Take in the slack o' the hawser an' make her fast to yonder nub o'
rock. Nick Leary, follow after me wid that block an' pulley. Bill, rig
yer winch a couple o' yards this way an' stake her down. Keep ten men
wid ye--an' the rest o' ye can follow me. But not too close, mind ye!
Fetch yer axes along, an' every man o' ye a line."

Three minutes later, the skipper was sliding down the foremast, with
Nick Leary close above him, another man already on the cross-trees and
yet another in mid-air on the hawser. The skipper reached the slanted
deck and slewed down into the starboard scuppers, snatched hold of a
splintered fragment of the bulwarks in time to save himself from
pitching overboard, steadied himself for a moment and then crawled aft.
Leary, profiting by the skipper's experience in the scuppers, made a
line fast to the butt of the foremast, clawed his way up the slant of
the deck to port, scrambled aft until he was fairly in line with the
stump of the mainmast, and then let himself slide until checked in his
course by that battered section of spar. Taking a turn around it with
his line, he again clawed to port, and scrambled aft again. His second
slide to starboard brought him to the splintered companionway of the
main cabin. Here he removed the end of the rope from his waist and made
it fast, thus rigging a life-line from the butt of the foremast aft to
the cabin for the use of those to follow. It had been a swift and
considerate piece of work. The men on the cliff cheered. Nick waved his
hand to the cliff, shouted a caution to the man at that moment
descending the foremast, and then swung himself down into four feet of
water and the outer cabin.

"Where be ye, skipper?" he bawled.

"This way, Nick. Fair aft," replied the skipper. "Keep to port or ye'll