’Frisco Kid awoke once, and smiled at him, saying: 

“This is what they call hangin’ on.  But just you wait till daylight comes, and watch us clawin’ off.  If some of the sloops don’t go ashore, I ’m not me, that ’s all.”

And thereat he rolled over on his side and was off to sleep.  Joe envied him.  About three in the morning he heard French Pete crawl up for’ard and rummage around in the eyes of the boat.  Joe looked on curiously, and by the dim light of the wildly swinging sea-lamp saw him drag out two spare coils of line.  These he took up on deck, and Joe knew he was bending them on to the hawsers to make them still longer.

At half-past four French Pete had the fire going, and at five he called the boys for coffee.  This over, they crept into the cockpit to gaze on the terrible scene.  The dawn was breaking bleak and gray over a wild waste of tumbling water.  They could faintly see the beach-line of Asparagus Island, but they could distinctly hear the thunder of the surf upon it; and as the day grew stronger they made out that they had dragged fully half a mile during the night.

The rest of the fleet had likewise dragged.  The Reindeer was almost abreast of them; La Caprice lay a few hundred yards away; and to leeward, straggling between them and shore, were five more of the struggling oyster-boats.

“Two missing,” ’Frisco Kid announced, putting the glasses to his eyes and searching the beach.

“And there ’s one!” he cried.  And after studying it carefully he added:  “The Go Ask Her.  She ’ll be in pieces in no time.  I hope they got ashore.”

French Pete looked through the glasses, and then Joe.  He could clearly see the unfortunate sloop lifting and pounding in the surf, and on the beach he spied the men who made up her crew.

“Where ’s ze Ghost?” French Pete queried.

’Frisco Kid looked for her in vain along the beach; but when he turned the glass seaward he quickly discovered her riding safely in the growing light, half a mile or more to windward.

“I ’ll bet she did n’t drag a hundred feet all night,” he said.  “Must ’ve struck good holding-ground.”

“Mud,” was French Pete’s verdict.  “Just one vaire small patch of mud right there.  If she get t’rough it she ’s a sure-enough goner, I tell you dat.  Her anchors vaire light, only good for mud.  I tell ze boys get more heavy anchors, but dey laugh.  Some day be sorry, for sure.”

One of the sloops to leeward raised a patch of sail and began the terrible struggle out of the jaws of destruction and death.  They watched her for a space, rolling and plunging fearfully, and making very little headway.

French Pete put a stop to their gazing.  “Come on!” he shouted.  “Put two reef in ze mainsail!  We get out queeck!”

While occupied with this a shout aroused them.  Looking up, they saw the Ghost dead ahead and right on top of them, and dragging down upon them at a furious rate.