Caleb had fairly grown white in spite of his tan.
“Great Peter!” he ejaculated. “Look-er-there!”
The small boat had left the side of the wreck, and was now some distance away from her.
The whaleback was near enough to see that the officer commanding the cutter had ordered the men to cease rowing and was standing up in the bow of the boat.
“They’re going to blow her up!” shouted Caleb. “Crowd on every ounce of steam she’ll hold. We must stop it! Suppose that it is the Silver Swan!”
He fairly groaned aloud, and in his excitement allowed the costly glass to fall upon the deck, which treatment did not materially benefit it.
Mr. Bolin darted away to the engine room, and in another moment the funnels of the whaleback began to pour forth the blackest kind of smoke, and the water beneath her stern was churned to foam by the rapid beats of the propeller.
They were all of a mile away from the wreck yet, and every instant was precious. Caleb stumped up and down the deck, fairly wild with apprehension, his eyes fixed on the cruiser’s cutter, in the bow of which the officer seemed to be adjusting something.
If the whaleback had been armed Caleb would have fired a shot to attract the attention of the cruiser’s people, but there wasn’t a weapon larger than Brandon’s rifle on the steamer.
Mr. Coffin looked at his commander anxiously. He did not fully understand why the captain wished to reach the Silver Swan and save it, if this was the Silver Swan; but he did not believe that they could accomplish it. And he was right.