“I believe,” laughed Jacob Farnum glancing about him, “we all feel just about as though we had lost confidence in the ‘Pollard’s’ ability to rise when the time comes.”

From the engine room came a burst of seaman’s song.  Bill Henderson was loudly crooning some ditty.  Although the listeners could not mike out the words, the song had a gruesome sound that made one’s flesh want to creep.

“Shall I tell him to stow that noise?” asked Captain Jack.

“No,” replied Mr. Farnum, though he made a grimace.  “If it cheers the fellow any let him have his melody.”

Presently Henderson was singing another song.  Those in the cabin paid little heed until the sailor’s voice roared out the couplet: 

Down below went the good brig Mary!

She was heard from again—­nary!_

“Say, that’s fine!” muttered Eph Somers, in an undertone loaded with sarcasm.

The seaman’s voice reached them now in a hushed undertone of murmured song.  Later it swelled out into this gruesome forecastle refrain: 

Where the sharks go to pray,

And the dead men lay—­

Where the crabs crawl to bite,

And the eels—­_

“Henderson!” rang the young captain’s voice sharply.

“Aye, aye, sir!” came a growl from the engine room.

“Save that song for the deck watch.  We want to hear the clock tick.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The seaman was as good as his word.  No more of the awesome ditty floated back from him.

The time yet to remain below surface narrowed down to ten minutes, then to five.  At last, tick by tick, the time wound by until the full hour of submergence had been finished.

“Henderson!” shouted Captain Jack, leaping to his feet, “stand by to empty the water tanks!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” responded the big sailor, coming out of the engine room.  He went to the proper rack, then turned to ask: 

“Where’s the wrench, sir?”

“Why, there in its rack, of course,” cried Captain Benson, leaping forward.  “You’re looking at it.”

“I’m looking at the rack, sir, but I don’t see no wrench, sir,” replied Henderson, calmly.

“What’s that?  The wrench mislaid?” demanded Jacob Farnum, also leaping forward and staring with dismayed eyes into the rack.  “Oh, it has dropped—­somewhere—­or—­been mislaid.”

In another instant there was a frenzied search for that invaluable wrench, without which the “Pollard” could not be brought to the surface.  So frantically did they search that they frequently got in each other’s way.  Hal Hastings shut off the speed and came tumbling down below to aid.

“Don’t get excited, friends,” begged Jacob Farnum, in a voice that shook.  “Of course we’re going to find the wrench.  It’s aboard—­somewhere—­of course it is.  Now, let’s begin a systematic search.”

In a short time every conceivable nook and corner had been explored.  Though it seemed absurd that the wrench should be lost, yet a fearful conviction began to settle down over the startled ones that it would not be found in time.