Tom caught the infection of his enthusiasm.
"In a few moments she will be blown to bits?" he questioned, marveling even while he spoke.
"Yes. If all goes well, that schooner will have ceased to exist at precisely," the inventor drew out his watch, "in precisely four minutes. I'm going to the conning tower. The firing lever and appliances are there. Do you wish to accompany me, or will you remain here?"
"I guess I'll go with you," rejoined Tom.
"Then hurry. It would be awkward if those gases in the bomb became uncontrollable before we had fired it from the Huron's side."
They found Jeff at the wheel, slowly circling the water-logged wreck, according to instructions. Tom glanced at the bulk of the half-sunken schooner with a kind of pity. In his mind she was dissolved into fragments already.
Mr. Ironsides, without a trace of haste in his manner, took the wheel from the Trulliber lad. He so manipulated the submarine that, within a few moments, she was at some distance from the sunken wreck, hovering like a hawk that is about to strike. Tom hastily described to the others his experiences in the torpedo room.
They listened with keen interest. Their discussion of what was to come was broken in upon by the inventor's voice.
"I guess we are about ready now," he said.
Tom fixed his gaze on the man. He stood at the wheel motionless. Without a very keen imagination it was easy to picture him as a kind of fate about to hurtle a deadly thunderbolt.