Williams's voice came down to me from the royal yard. He was singing out
to me to go up and give him a hand to pull Tom up on to the yard. When I
reached him, he told me that the gasket had hitched itself round the
lad's wrist. I bent beside the yard, and peered down. It was as Williams
had said, and I realised how near a thing it had been. Strangely enough,
even at that moment, the thought came to me how little wind there was. I
remembered the wild way in which the sail had lashed at the boy.

All this time, I was busily working, unreeving the port buntline. I took
the end, made a running bowline with it round the gasket, and let the
loop slide down over the boy's head and shoulders. Then I took a strain
on it and tightened it under his arms. A minute later we had him safely
on the yard between us. In the uncertain moonlight, I could just make
out the mark of a great lump on his forehead, where the foot of the sail
must have caught him when it knocked him over.

As we stood there a moment, taking our breath, I caught the sound of the
Second Mate's voice close beneath us. Williams glanced down; then he
looked up at me and gave a short, grunting laugh.

"Crikey!" he said.

"What's up?" I asked, quickly.

He jerked his head backwards and downwards. I screwed round a bit,
holding the jackstay with one hand, and steadying the insensible
Ordinary with the other. In this way I could look below. At first, I
could see nothing. Then the Second Mate's voice came up to me again.