“Don’t you feel a bit dizzy, Jack? I do.”
“I’m trying not to think of being hungry,” said the young major. “It’s the only way out as far as I can see.”
A few minutes more passed and then, of a sudden, Ira Small leaped to his feet, pointing his long, bony hand ahead of him.
“There’s another wreck!” he called out. “Looks like a steam yacht, too!”
All gazed in the direction indicated and saw that Ira Small was right. The wreck, which was quite a distance away, disappeared in a hollow of the ocean, but a moment later came up on the crest of a wave.
It was a steam yacht, but both of the masts were broken off just above the deck, one dangling partly over the side, held by a number of ropes. The bow of the yacht was smashed in, and a goodly portion of the starboard rail had been carried away.
“She’s been in a collision, that’s sure!” cried Jack.
“Maybe she smashed into the ship the wreckage of which hit the Fancy,” suggested Fred.
“That might be so, lad,” said the old sailor, still standing up, in spite of his hurt leg.
“Let’s yell and wave our hands!” cried Andy. “I’d rather be on a boat like that, even if she is all battered up, than on this wreckage. Besides that, we want something to eat—and mighty quick, too!”