The hope instantly inspired action.

Every minute might mean life or death; the work must be accomplished now, if ever.

The _Seminole_ was evidently deserted, the boat containing the fleeing crew already far enough away to be beyond sound of any noise he might make.

He already felt the wallowing of the deck beneath his feet, a dead, dull feeling, evidence enough that the deserted vessel was slowly, but surely going down.

The condition could not last long; faster and faster the water would seep into her hold, until suddenly, without warning, perhaps, she must go down like a stone.
All these thoughts flashed across his mind almost in an instant; there was no hesitancy, no waste of time.