“No, the sub’s gone!” declared Rawlins. “Don’t you think so, Quartermaster?”
The quartermaster, a grizzled but husky old sea dog, gazed silently for a minute.
“Yes, Sir,” he replied, “she seems to has, Sir. Sorry we couldn’t have bumped her, Sir.”
By now the schooner was close at hand and Rawlins was on the point of suggesting that they should run alongside and board her when Frank shouted that there was a queer noise in the receivers.
“It sounds like a hard wind or an electric fan,” he cried. “Come on and listen. What do you suppose it is?”
“The sub’s screw!” replied Rawlins. “I’ll bet she’s hustling. Shall we board that schooner?”
“Better,” replied Mr. Pauling, and orders were at once given to emerge. As the submarine, her decks awash, approached the schooner, those upon the under-sea boat’s superstructure gazed curiously at the craft they had overhauled. That she was the missing schooner they had sought all were sure, for she fitted the descriptions perfectly and the fact that she had been towed by a submarine was still further evidence. They were now within a few hundred yards and yet not a soul had appeared upon the schooner’s decks.
“Darned if she isn’t deserted again!” exclaimed Rawlins. “I’ll——”
At that instant the schooner’s masts seemed to spring into the air; a burst of flames and smoke shot from her decks, there was a terrific detonation and as the submarine rolled, pitched and rocked to the force of the explosion those upon her clutched wildly for support while all about fell bits of torn and shattered rigging, spars and canvas. Scared and white-faced those upon the submarine stared at one another, steadying themselves with their grasp of the handrails, soaked to the waist by the great waves that had washed over the half-submerged craft and speechless with the surprise and shock of the explosion. Only bits of wreckage marked the schooner. She had been blown to atoms.