Picking up one of the poles Phil had thoughtfully taken aboard, I placed it against the stern of the schooner, and we shoved the raft away as far as possible. Then the cabin boy took a board, and using it as an oar, propelled the clumsy craft still further, until we were at least a hundred feet off.
"There she goes! That's the last of the Spitfire!"
As the cabin boy uttered the cry there was a tremendous crash on board the schooner. Both of the masts had come down together.
The fall tore a great hole in the vessel's side. Into this the water poured at once.
At last the schooner could stand it no longer. She quivered from stem to stern. Then with a mighty plunge she disappeared beneath the surface of the ocean!
The Spitfire was no more! And Phil Jones and I were left alone upon the bosom of the broad Atlantic!
I can hardly explain the feelings that filled my breast as I saw the schooner take her final plunge and sink beneath the waves. It was to me like some gigantic living creature breathing its last. I turned to the cabin boy, and saw that his eyes were filled with tears.
"I've spent a good many years on her," he whimpered. "And all I had was on board her. It wasn't much, but it was a good deal to me."
"Let us be thankful that we saved our lives," I replied. "Captain Hannock no doubt thinks we are at the bottom of the ocean."
"By the way, where is the jolly-boat?" asked Phil suddenly.