Up and up they steadily crept, while the _Roaring
Bess_ raced from side to side, tossing volumes of water at every
plunge. Rod was alert and active as a cat now, crouching close to the
captain, ready to obey his slightest command. How the boy did enjoy
it, and his whole body thrilled with the excitement of the wild run.
The more the yacht reeled, the greater his pleasure. But the doctor
had far different feelings. He liked the water, but not on such a
night as this. He was sure that the boat was going over every time a
furious gust struck her close-hauled sail, and he always gave a sigh of
relief when she righted herself again, with no more damage than some
extra water tossed on board.
They were opposite the head of the island now, and had just tacked for
their "short-leg" run, when, without the slightest sign of warning,
something struck the mast a terrific blow. The yacht reeled wildly,
the mast snapped like a pipe-stem, and fell with a splash into the
water, carrying sail and all with it.
The instant the blow came Rod sprang to his feet, and as he did so a
part of the rigging caught him, and swept him overboard. With a wild
cry for help, he tried to grasp something, but he could find nothing
upon which to place his fingers.
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