“That’s right,” came from Ned. “What is it, anyhow?”
“Hard to say,” replied Jerry. “We either struck a log, a rock or a sand bank. Guess we’ll have to take a look to tell what it is. We’re fast, at any rate.”
There was no doubt of that. The Scud lay motionless on the water, tilted slightly. On either rail stretched a wide expanse of low, marshy ground, in which cat-tails and rushes seemed to thrive. There was no town or settlement near, and only a few scattered boat houses, about which there seemed to be no life. It was a rather lonely neighborhood.
“Are we taking in any water?” asked Ned, looking at the bottom of the cabin floor.
“Not enough to show yet, anyhow,” replied Jerry, for the floor of the cabin was raised some distance above the bottom of the boat, and was carpeted. “We can soon tell, though. Sound the pump, Bob.”
There was a hand pump that went down into the bilge of the boat, and, by means of this, water could be pumped out when the motor was not running. In case of a bad leak, by the turning of a valve the motor itself would force out any water that came in.
“She seems to have more in than usual,” announced Bob, as he managed to get a fairly good stream from the hand pump nozzle.
“Seams opened a bit, I guess,” was Jerry’s opinion. “We didn’t appear to strike hard enough to put a hole in her. Well, let’s see what’s to be done. In the first place, let’s find out how bad a leak it is.”
The boards of the cabin floor could be taken up, and when this was done, not without some labor, no hole could be seen. But the water was undoubtedly coming in faster than it did ordinarily when it seeped in through the stuffing box, or through opened cracks.
“Not so much but what we can keep it down by the motor pump,” remarked Jerry. “Now let’s see if we can pull her off by her own power.”