It must have been a piece of broken bottle, but whatever the cause, the tire of the lee bearing-wheel had suddenly gone flat. It was impossible to proceed; but was there time to repair the damage and yet get around Cape Fear? Fred glanced at his watch. The tide looked as though it were coming in very fast; but the tide-table was authoritative, and the water would not be up to the cape until about half past five o'clock. It was now exactly five by Fred's watch, which would give a margin of at least twenty minutes. If they could repair the puncture in ten they could easily get clear. Otherwise they might be obliged to desert the "Jolly Sandboy," and save themselves by running. Fred shoved his watch back into his pocket, seized the repair kit, and went to work at the injured tire.
It was a good job and quickly done. Certainly not more than five minutes had elapsed when Jack took the pump to blow her up. But surely the water was rising faster than ever. And what was that? A sparkle of foam on the black rocks at the base of Cape Fear! It could not be more than ten minutes past the hour; they still had fifteen minutes to spare, and Fred pulled out his watch again.
The hands still pointed to exactly five o'clock.
With one jump Fred was at Jack's side, and had snatched the pump from his slower hands. How many of the lost minutes had there been since his watch had stopped? Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, or was it but a question of seconds? They were midway between the capes, and it was half a mile to safety. An instant later and the tire was full again. But beyond a doubt there could be but little time to spare. Already the big racers were tossing their white manes against the dark background of the cruel black rocks that formed Cape Fear; and now, too late, Fred recollected that it was a spring tide that was coming to the flood, and one of the highest of the year. Faster and faster the "Jolly Sandboy" drove along, but now it was certainly a question of seconds. A hundred yards away and there was still a narrow strip uncovered at the base of the cape. If they could reach it just after a third wave had gone back they might squeeze through. There came the first breaker, and the "Jolly Sandboy" had gained another twenty yards. The second broke close under the reef, sending a fountain of spray over the rocks and high into the air. The third and largest was slow in coming, and the "Jolly Sandboy" was close to the gap. Fred had made a slight miscalculation in timing his speed, and it was now a question of whether to stop and wait for the backwater or to race the third wave for the one chance of going clear. There was no time to weigh the odds, and on tore the "Jolly Sandboy." For an instant it looked as though they would make it; and then with a sudden roar the long smooth green wall of water seemed to fall forward at double its former speed, and took the ground just this side of the cape. The "Jolly Sandboy," quivering at every rivet, came to a stop as the surge swept over her. The mainsail caught the full force of a ton of salt water, and the mast went over the side, snapping the weather ratlines as though they had been made of tow. It was a matter of hardly two seconds, and the "Jolly Sandboy" was a wreck.
It was a hard pull to get clear, but Fred and Jack finally managed to drag the "beach-comber" back to safer ground. Safer, but for how long? Already the strip of sand had entirely disappeared at the foot of Cape Fear, and a full fathom of salt water was boiling and eddying among the jagged rocks. It would take some ten or twelve minutes for the water to finally cover the beach of Shut-in Bay, and then what? The ledges to which they might climb could only save them at ordinary high water, and at this the highest of the spring tides they would be covered six feet deep. The overhanging cliff offered no way of escape, and not a boat was in sight. Like drowned rats in a trap. But no! the thought was too horrible. There must be some way. There was the mast! Could it not be set up again, and its broken guys spliced with the mainsheet? It was a stout stick, some eleven feet in length, and the rise of the water would be less than ten. The jaws of the gaff would afford a foothold—a precarious one, it is true, but still a chance to keep their heads above water.
With desperate eagerness the "Jolly Sandboy" was run up close to the cliff and the sail unbent. With the water already boiling about their knees the boys worked on. And then Fred did a peculiar thing. With a rapid cut of his knife he severed the stay which had just been spliced, and the mast fell over again. Seizing a hatchet, he knocked out the pin that pivoted the stick in the chocks, and let the mast drift away. Jack looked at him in speechless dismay.
"Too much dead weight," said Fred, coolly. "Don't you see that those big tires filled with air are really life-preservers, and with the wooden frame-work they make a very decent raft?"
And so it turned out. The raft, though deep in the water, still supported them; and a quarter of an hour later the steam-trawler Alice came along and took them on board.
"Well," said Fred, as they walked up to Uncle Win's, wet and weary but safe, "you can't deny that the 'Jolly Sandboy' is a good all-around machine. She carried us on land and saved us in the water; what more do you want?"
"I think," said Jack, softly, as he snuffed up the grateful odors from the kitchen, "that I should like a piece of that fried bluefish."