By this time the look-out on board the nearmost of the stationary craft realized that something was amiss. He began hailing in French, keeping up a torrent of exclamations until the Olivette and her tow were clear.
"What are we going to do with her?" asked Roche.
"Tow her clear of the fairway, I suppose," replied Flemming. "We can't stem this tide; that's a cert. She has an anchor on board, but it's too heavy for me to drop overboard single-handed, or I'd have done so long ago."
Slowly the Olivette with her tow moved towards the right bank, then, starboarding helm, she only just held her own against the swift current.
"Keep her like that!" shouted Flemming to the helmsman. "Now, Dick; you can leave the motor for a brace of shakes. Come and bear a hand with the mud-hook. Mind where you tread, old son; the barge is bunged up with things to trip you up. I've had some."
Even with their united efforts the two Sea Scouts were only just able to topple the ponderous mass of iron over the bows. Then, having paid out twenty fathoms of cable, the lads cast off both warps and jumped on board their own craft.
Roche immediately made his way to the engine-room. The clutch had not slipped, and the engine was still running in neutral, but the sight that met his eyes took him completely by surprise and filled him with dismay. The heavy flywheel was throwing up showers of water, and the engine-room looked as if one of the fountains of Trafalgar Square had suddenly been transplanted into the confined space.
"I say, you fellows!" he shouted. "One of you come down here as sharp as you can. She's sprung a leak."