"I'll go back and make one more attempt to steer out of the way," he said.
He was gone for perhaps ten minutes. In that time Mr. Henderson, aided by Jack and Mark, tried to adjust the motor differently, but unavailingly. Mr. Roumann came hurrying back from the pilot house.
"It's of no use!" he exclaimed. "We are heading right toward the point of the comet. We must prepare for the worst!"
There was silence for a moment. It was an awful fate to meet, and they realized it. Then Washington White, looking into the engine–room from his kitchen, exclaimed:
"Now, don't yo' all go t' worryin' 'bout dat ole comet. It can't hurt us, an' we'll knock it into smithereens!"
"You talk that way because you know nothing of comets," said Mr. Roumann solemnly.
"I don't know nuffin' 'bout 'em?" demanded the colored man. "I knows too much ob 'em, dat's what I does. Didn't I lose mah ten dollars?"
He stopped suddenly. From without there came a terrible roaring sound, that grew louder and louder.
"The comet!" cried Mr. Roumann. "We are almost upon it. That roaring is caused by the flaming gases!"
There was nothing that could be done. There was no place to go—no place to run to—no place in which to hide. They could only stand there and wait for total annihilation, which they expected every moment.