French Pete went forward to launch the sea-anchor himself, leaving it to ’Frisco Kid to put the helm down at the proper moment and run into the wind.  The Frenchman poised on the slippery fore-deck, waiting an opportunity.  But at that moment the Dazzler lifted into an unusually large sea, and, as she cleared the summit, caught a heavy snort of the gale at the very instant she was righting herself to an even keel.  Thus there was not the slightest yield to this sudden pressure on her sails and mast-gear.

There was a quick snap, followed by a crash.  The steel weather-rigging carried away at the lanyards, and mast, jib, mainsail, blocks, stays, sea-anchor, French Pete—­everything—­went over the side.  Almost by a miracle, the captain clutched at the bobstay and managed to get one hand up and over the bowsprit.  The boys ran forward to drag him into safety, and Red Nelson, observing the disaster, put up his helm and ran down to the rescue.

CHAPTER XX

PERILOUS HOURS

French Pete was uninjured from the fall overboard with the Dazzler’s mast; but the sea-anchor, which had gone with him, had not escaped so easily.  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.  The air was filled with flying spray, which made the scene appear hazy and unreal.  One of the men was clinging to the perilous after-deck and striving to cast off the water-logged skiff.  The boy, leaning far over