The men in the boats bent to their work with a will, and soon they were out of danger.
"There she goes!" exclaimed Frank suddenly, and, standing up in the boat, he pointed a finger toward the Lena.
Slowly the ship had been settling by the head. Now she sank lower and lower in the water. A terrible hissing arose and went forth across the sea. The water had reached her boilers.
Then the bow of the ship climbed clear out of the water, for a moment pointed almost straight toward the sky—it seemed that she would turn completely over—then suddenly lurched heavily forward, and dived.
The water foamed angrily white, parted quietly for the Lena, as she took her death plunge, rose high in the air; then, its fury over, closed calmly over her. The Lena was gone.
"And so," said Jack sadly, "goes my first command!"
Frank laid his hand on his friend's arm.
"It's pretty tough," he said, "but there is no use crying over spilt milk. What can't be cured must be endured, you know."
"You are right," replied Jack, "and the thing do now is to try and reach land."
Standing up in the boat and shading his eyes with one band he looked eastward across the water for a long time. Then he sat down.