After an hour the channel opened more rapidly, and the weed began to thicken, showing that the edge of the wreck-pack was near. Soon the accumulation grew so thick that it was no longer safe to push through it. Howard glanced at the indicators that measured the power accumulated. “Enough to run us three and a half hours,” he murmured, “or perhaps four. At eight knots, that means about twenty-five miles of distance. Twenty-five miles! Humph! I guess it’s safe.” He brought the boat to a stop, and spoke to those in the semi-darkness below. “Well,” he queried, “have you decided? Is it go ahead, or land and wait?” No one answered, and in the stillness he heard up-channel the far-off chug-chug of a boat rapidly driven. “Humph!” he exclaimed, bending down again. “Forbes seems to have been well supplied with boats. He’s after us in a steam-launch. That settles the question definitely. We’ve got to dive. If any one wants to take a last look at this marvellous place, now is the time.” No one spoke. Howard laughed. “What!” he exclaimed. “Nobody? Joyce, don’t you want to see the last of your old home?” Joyce shook his head. “Faith,” he answered, “I’ve seen enough of it to do me for the rest of my life.” “Jackson?” “New York’s good enough for me.” “Mr. Willoughby?” The missionary looked up. “Man! Man!” he cried. “How can you think of such things when we are about to plunge into uttermost peril of our lives? Rather, let us pray.” “Pray by all means, Mr. Willoughby. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of, you know. Dorothy, don’t you want to look?” But Dorothy, too, shook her head. “No, Frank,” she answered. “I never want to see the horrible place again.” “Then down we go. Here comes Forbes, by the way.” Around a curve, up-channel, appeared a steam-launch, still far off, but rapidly approaching. Howard stood up and waved his hand sarcastically; then, with rapid motions, snapped on the manhole cover, cut off the gas-engine, and threw on the electric starting-lever. Then, as the little vessel started forward, he turned the diving-rudder downward. Instantly the Seashark slid gracefully down beneath the ripples. From her little turret sprang out a sword of white light that pierced the water before her, while within a score of tiny bulbs illumined the darkness. Down she went; down, down, till the gage at Howard’s hand showed that a depth of fifty feet had been attained; then slowly he shifted the diving rudders until the boat held steadily to her depth, the rudders just balancing her tendency to rise to the surface. “All set,” he called down cheerily, but without moving his gaze from the front. “Nothing to do now but go ahead. Make yourselves comfortable. We won’t come to the surface for three hours, and perhaps longer.”