For some moments the boys discussed the predicament of the _Dewey_, the unfortunate circumstances that had led her aground, and the possibilities of being floated again. Jack confided to his chum the fact that he had overheard Lieutenant McClure say the _Dewey_ probably had ventured too close in shore and had run afoul of a sand bar. "What's the next move?" queried Ted. "You've got me, chum; I don't know what they will try next," answered Jack, feeling a bit glum despite his natural cheerfulness. Lieutenant McClure and his officers---Cleary, Binns, and Blaine---were now making an inspection of the _Dewey_ fore and aft. As they returned amidships the boys overheard snatches of the conversation. "Propeller blades free, aren't they?" McClure was asking. "Working free and easy or else the shafts wouldn't turn," Blaine was saying. From what the boys could gather from the conversation it was the belief of the ship's officers that the _Dewey_ was grounded on a heavy sand bar. She had sloughed down deep in the miry sea bottom with her keel amidships firmly imbedded and her bow and stern floating free. The suction of the mud prevented her from rising. In the wireless room Jack, Ted, Sammy Smith and Bill Witt finally came together and began speculating on the critical predicament of their ship. Cooped up in their cage of steel, shut off from the outside world of fresh air and sunshine, the crew of the _Dewey_ were held prisoners like rats in a trap, dependent for life upon the air they were breathing and the precious stores of oxygen in the emergency tanks! The next few hours were full of anxiety for the officers and crew of the stranded _Dewey_. Several times during the morning the ship's engines were set in motion and valiant efforts made to drag the ship off the shoal. But each succeeding effort availed nothing, except to eat up the precious electrical energy in the storage batteries. In the petrol tanks was plenty of fuel for the engines, but it was useless here on the bottom of the sea where only the electric motors could be used in submerged locomotion. Realizing the futility of these sporadic efforts at escape, Lieutenant McClure decided to wait until one o'clock for another supreme effort. It would be high tide at noon and he decided to make the great effort shortly thereafter on the thin hope that he might get away with the tide running out to sea. The time passed drearily. Jack and Ted tried to get interested in a game of chess, but with little success. Bill Witt sought with mouth organ and banjo to buoy up the spirits of his downcast mates and succeeded poorly. Noon mess was served at eleven forty-five and even Jean Cartier, as he dispensed canned beans, brown bread, stewed fruit and tea, forgot to smile as usual at his culinary tasks.