at made the young sailing master jump, then
quiver. With a great tearing and rending the single canvas gave way
before the roaring gale. In a trice the sail was blown to fluttering
ribbons!

CHAPTER XX

"C.Q.D! C.Q.D.!--HELP!"

"Lay along with me, Hank!" bawled the young skipper, hoarsely, in the
steward's ear. "We've got to cut away what's left of the sail."

Neither helmsman could wisely be spared. Though the boat now had no
power of her own she was being driven sharply before the gale, and
some fine handling of the wheel was needed in order to keep the boat
so headed that she might wallow as little as possible in the trough of
the sea.

Nor was the work of the young captain and Hank Butts anything like
play. Making their way out along the top of the cabin deck-house was
in itself hazardous. They were forced to clutch at any rigging that
came to hand to avoid being washed overboard, for the waves were
dashing furiously over the helpless boat.

It was not much of a task to haul in the sheet, making fast. Then,
using their sailor's knives, they slashed away.

It was needful for one of them to go aloft.

"I can do it," proposed Hank, summoning all his courage.

"I know you can," Tom bawled in his ear. "But I'm not going to send
anyone where I wouldn't go myself. It's mine to go aloft."

Thrusting his knife securely into the sheath at the end of its
lanyard, Tom Halstead began to climb. Hank watched him closely. The
pair at the wheel had no time to observe. All their attention was
needed on their own work.

As he climbed, Tom Halstead had a sensation of being in danger of
being pitched overboard.

Next, as the "Restless" lay over harder than she had yet done, it
seemed as though the mast were bent on touching the water. Halstead
had to halt in his climbing, satisfied to hold on for dear life.

"Oh, if we only had enough gasoline aboard!" groaned the young
skipper, regretfully. "It would be a tough storm, even then, though
nothing like as bad as this!"

As the boat partially righted herself, he went on with his climbing.
At length he found himself where he could bring his knife into play,
slashing away the fragments of the wind-torn canvas. When the work was
done Halstead let himself to the deck again, half-expecting that the
force of the pitching and fury of the gale would catch him and sweep
him over into the dark, raging waters.

Yet he reached the deck in safety, finding himself beside Hank