“Why, the mast and sail.”
“Cut the sail and throw it overboard,” ordered John, “but save the mast as long as you can.”
“What for?” demanded Fred.
“Hand me your handkerchief and I’ll show you,” answered John. Speedily tying his own handkerchief to Fred’s he then fastened both to the top of the mast. “Somebody may see our signal of distress,” he explained.
“Pull, Fred! Pull for all you’re worth!” he hastily added. “We’ve got to get nearer the boats if we ever make shore.”
While Fred rowed, John was doing his utmost to bail the boat. He was using his hands and his cap, but even with his utmost endeavors the depth of the water in the slowly moving skiff did not decrease. Both boys were toiling desperately now. Their faces were red and streaked with perspiration. There was no evading the fact, however, that in spite of all their efforts their progress still was slow and the peril of sinking was steadily increasing.
At the mast-head floated the signal of distress. Neither of the boys was speaking now and the silence that rested on the great stretch of waters was unbroken.
CHAPTER XVI
THE SINKING SKIFF
“We shan’t be able to stay on board much longer,” said Fred in a low voice.
John made no reply, but his colorless face was clearly seen by his companion, who was fully aware of the anxiety in the heart of his friend.