The water was not more than forty feet beneath, and the island was getting nearer every instant. The two aeronauts swung over on opposite sides of the car and, face to face, hung by their hands beneath. “I dread the plunge,” muttered Thorndyke; “I feel as weak as a sick kitten; I am not sure that I can swim that distance, but the water looks still enough.” “I am played out too,” grunted the American, red in the face; “but it looks like our only chance. Ugh! she made a big dip then. We'd better let go. I'll count three, and three is the signal. Now ready. One, two, three!” Down shot the balloonists and up bounded the great liberated bag of gas; the basket and dangling ropes swung wildly from side to side. The aeronauts touched the water feet foremost at the same instant, and in half a minute they rose, not ten feet apart. “Now for it,” sputtered Johnston, shaking his bushy head like a swimming dog. “Look, the shore is not very far.” Thorndyke was saving his wind, and said nothing, but accommodated his stroke to that of his companion, and thus they breasted the gently-rolling billows until finally, completely exhausted, they climbed up the shelving rocks and lay down in the warm sunshine. “Not a very encouraging outlook,” said Johnston, rising when his clothing was dry and climbing a slight elevation. “There is nothing in sight except a waste of stone. Let's go up to that point and look around.” The ascent was exceedingly trying, for the incline was steep and it was at times difficult to get a firm footing. But they were repaid for the exertion, for they had reached the highest point of the island and could see all over it. As far as their vision reached there was nothing beyond the little island except the glistening waves that reached out till they met the sky in all directions. High up in the clouds they saw the balloon, now steadily drifting with the wind toward the south. “We might as well be dead and done with it,” grumbled Thorndyke. “Ships are not apt to approach this isolated spot, and even if they did, how could we give a signal of distress?” Johnston stroked his dark beard thoughtfully, then he pointed toward the shore. “There are some driftwood and seaweed,” he said; “with my sun-glass I can soon have a bonfire.” He took a piece of punk from a waterproof box that he carried in his pocket and focussed the sun's rays on it. “Run down and bring me an armful of dry seaweed and wood,” he added, intent on his work. Thorndyke clambered down to the shore, and in a few minutes returned with an armful of fuel. Johnston was blowing his punk into a flame, and in a moment had a blazing fire.