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 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 would n'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