The gaff of the mainsail had been driven through it, and it
refused to work. The wreckage, thumping alongside, held the sloop in
a quartering slant to the seas--not so dangerous a position as it might
be, nor so safe, either. "Good-by, old-a _Dazzler_. Never no more you
wipe ze eye of ze wind. Never no more you kick your heels at ze crack
gentlemen-yachts."
So the captain lamented, standing in the cockpit and surveying the ruin
with wet eyes. Even Joe, who bore him great dislike, felt sorry for him
at this moment. A heavier blast of the wind caught the jagged crest of
a wave and hurled it upon the helpless craft.
"Can't we save her?" Joe spluttered.
'Frisco Kid shook his head.
"Nor the safe?"
"Impossible," he answered. "Could n't lay another boat alongside for a
United States mint. As it is, it 'll keep us guessing to save ourselves."
Another sea swept over them, and the skiff, which had long since been
swamped, dashed itself to pieces against the stern. Then the _Reindeer_
towered above them on a mountain of water. Joe caught himself half
shrinking back, for it seemed she would fall down squarely on top
of them; but the next instant she dropped into the gaping trough,
and they were looking down upon her far below. It was a striking
picture--one Joe was destined never to forget. The _Reindeer_ was
wallowing in the snow-white smother, her rails flush with the sea,
the water scudding across her deck in foaming cataracts.
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