"Way 'nough," ordered the Scoutmaster, as the cockleshell dinghy approached the tramp. He was now convinced that the abandoned craft was making little if any water. Her freeboard aft was approximately the same as when he first took stock of her. The sea was so calm that the dinghy could lie alongside without danger or difficulty. Grasping his opportunity Mr. Grant swung himself on board. "Righto!" he shouted reassuringly. "Push off and wait until I hail." The _Getalong_ was rolling slightly and sluggishly, the dull swish of the water in her hold being plainly audible as he made his way to the engine-room hatchway. The air of the compartment was heavy with smoke and steam. For a moment the Scoutmaster hesitated. Above the sullen swirl of the imprisoned water he distinctly heard a steady trickle. "What I expected--only more so," thought Mr. Grant, and without further ado he switched on his electric torch and descended the steel ladder. That the _Getalong_ was a very old type of vessel was apparent by the fact that she was without water-tight bulkheads. There was a bulkhead at the after end of the engine-room and at the for'ard end of the stokehold, but both had sliding doors communicating with the holds. Water had poured into the engine-room--it was still coming in--and had run aft owing to the fact that the cargo in the after hold was much heavier than that stowed for'ard. That accounted for the vessel being down by the stern. It did not take Mr. Grant long to discover the leak. A large valve in the "wings" through which water was normally admitted into the circulating pumps was wide open, while the joint of the pipe had been deliberately "broken" by unscrewing the six gun-metal bolts uniting the flanges. "Attempted scuttling!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster as he closed the valve. "That's done the rascals in the eye this time. Can't hear any more water coming in; but it seems strange that only a little stream like that has filled her." Ankle deep in black oily water that swirled over the bedplates, Mr. Grant groped his way to the stokehold. Here the depth of water was only a couple of feet. The still burning furnaces, from which hot cinders were continually dropping, fizzling as they came in contact with the water, showed that the _Getalong_ had not been long abandoned. Thence right for'ard. Here all seemed in order. Beyond the usual "weeping" of the laps of the hull-plating there was nothing to indicate a leak. "Good enough!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster gleefully, as he made his way on deck. "She won't sink, lads!" he shouted, as he signalled the dinghy to close. "What did you do just now, sir?" inquired Craddock. "We saw something shoot to the surface, so we pulled towards it. It was a dead sheep."