"What can it mean?" he asked himself. "Is it possible she has been blown up?"
The vicinity of the wreck was now dangerous, with so much loose matter still floating about, and as soon as able he left the spot, mounting a sand hill several hundred feet away.
The Holland was nowhere to be seen, nor was any wreckage belonging to her about. This gave him a little comfort, for he concluded that she must have escaped.
But he must now pay attention to his own safety, for his supply of fresh air was limited, and with the weight of the diver's outfit it was impossible to ascend to the surface of the ocean.
What should he do?
He knew the coast of Cuba was near, but in what direction?
"I must move," he told himself. "Anything is better than staying here."
He moved on, slowly and painfully, to where he thought the bottom of the ocean ascended gradually. Soon it grew lighter, telling him that he was getting closer to the surface.
But now the fresh air was almost gone and a sleepy sensation stole over him. But he must not sleep, or it would be the slumber of death!
On and on he went, now climbing a rugged hill, covered with sand, rocks and moss, the home of innumerable fish and strange looking crabs.