The strain was intense; the gasket was
thin and cut deeply into the flesh; he knew that should it give way
nothing could save him. So he hung, the wind howling around him, the
yards rattling, the boisterous sea below heaving as if to clutch him and
drag him to destruction.
A few seconds passed, every one of which seemed an eternity. Then through
the noise he heard shouts on deck. The vessel suddenly swung over, and
Desmond's body inclined towards instead of from the mast. Shooting out
his arm he caught at the yard, seized it, and held on, though it seemed
that his arm must be wrenched from the socket. In a few moments he
succeeded in clambering on to the yard, where he clung, endeavoring to
regain his breath and his senses.
Then he completed his job, and with a sense of unutterable relief slid
down to the deck. A strange sight met his eyes. Bulger and Parmiter were
lying side by side; there was blood on the deck; and Captain Barker stood
over them with a marlinspike, his eyes blazing, his face distorted with
passion. In consternation Desmond slipped out of the way, and asked the
first man he met for an explanation.
It appeared that Parmiter, who was at the wheel when the squall struck
the ship, had put her in stays before the sail was furled, with the
result that she heeled over and Desmond had narrowly escaped being flung
into the sea. Seeing the boy's plight, Bulger had sprung forward, and,
knocking Parmiter from the wheel, had put the vessel on the other tack,
thus giving Desmond the one chance of escape which, fortunately, he had
been able to seize.
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