The coming of darkness had not improved the position. There was an atmosphere of grave anxiety on the _Pacific Queen_, for it needed no very experienced eye to judge that the _Miriam’s_ chances were, to say the least, slim; and none knew better than Mr. Quick how insecure was the position of the men under him. Dave slept fitfully, dreaming he was the skipper of a steamer that encountered a whole fleet of derelicts. He had them all tied astern, like a string of barges, reaching for miles. Then his chief engineer came up to report that there was no more coal left on board, and Captain David Hallard was struggling desperately with the problem of what to do, when he awoke. Through a porthole he saw that the first signs of dawn were visible in the eastern sky. Dressing hastily, he went on deck. Oleson and one or two other sailors were hovering round the stern, discussing the _Miriam’s_ chances of keeping afloat. “She’ll just about make Charleston,” one man said, “but she wouldn’t get much farther.” “I never expected to find her above water this morning,” commented another, gloomily. “Leave that to Quick,” said the first sailor. “He knows what he’s doing. There’ll be a scramble for that dory they’re trailing astern, though, if she does sink!” The light was growing rapidly, and Dave could now make out the form of the chief mate. The creak and thud of the pumps came faintly across the heaving water. Mr. Quick, as a matter of fact, was ill at ease. He had been standing for some time over the flooded hold, listening, and fearing to hear a repetition of an ominous sound――a dull groaning that seemed to come from somewhere underneath him. Using his arms as a semaphore, he sent a signal to Captain Chisholm, who had been restlessly pacing the bridge. “Afraid bulkheads giving way,” he signaled. “No lower yet, but stand by ready to let go hawser if necessary!” The captain frowned as he read the message. It was maddening to have such valuable salvage snatched away when they were getting so near to port. But he was responsible for the lives of the men. “Don’t take chances,” he signaled back. “Have dory ready.” Mr. Quick smiled grimly, but no one on the _Pacific Queen_ saw that smile. It was not a pleasant sight. He was willing to run the same risk of being drowned as the men, but as chief mate he would draw a large proportion of the salvage money, and for the present he had no intention of giving the order which would send the men into the dory. Every now and again he went to the side of the ship to see if she had settled farther. He was perfectly aware that the noise he had heard indicated something sinister was happening down in the flooded interior of the ship and that the derelict’s chances now hung on a single thread. But while that thread held there was a hope of big salvage money.