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. The cold waters closed around him.
He tried to swim, to keep afloat, but the oil-skin suit hindered him.
He battled with the desperation of despair. It was a terrible fight he
made for life there in that inky blackness, with the water surging
about him, and trying to win him for its victim. It seemed that he had
been struggling for a long time, and could resist no longer. His
strength was going, and he had little power for any further effort.

Just at this critical moment a firm strong hand clutched him like a
vise, and he knew that the captain had come to his rescue. This roused
him to new hope and energy.

"Keep cool, now," the captain cried. "I've got hold of the riggin'