“This is great!” Rod cried, as another wave leaped upon them.

“Tut, that’s nothin’,” the captain replied.  “If ye’d been with me aboard the Flyin’ Queen when we struck a gale, ye’d know something about big seas then.  Why, this is only a mill-pond.”

“I’m going to see a gale some day, captain.  I want to go out on the ocean in a storm.”

“Ye do, eh?  If ye go, I guess it’ll be aboard a liner, where ye’ll be penned up like a rat in a trap.  That’s the way people travel these days, ‘in luxury,’ they call it.  But give me my old Flyin’ Queen, a strong breeze abeam, and ye kin have all yer iron or steel tubs as fer as I’m concerned.”

The Roaring Bess had made good time down the river, lifting and swinging forward with long plunging leaps as if glad of the freedom she was enjoying.  Ere long the wharf was reached for which the captain had been heading, and in a few moments she was lying in smooth water on the lower side, safe from the wind.

“You stay here, lad,” the captain ordered, as he sprang ashore, and made a line fast to the nearest post.  “I’ll run up fer the doctor.”

It took him but a short time to cross the field to Marshall house.  Here he found Doctor Travis, and briefly stated the object of his visit.

“It’s a terrible night, isn’t it?” the doctor enquired.

“Oh, no.  Jist a gentle breeze.”

“But look at your oil-skins.  You’ve been drenched from head to foot.”

“Well, what of it?  A little water won’t hurt anybody.  The more the better, is my motto.”

“Very well, then, I’ll go,” and the doctor reached for his big coat and hat.  Then he seized his grip, and followed the captain down to the wharf.

“You sit there in the middle,” the captain ordered, as they reached the boat, “and keep yer head low in case the boom should take a sudden yank over.  Ye won’t git so wet there, either.”

The wind on the homeward run was almost dead ahead, and it was necessary to beat from side to side of the channel.  But the captain knew every inch of the way, and he was almost as much at home here at night as in the day.  Up and up they steadily crept, while the Roaring Bess raced from side to side, tossing volumes of water at every plunge.  Rod was alert and active as a cat now, crouching close to the captain, ready to obey his slightest command.  How the boy did enjoy 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.