Another three hours and they were brought back to life, but still there was no sight of land.
Jack got out the binoculars, as soon as he had gotten the "sand" out of his eyes, for what he termed a "squint" before again taking his place in the pilot's seat.
Just as, hours before, their forward rush had brought the night to them, so now their speed was irresistibly drawing the dawn toward them. Jack held the glasses to his eyes for a moment, then rubbed his eyes vigorously and looked again.
Of a sudden he gave a great whoop, and slapped Don on the back with a force that nearly sent him off his feet.
"Land, gol darn you," Jack shouted for the benefit of all. "Land ahoy, as they say aboard ship!"
"What's that?" demanded Andy, regarding it as news too good to be true. "Let me have a peep through those binoculars. You may be seeing things."
"I am," Jack admitted joyously, handing over the glasses. "I'm seeing Ireland, or my name's not Jack Carew."
"Sure as you live," agreed Andy, beaming on the others.
"Well, none too soon," Don interrupted, turning a serious face upon them. "I didn't want to hurry you fellows out of your sleep, seeing that you gave us three hours, but I want to tell you that even now we're pretty nearly up against it. Look at that!"
He pointed at the petrol gauge. It registered only enough, at their average rate of consumption, to carry them two-thirds of the estimated distance to where the welcome shores of Ireland hove dimly into sight in the distance.