I started to explain; but
he cut me short with:
"Is he dead?"
"No, Sir," I said. "I don't think so; but the poor beggar's had a bad
fall. He was hanging by the gasket when we got to him. The sail knocked
him off the yard."
"What?" he said, sharply.
"The wind caught the sail, and it lashed back over the yard--"
"What wind?" he interrupted. "There's no wind, scarcely." He shifted his
weight on to the other foot. "What do you mean?"
"I mean what I say, Sir. The wind brought the foot of the sail over the
top of the yard and knocked Tom clean off the foot-rope. Williams and I
both saw it happen."
"But there's no wind to do such a thing; you're talking nonsense!"
It seemed to me that there was as much of bewilderment as anything else
in his voice; yet I could tell that he was suspicious--though, of what,
I doubted whether he himself could have told.
He glanced at Williams, and seemed about to say something. Then, seeming
to change his mind, he turned, and sung out to one of the men who had
followed him aloft, to go down and pass out a coil of new, three-inch
manilla, and a tailblock.
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