Even running at slow speed on one engine failed to cure the tendency of the Rosalie to run up into the wind. With her helm hard over she "gripped" badly. It was a case of either having to stop the port engine or else stow canvas.
While the Scoutmaster was rapidly deliberating as to the best course to pursue, a heavy and decidedly uncanny jar shook the vessel. The revolutions of the port propeller sensibly decreased, and finally the motor refused duty. Dependent solely upon her canvas, the Rosalie slowed down to a bare two knots.
At the first sign of anything going wrong Roche dived below. Flemming was already in the motor-room, engaged in the task of taking down the carburettor, until the giving out of the port engine called for immediate attention.
"What is it?" asked Roche. "Declutch, and start her up again."
The motor fired easily, but the moment Flemming engaged the clutch, it stopped.
"Try again, and put her in the reverse," suggested Dick.
Flemming did so. The shaft made perhaps half a dozen revolutions, and then the motor stopped with a disconcerting thud.
"Something round our propeller; that's what it is," declared Roche. "I'll see Mr. Armitage."
The Scoutmaster went aft and leant over the taff-rail. Trailing astern a few feet beneath the surface were the remains of a length of tarred fishing-net. A few fathoms of it were wound round and round the shaft as tight as a flexible wire rope.
"It's unfortunate, but it can't be helped," said Mr. Armitage. "We'll have to carry on under sail until you can get the starboard engine running, Dick. Found out what's wrong with it?"