They were nearly a mile from shore and about
halfway across the bay when Trot suddenly sat up
straight and exclaimed: "What's that, Cap'n?"
He stopped rowing and turned half around to look.
"That, Trot," he slowly replied, "looks to me mighty
like a whirlpool."
"What makes it, Cap'n?"
"A whirl in the air makes the whirl in the water. I
was afraid as we'd meet with trouble, Trot. Things
didn't look right. The air was too still."
"It's coming closer," said the girl.
The old man grabbed the oars and began rowing with
all his strength.
"'Tain't comin' closer to us, Trot," he gasped; "it's
we that are comin' closer to the whirlpool. The thing
is drawin' us to it like a magnet!"
Trot's sun-bronzed face was a little paler as she
grasped the tiller firmly and tried to steer the boat
away; but she said not a word to indicate fear.
The swirl of the water as they came nearer made a
roaring sound that was fearful to listen to. So fierce
and powerful was the whirlpool that it drew the surface
of the sea into the form of a great basin, slanting
downward toward the center, where a big hole had been
made in the ocean -- a hole with walls of water that
were kept in place by the rapid whirling of the air.
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