The binoculars went first, then the mooring ropes and a few other objects which could be of no particular use to castaways on a desert island.
The effect was instantly noticeable and, for a brief space, the Hawk seemed to stay her descent. In a few minutes she had drifted almost over the cove.
Just at that moment the hissing of the escaping gas grew to redoubled volume, proving that the rent had suddenly broken wide and that the bag's contents was pouring out. The ship began to drop more rapidly.
"I'll go overboard, mates," shouted Dick. "Maybe that'll lighten the car so the two of you can reach land. It's only a small swim."
In a flash, Ferral had flung himself into the water. But the loss of his weight did not help—the air ship was losing gas too fast for that.
"Over with you, Carl!" cried Matt. "It won't be hard for you to get ashore."
Matt wanted to get the air ship to dry land, but it was apparent to him that this was impossible.
The Hawk was doomed! As quickly as he could, Motor Matt made ready to follow Carl and Dick.
Standing on the rail and clinging to one of the ropes by which the car was suspended from the bag, Matt paused for a second and then flung himself outward and downward.
Coming up, he shook the water from his eyes and began swimming. Dick had already dropped his feet on the bottom and was wading ashore. Carl, spluttering and floundering, was just ahead of Matt.