The submarine boat was shooting like lightning through the water.
How far they had run from the sunken wreck neither knew, but it was very likely several miles.
Here was a fearful situation.
The two looked at each other aghast. What was to be done? The risk was something awful.
The Dart was not far from the bottom of the ocean.
At any moment she might strike some projecting hillock or eminence. It would mean utter destruction.
Barney was pale as a ghost, and Pomp’s eyes bulged like moons.
“Golly, fo’ massy sakes!” wailed the affrighted darky. “We am done fo’!”
“Begorra, it’s kilt we’ll be if we don’t sthop the boat!”
“An’ Marse Frank am lef’ all alone behind dar. Mebbe we kain’t nebber find him no mo’.”