"Well, at all events he comes in sheep's clothing," the ensign could not resist saying.
The next instant the boat was under the stern and the rescued castaways were sliding down a rope into it. Hardly a word was spoken while this was going on; the work in hand was too important.
But hardly had they all found places before, in an earnest voice, the ensign exclaimed:
"Pull for your lives, men; spare no time."
"Why, you are safe enough now," declared the Wolf Scout.
"Far from it," declared the young officer seriously, "the log book of that craft spoke of dynamite on board. They used it to blast their way out of the polar ice. I think——"
A terrific concussion that threw them all from their seats interrupted him. Then came a blinding flash, and this in turn was followed by an explosion that seemed to shake the sea.
"Pull for your lives!" shouted the ensign to the alarmed sailors.
Dazed as they were, they lost no time in doing so, but even then fragments of blazing wood and red-hot metal rained about them in a downpour of great danger.
Luckily, however, none of the blazing fragments struck the boat. As soon as they recovered their faculties, the boys gazed back at the spot where the Good Hope had last been seen. There was not a trace of her. The dynamite had literally blown the ill-fated whaler out of existence. Only oily pools remained on the surface to show the spot of her vanishing.