"We can make about three miles to his one," Jack explained. "We're about
three hours behind him so we ought to catch him in about an hour or so
from now unless he steers a course different from that taken by other
vessels. He's heading for the Dry Tortugas."
"Shall we boost the engines a little?" urged Tom.
"No; better let them go as they are," replied Jack. "Every machine has
what I'd call an 'economy notch.' Beyond that on either side more work
may be done, or less, but at the expense of straining the engines or
fuel or something. They're doing excellent work right now, so let's not
disturb them. It won't be long now."
The minutes seemed to drag like hours, however, to the boys. The glasses
were constantly used by Tom, who was perched on top of the pilot house,
sweeping the water for a trace of a sail.
"I see her," he shouted. "I mean Ship Ahoy. No, Sail Ho."
Directly the Fortuna overhauled the vessel they pursued.
"I want to speak to your captain," hailed Jack.
"Keep off, or I'll shoot," replied the mate at the rail.
"Bob, Bob White," came a whistle from the rigging.
CHAPTER XX
RESCUED AT SEA
"Bob, Bob White," replied Frank from the Fortuna. "Oh, there you are,
Charley. Thank God. Oh, come down and come aboard."
"Yes, he'll come aboard," vociferated the mate in a coarse voice. He was
a brutal looking fellow, to whom the boys instantly took a violent
dislike. "He'll stay where he is and so will you.
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