Wind and sea had sprung up, and the _Dazzler_ was rolling and tossing and now and again fetching up on her anchor-chain with a savage jerk.

He was forced to hold on to the boom overhead to steady himself.
It was a gray and leaden day, with no signs of the rising sun, while the sky was obscured by great masses of flying clouds.
Joe sought for the land.

A mile and a half away it lay--a long, low stretch of sandy beach with a heavy surf thundering upon it.

Behind appeared desolate marshlands, while far beyond towered the Contra Costa Hills.
Changing the direction of his gaze, Joe was startled by the sight of a small sloop rolling and plunging at her anchor not a hundred yards away.
She was nearly to windward, and as she swung off slightly he read her name on the stern, the _Flying Dutchman_, one of the boats he had seen lying at the city wharf in Oakland.

A little to the left of her he discovered the _Ghost_, and beyond were half a dozen other sloops at anchor.
"What I tell you ?" Joe looked quickly over his shoulder.