Once he slipped and crashed to the deck. He could feel himself sliding toward the starboard gunnel, now nearly under water because the yawl had heeled over so far. A last-second grab at a mooring stanchion saved him from going overboard into the boiling sea.
Biff pulled himself up slowly. He crawled on hands and knees and fell exhausted into the cockpit. For moments he lay there, gasping for breath. Then he saw the fear on Li’s face. Li held the tiller in a viselike grip. Biff rose.
“I’ll take over,” he shouted.
Li merely nodded his head in assent, glad to relinquish the wooden tiller handle. It was a fight to hold it steady.
From forward, the boys heard another crack, sharp as a shotgun shot.
“Jibsail’s given away,” Biff shouted.
Now their only control of the yawl was by the mizzensail. It was behind them, making control of the boat most difficult.
“If the mizzen goes,” Biff yelled, “we’re done for!”
Just as he spoke the words, the mizzen gave way, torn from its halyard by a sudden driving gust. At the same moment, the boys heard a sound that sent an even greater chill of fear racing up and down their spines. It was the roar of an angry surf pounding the shore.
They were being swept ashore. The boat would be dashed to bits. They would be flung on razor-sharp coral!