In a few seconds all were beyond wading depth and swimming vigorously.
But, excellent swimmers though all of them were, it was a risky and even foolhardy adventure at best; for they were fully clothed, and there was no telling how far the plane might be carried before the wind rose sufficiently above the surface to release it from its grip.
For ten minutes they swam gallantly, and then it became apparent that the direction of the wind had swerved and was following a line almost parallel with the shore.
In a scattered line, Big Jack now well in the lead, Andy next, then, some distance behind, Fred and Don, close together, they continued with all their strength for another quarter of an hour.
It was probably a glance shoreward, which gave him his first inkling of how far out to sea they had gone, that gave Jack Carew the courage to put all his remaining strength into a final spurt. He realized that he was pretty far spent himself, and the slowing up of the others indicated that the awful gruelling was having its effect on them the same way.
The wind had died down and here was the chance of reaching the wayward plane. Big Jack never strove harder than he did then. When he was almost in reach of the hydro he heard a muffled cry behind him. It was Andy, almost exhausted.
He measured the distance. He saw Fred and Don come up with Andy and grasp the exhausted swimmer, one on either side.
"They'll be all right for a minute," he muttered. "But we'll all be out if we don't get the plane now."
A dozen lusty strokes took him to where the big craft was now lying motionless on the water. For several seconds he hung to the side, too weak to lift himself aboard. Then came another cry from where the other three were struggling in the water, thirty feet away.