that had occasioned him not the slightest surprise, the chief engineer appeared. "We've done it this time, Cap'n Quelch," he bawled. "Water's over the engine beds. I'll have to shut off steam." "No chance of plugging the hole?" inquired the Old Man. "Not the slightest," replied the chief. "Even if we could get at it. It's my belief the bottom's knocked clean out of her." "Clear away the boats," shouted the Old Man. "Look alive, there." By this time the firemen were on deck; apparently the engine-room and the boiler-rooms were no longer tenable. But the chief engineer went back to his post leisurely enough when out of sight. He rather prided himself upon the success of his part of the scheme, which consisted of opening one of the underwater valves and then reversing the engines so suddenly that the terrific strain had created the impression that the old tramp had bumped into something pretty hard and substantial. Anyway, the chief engineer had done his bit in the dirty piece of work, and salved the remaining rags of an easy conscience by the fact that he would soon be the richer to the tune of a couple of hundred pounds. Having shut off steam, the chief picked up a small leather handbag, packed with considerable care and forethought a few hours previously, and returned on deck. Already most of the crew were in the boats. Captain Quelch, likewise equipped with a handbag, and with the ship's papers under his arm, was acting up to the time-honoured traditions of the British Mercantile Marine--to be the last to quit the sinking ship. "She's not going very fast," he said in an undertone to the chief engineer. "Man, she'll not last five minutes," was the reassuring reply, as the chief threw one leg over the rail and dropped into a boat alongside. The Old Man, giving a final glance around, followed his example. "Give way, lads, smartly!" he exclaimed. "Se's going." The boat pushed off, the Old Man steering her towards the others, which were barely discernible in the fog. "Keep together," he ordered. "Got a compass in your boat, Mr. Baldock?" "Ay, ay, sir," replied the chief officer. "Then course N. by E.," ordered the captain. "We'll make for Aberstour. 'Tis but a couple of hours' pulling at most." CHAPTER VII THROUGH THE FOG BANK "WE'LL have that jack-yarder aloft, lads!" exclaimed Scoutmaster Grant as the yacht _Puffin_ cleared the entrance to Aberstour Harbour. "It's going to be a fine day and a light wind from the south'ard." The Otters were having their turn afloat, and, on the principle that a voyage is all the more enjoyable if made with a definite object in view, they had planned a run out to the _Vang_ Lightship with a consignment of papers and magazines to help liven the monotonous existence of the lightship's crew.