Suddenly, overhead, there sounded a
sharp crack, like the report of a rifle shot. It was followed instantly
by the rattle and crash of sailcloth thrashing in the wind.
Williams jumped away from the rail, and ran aft a few steps. I followed
him, and, together, we stared upwards to see what had gone.
Indistinctly, I made out that the weather sheet of the fore t'gallant
had carried away, and the clew of the sail was whirling and banging
about in the air, and, every few moments, hitting the steel yard a blow,
like the thump of a great sledge hammer.
"It's the shackle, or one of the links that's gone, I think," I shouted
to Williams, above the noise of the sail. "That's the spectacle that's
hitting the yard."
"Yus!" he shouted back, and went to get hold of the clewline. I ran to
give him a hand. At the same moment, I caught the Second Mate's voice
away aft, shouting. Then came the noise of running feet, and the rest of
the watch, and the Second Mate, were with us almost at the same moment.
In a few minutes we had the yard lowered and the sail clewed up.
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