“She’ll have been a barque,” remarked Stanley, who was himself an old blue-water man, and who stood alongside the boys. “See those three stumps. An old-timer, too, judging by that deck house right aft of her foremast.” The derelict was, indeed, a battered relic of the seas. Green weeds could be seen clinging thickly to her underhull as she dipped slowly and lazily on the swell. Ragged, bleached ends of ropes hung over her side like the rags on a beggar. It was evidently some time since she had been abandoned. So far as her timbers went, however, she was, to all seeming, still seaworthy, as her large amount of free-board showed. “What are we going to do?” Herc asked curiously, as the _Beale_ ranged up alongside at a distance of two hundred yards or so. “I imagine that we are going to blow her up,” rejoined Ned. “That’s it,” put in Stanley. “She’ll make a fine target, too.” “As good a one as I did once,” grinned Herc, reminded of the occasion on which he had almost served as a human mark at target practice. Both boys laughed at the recollection. “Come on, you Strong, and you Taylor and Stanley, I want you,” said a petty officer, coming forward. “The ensign is going to be put aboard that old craft to see if there’s anything on her of value before we blow her to Davy Jones.” This task just suited the boys. The derelict had already excited their interest. To have a chance of setting foot on her was just what they desired. The other men watched them with envy, as one of the remaining boats carried by the _Beale_ was launched, and the ensign took his place in the stern sheets. As may be imagined, the oarsmen gave way with a will, and were soon at the side of the abandoned craft. To board her, however, they had to row round her stern, which was square and ugly, and bore on it in faded white letters the name _Donna Mercedes_. “A dago, eh?” commented Stanley, in low tone, for he did not wish the officer to hear him talking, which would have been a breach of discipline. “Ease all!” shouted the ensign at the same instant. He had sighted a place where the breaking away of the mast had smashed a bulwark, and at which it would be an easy matter to board the derelict. “You men may come aboard if you want to,” he said, as he sprang nimbly upward on to the moldering deck. “Leave one of your number to guard the boat, though.” “You fellows go,” said Stanley. “I’d rather sit here in the shade and have a smoke.” Nothing loath, the Dreadnought Boys quickly followed the ensign, little dreaming what consequences their visit was to have for them in the immediate future. CHAPTER VI. THE SECRET OF THE DERELICT.