An hour passed――two hours. Mr. Quick, with every nerve strained to breaking point, felt a peculiar motion of the derelict, and the deck vibrated slightly. Though hard and cruel, he was brave. Very quietly, and still puffing at the stump of a cigar which he had nearly bitten through, he peered again over the side. For three minutes he remained in that position, staring intently at the water. Oleson, on the _Pacific Queen_, took the glasses from Dave’s hand. “She’s a full foot lower,” he said jerkily. “I’ll be veree surprised if she keeps up another hour.” Suddenly the cries of alarmed men on the _Miriam_ were heard. A crashing, rumbling noise from under the decks had told them the end had come. Like a tired thing, the derelict lurched heavily, and before the men on board had time to get half way to the dory, the doomed steamer’s bows were in the sea. She canted over, making progress along the deck difficult. Only eight of the crew, besides the mate, had dropped into the small boat, when the stern of the derelict began to rise as her bows went farther downward. To have delayed another second would have meant death for all. With his own hands Mr. Quick cast the painter when the dory was tilted at a perilous angle, and even as the piteous cries of the four men left on board were ringing in their ears, the sailors in the dory bent desperately to their oars in order to avoid the whirlpool which the sinking ship would create on her plunge to the bottom. Though the muscles in their backs and arms cracked under the strain, the men did not succeed in getting far enough away to avoid the eddy. The instant he noticed what was happening, Captain Chisholm stopped the engines of the _Pacific Queen_. “Let go that hawser,” came the order from the bridge. “Get another boat out quick. Be smart there.” Like lightning the men obeyed. The loss of their prize was forgotten for the moment, for human lives were in peril. There was no time to pick and choose who was to man the second dory. Those near at hand jumped in, Dave among them. Just as they pushed off from the side of the _Pacific Queen_ the little craft containing Mr. Quick and eight men was caught by the outside of the whirlpool and began to spin round. “Easy with your oars, lads,” said the bo’sun in charge of the second dory. “We must keep out of that.” The irresistible suction drew the mate’s boat nearer and nearer that swirling centre of the whirlpool in rapidly narrowing circles. The men in her were now struggling frantically against overwhelming odds. It seemed as though nothing could possibly save them from being drawn under, to be shot far down in the track of the _Miriam_. Dave gripped the gunwale of the boat tightly. He wanted to close his eyes to shut out the impending tragedy. He forgot the mate’s brutality. It was agonizing to have to sit still and do nothing while his shipmates were on the verge of death. CHAPTER VI