“Funny I had to keel over like that,” he said grinning feebly.  “Don’t know what’s the matter with me.  Must be getting old, I guess.  Never happened before.”

“Here,” said Jack, “you come forward with me and rest awhile.  You’re about done up.”

The sailor protested; but Jack had his way, and a few moments later, in the little cabin, Edwards was fast asleep.  Jack returned aft to discuss the situation with Frank.

“Well, what now?” asked the latter.  “Where are we going to find Lord Hastings?”

“I imagine the best thing for us,” said Jack, “is to return to Bantry Bay.  If The Hawk weathered the storm, Lord Hastings will put in sometime to-day.”

“I suppose that is best,” agreed Frank.  “Let’s be on the move.”

The head of the motorboat was brought about, and gaining his bearings from a compass in the cabin, Jack shaped his course.

“A four or five hour run,” he said to Frank, in giving him the proper directions.

He glanced at his watch.  “Six o’clock.  Well, we shall be there before noon, anyhow.”

He returned to his place at the engine and the motorboat headed toward the British coast.

CHAPTER XI.

ON THE HUNT.

“Isn’t that The Hawk?”

It was Jack who spoke.  He had left his engine and made his way aft, for he had caught sight of another craft in the distance.

Frank peered ahead.

“I should say it was built along the same lines as The Hawk,” he replied, “but what’s the matter with her?”

Something was wrong, as both boys could see.  The craft ahead, whether The Hawk or not they could not yet distinguish, was plainly in distress.  She wallowed in the sea, apparently without a hand to guide her.

“Something wrong aboard, sure,” declared Frank.  “Little more speed, Jack.”

Jack sprang back to his engine and soon the motorboat was dashing through the water at full speed.

Jack left the engine to run itself and made his way forward as far as possible, where he stood gazing at the craft ahead.  At last he was able to make out the name of the craft.

“The Hawk!” he cried.

It was The Hawk and she was plainly in distress.  As the boys drew nearer, they were unable to make out a sign of life aboard.

“Maybe they have all been washed overboard,” Frank called to Jack.

Jack made no reply.  He had begun to fear so himself.

Suddenly he uttered a loud cry.

“I can see some one aboard,” he cried.  “He’s stretched out on the deck.  Looks like he might be dead.”

“Who is it?” Frank shouted back.

“I can’t make out yet.”

He peered forward eagerly and anxiously; and five minutes later he cried out again: 

“It’s Smith.”

Smith was another of the crew.