“It’s getting morning,” spoke Jerry, with a sigh of relief. “The night is almost gone.”
Gradually it became lighter, the pale gray dawn stealing in through the thick bull’s-eyes, and revealing the rather pale faces of the young derelict hunters. They looked out on a heaving waste of waters, the big waves rising and falling like some gigantic piece of machinery.
“The wind is dying down,” announced Ned in a low voice. Somehow it seemed as if they ought to talk in whispers.
“Yes, I think it will stop when the sun comes up,” said Mr. De Vere. “It looks as if it would be clear.”
In the east there appeared a rosy light. A golden beam shot up to the sky, tinting the crests of the waves. Then the rim of Old Sol appeared, to cheer the voyagers.
“Look there!” suddenly called Jerry, pointing straight at the disk of the sun, which, every second, was becoming larger.
They all looked and saw, laboring in the waves, about a mile away, a powerful tug, that seemed to be following them.
CHAPTER XXVI.
RIVAL SEARCHERS
“What boat is that?” asked Ned.
“Hand me the glasses,” requested Mr. De Vere, as he went nearer to the cabin port. He peered through the binoculars for some time, then announced: