CHAPTER XVI

THE LAST SECOND OF THE NICK OF TIME

Despite the whistle of lead, minding only the spray that dashed into his eyes, Hal Hastings swam on.

His one idea, at present, was to reach that submarine boat if it were within human power to do so ere the boat, now nearly all submerged, took the final plunge below the waves.

Grace Desmond did not quit her post, nor cease her heroic efforts to turn on the compressed air.  Yet she added her shrill shrieks to Jack Benson’s lusty yells for help.

The sounds of the shots from the shore gave them a momentary hope that help of some sort was really on its way.

“It’s the last second or two, if you mean to save us!” yelled Jack, at the top of his voice.

Bang! bang!  Josh Owen fired two more shots from his dangerous automatic revolver as Hal caught at the rail of the boat.

“The last chance to save us!” repeated Jack.

“I know it,” came, breathlessly, as the dripping Hal dropped down the manhole.  He did not even wait to make use of the stairs.

By a fortunate impulse Grace Desmond fell back as young Hastings appeared.  Hal’s right hand shot out, gripping the wrench.  The “Pollard” gave a surge that all aboard believed to be her final one.

Yet Hal hung to his post, resolved to go down trying.

There was a hiss of compressed air.  The “Pollard” didn’t quite make the death plunge.  Then she seemed to go, ever so little, toward a more level keel.

“I—­believe—­I’ve got her!” cried Hal Hastings.

A moment or two later he felt sure of it.  He gave a cheer to ease his pent-up feelings, then suddenly gasped: 

“Jack, do you know how much compressed air there is?”

“No,” replied Benson, blankly.

“Heaven grant there’s enough for what we must do,” prayed Hal, aloud.

There were two shots over in the yard just now.  The three young people heard the discharges, though they paid no heed to them at this critical instant.

Slowly the “Pollard” continued to regain evenness of keel.

Then Hastings, shifting the wrench to another part of the compressed air apparatus, opened the sea-valves of the amidships water tanks to expel water.

Briefly, now, they knew that the “Pollard” had risen.  Also, she was resting on an even keel.  Hal, bedewed with cold perspiration, darted up the stairs to the conning tower.  He looked out, and the first glance told him the “Pollard” was riding the water as she should.

“It’s all right—­now,” he called down, with a strong effort at calmness.  “Jack, what on earth happened that you had to call for help!”

Then he caught sight of his chum, lashed to the stanchion.  Hastings’s mouth went wide agape with astonishment.

“Jack—­how on earth—­did Josh Owen—­”