Then, with a feeling of relief, Andy saw that they were sheering off, but very slowly. Could they make it? They were near to death, for no one—not even the strongest swimmer—could live long unaided in that boiling sea that would pound him upon the sharp rocks.
Suddenly Frank uttered a cry, and pointed to a spot at the left of the rocks, in a space of water comparatively calm.
"There! Look! Look!" he shouted.
"What is it? The whale?" demanded Andy.
"No, a boat—a motor boat! It's disabled—drifting! It must have been on the rocks. It's a large one, too. Look out you don't hit it."
"It's on fire!" cried Andy. "See the smoke—the flame! It's burning up!"
The Gull was now far enough from the Shark's Teeth to warrant her safety, and the boys could look at the motor craft, that was bobbing helplessly about in the spume and spray, being tossed hither and thither by the heaving waves.
"See anybody on her?" yelled Andy.
"No—not a soul," answered Frank, who had made his way forward, and was standing up, clinging to the mast.
Suddenly, amid the howling of the storm, there came a sharp explosion. There was a puff of flame, and a cloud of smoke hovered over the hapless motor boat, which, strange to say, still remained intact and afloat.