"Cut clean through my bows for'ard of the hold bulkhead," declared the skipper. "Carried both anchors away, and then as we went astern we fouled something and fractured our main shaft. The other vessel? I don't know what happened to her. She was ten times my size, and cracked on at the rate of knots. Stop? Not she. A dirty Hun most likely; sort of thing they would do if they got a chance. You haven't much horse-power, Cap'n. I thought you were a tug."
"We'll have a shot at it anyway," declared Mr. Armitage. "We'll take you into Poole. Pay out a hawser; we'd better tow you stern foremost."
Manoeuvring to leeward of the helpless tramp, the Rosalie approached sufficiently near for a heavy line to be thrown from the Pen-y-coote's stern.
[Illustration: "STAND CLEAR OF THE HAWSERS AS SHE TAKES UP THE STRAIN">[
The hawser was then brought on board and bent to a wire span between the two after bollards.
It was a tough proposition for the 35-ton motor yacht to tow the disabled 650-ton tramp, but the crew of the Rosalie were on their mettle. If they failed, then the result would be much the same as if they had not put in an appearance—the tramp, unable to anchor, would be driven ashore either against the cliffs of the Isle of Purbeck or upon the treacherous sands in the vicinity of the mouth of Poole Harbour.
"How much water are you drawing?" hailed the Scoutmaster.
"'Bout thirteen for'ard, and eleven aft," was the reply.