No change occurred for another hour in the position in which the boys found themselves. Fred still was lying helpless on the cushions and the boys by taking turns or working together at the wheel had somehow, in spite of numerous moments of peril, been able to keep the Black Growler headed to the wind.
At that time George broke in upon the silence by saying excitedly, "Look yonder, fellows! Isn't that a boat coming this way?"
Instantly the eyes of all three turned in the direction in which George pointed. Far away a trail of smoke was visible and from the direction in which it was moving it was apparent that it had come from a boat which was coming nearer the place where the boys were drifting than had any boats since their mishap.
"I believe it's coming," exclaimed Grant. "We'll get some help pretty soon."
"Yes," broke in John, whose hands now were blistered and whose temper had suffered from his efforts. "Yes, she's probably bound for Liverpool and won't stop until she's gone across the ocean. A lot of good it will do us!"
"Don't take all the joy out of living, String," laughed George good-naturedly. "Maybe we shan't have any chance to be taken on board, but we'll do our best anyway."
Silence followed as the three boys eagerly watched the approaching boat, for there was no question in their minds now that the unknown steamer was approaching.
A few minutes later Grant said, looking through the field glasses at the approaching stranger, "That's a yacht of some kind, in my opinion." As soon as he had spoken, his companions eagerly demanded an opportunity to confirm his statement.
"Soc is right," said John after a long inspection.
"Of course he is," said Grant lightly. "He always is right. How many times must I tell you that if you would only follow my advice you would soon be improving?"