Bob, out knife, and up in the rings; cut them away."
The gaff had fallen, but it was not clear yet. In some mysterious
fashion the mizen halliards had yielded and slipped for some distance
after a sudden shock had cut the gaff halliards and let the jaws of the
gaff free; so now the sail would neither haul up nor come down. Like a
cat Bob sprang up the remaining rings, and hacked at the gear; the sail
fell--and so did Bob, with a dull thud.
"Oh! skipper, that's a bad 'un."
"Cast a line round him till we've stowed. Jim, take hold of her; she's
falling off! Shove her to the wind again till we're done! Now, lads, all
of you on to the sheet! Haul! oh, haul! Slack away them toppin' lifts.
So; now we've got her! Where's Bob?"
"Doctor's got him below, skipper." Poor Bob had tried to save himself
with his right arm, and his hand had been bent backwards over, and
doubled back on his forearm. Bob was settled for the rest of the gale.
Lewis soon had the broken limb put up, and Bob stolidly smoked and
pondered on the inequalities of life. Why was he, and not another, told
off to spring up that reeling mizen into a high breeze that ended by
mastering him, and flinging him as if he had been a poor wrestler
matched with a champion? Here he was--crippled.
"Well, Bob, if this is a specimen, we shall see something when it
clears."
"Yes, doctor; you may say that, you may. I never see nothing like it. If
you give a man ten hundred thousand goulden sovereigns, and you says,
'Tell me directly you see anything comin',' he couldn't.
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