The girl, bracing herself against a particularly hard pitch of the boat,
balancing herself lightly, as the craft recovered and again leaped
forward, cried:

"Isn't this fine!"

Blake nodded. Schuyler, waist deep in a swooping sea, did not hear... The
Long Island shore was close at hand now.

Suddenly Blake shouted: "Hard a lee!" and jammed the tiller over;
Schuyler, on the after overhang, scrambled fast to take in the slack of
the sheet. Kathryn Blair bent, to avoid the swinging boom.

The little boat swung about as though on a pivot. The wind filled the
sail; she sped forward like a hawk unhooded.

Then something happened. A stay parted; there was a great, grinding
crack, followed by the snapping and whipping of canvas. And the mast
fell.

Schuyler was knocked over into the water by the boom. It struck him fair
upon the brow. Kathryn, springing to catch him, was hit by the flapping
canvas. She went overboard, too, and under the sail.

Blake, on the weather side, was free from the wreck. Without even
stopping to turn, he dove backward from the cockpit. Under the cold,
green water he went. He struck out, blindly, frenziedly. His hand felt
something that was not canvas and yet was cloth--struck, and gripped.
Then, holding his breath still until he thought his lungs would burst, he
felt his way out from under the sail. The rail of the boat was at hand;