"Come on, you fellows!" shouted Cadet Davis. "Upper top-sail-yard men!"
With that Davis grasped the jackstay, and finding the foot-ropes, began to edge outwards to the weather yardarm. Geoff followed, stopping at the allotted distance from Davis and waiting until Bernard and the rest of the upper top-sail-yard men had gained their posts.
So far Geoff had been too actively employed to realize matters. Now that he had a brief respite—for the reef-points had to be cast off practically simultaneously—he could form some idea of the height at which he found himself.
Somewhat to his surprise he felt no sense of insecurity. Possibly the bellying canvas immediately beneath him destroyed the suggestion of height. Beyond and below the bulge of the sail he could catch a glimpse of the deck from the base of the mainmast for'ard until it was hidden by the foot of the forecourse. Men, looking no larger than rabbits or even mice, were gathered in the waist, standing by until the Chief's hoarse and seemingly unintelligible orders set the whole human mechanism into action.
"If those fellows manning the braces look as small as that what would they look like from the main-royal yard?" pondered Geoff, glancing up at the spar in question where some of the hands were "laying out" in readiness to make sail.
"Haul taut reef tackles and bunt-lines!" ordered somebody. The voice, clear and distinct, seemed to come from a long way off. "Man weather brace!"
All was now activity. The chums, following the example of their more experienced shipmates, set to work to cast off the beckets.
Suddenly a shriek rent the air, followed by the fall of a heavy furiously-clutching object from the yard above. Horror-stricken, Bernard and Geoff could do nothing but retain their grip and gaze. They felt the footrope give a disconcerting jerk, saw Davis lean inward from the yard-arm and make a frantic grab at the falling object.
For the moment Geoff was under the impression that Cadet Davis had overbalanced and was also hurtling to a swift but horrible death upon the deck beneath. But the next instant the plucky cadet, lying like a limp sack across the yard, had grasped the falling object in a vicelike hold.
At the time Geoff had rather scoffed at the horseplay in the messroom where Davis and the Senior Cadet had come to grips over the swing-table. Now he realized that there was method in their form of madness. It was but a sort of preliminary training against emergencies—much as a boxer goes in for skipping exercises in order to make him nimble on his feet.
It was little Merrifield who had fallen from aloft. Davis had him by the ankle. The junior cadet was hanging head downwards with his body pressed against a hollow in the bulging canvas. Now came the difficult part of the business. Davis, literally balanced over the yard and hampered by Merrifield's weight, was unable to regain his place unaided.
The hazardous nature of the situation goaded Geoff into action. Edging along the foot-rope he threw one arm round Davis's legs. That restored the threatened balance, but the problem still remained as to how Merrifield could be raised into a place of safety.
Then Bernard commenced to edge towards the yard-arm. Slower in action than his chum, he possessed the faculty of being able to take in a comprehensive view of the situation. Geoff, he realized, could do nothing more than hang on to Davis's nether extremities; Davis, on his part, could not lift Merrifield unaided; therefore he, Bernard, must help Davis.
Throwing himself astride of the yard and hanging on with his right hand and right leg, Bernard groped with his left hand—blindly, since he could not trust himself to look down. His fingers touched Davis's wrist. His reach was not enough.
He wriggled still farther on the fore side of the massive spar.
"Be sharp, man!" panted Davis. "Can't hold him much longer."
Thus appealed to, Bernard forgot his own peril. Unhesitatingly he looked down, saw that another six inches of reach would enable him to perform useful service. He stretched and grasped Merrifield by the ankle of his previously free foot.
"Got him!" he gasped.
"Then heave!" responded Davis.
A wave of stark fear swept across Bernard's mind. He realized now that if either he or Davis overbalanced it would mean death to the three of them—Merrifield, Davis, and himself—and possibly to Geoff as well.
All the same he heaved. So did Davis. Their joint efforts resulted in raising Merrifield, still head downwards, until his feet were about level with the upper side of the yard.
Then Geoff, abandoning his rôle as a human counterpoise, shifted his hold to Merrifield's legs.
"All secure!" he exclaimed.
With this assurance Davis, blown and breathless, regained a position of relative security upon the yard. Bernard did likewise. The three then set to work to complete the rescue of the junior cadet, until, frightfully scared and trembling like a leaf, Merrifield was hauled and held athwart the yard.
In the respite that followed, Bernard looked down. He, too, felt dizzy and inclined to be violently sick. Dim realization of the decidedly narrow squeak seemed to paralyse brain and muscle. A white mist danced in front of his eyes. He could hardly feel the rigid grasp of his hands.
"Upper tops'l-yard there!" roared Captain Corbold. "What are you hanging on the slack for?"
The effect was electrical.
"Get a move on, you fellows!" exclaimed Davis, laying out on the yard-arm.
Spacing themselves out on the foot-rope Bernard and Geoff—fear of the skipper banishing all other sensations—resumed their work, while Merrifield, gaining the topmast shrouds, swarmed aloft to his station.
At length the work was completed and the cadets regained the deck. They were last in executing the task. The fore and main topmast men had been "blown down" quite five minutes ago.
"What a brute the Old Man is!" was Geoff's unspoken opinion when he had time to collect his thoughts. Bernard held similar views; nor is there much doubt that they were shared by the other participators in the act that nearly proved to be a tragedy.
But after dinner the Old Man sent word for the four youths to report themselves in his cabin.
"What happened, Merrifield?" he demanded. "Skylarking?"
"No, sir," replied the junior cadet. "The foot of the t'gallant flogged and flung me off. Davis caught me as I fell."
"So I observed," rejoined the Captain airily. "You three, Davis in particular, acted with commendable courage and resource. I suppose you thought I was an inhuman brute to order you to carry on, eh?"
The quartette remained silent. They had not the face to admit the impeachment; they were too honest to deny it.
"I thought so," continued the Old Man, with a quizzical smile. "Now, if I'd ordered you down the four of you would be useless for the rest of your lives as far as going aloft is concerned. You would have lost your nerve and would never regain it. I know: I've had some. By making you carry on you had to forget what had happened, because there was something else to occupy your minds. A landlubber uses his feet practically for one purpose—to walk with. A proper seaman soon finds that they are an extra pair of hands. After all's said and done working aloft is easier and safer than riding a motor-bicycle. A' right, that will do. If any of you care to blow in to my cabin at eight bells there'll be tea with jam an' cake."
"What did the Old Man say?" eagerly inquired a number of the cadets when the four returned to the mess.
"Say?" echoed Davis. "He was so mad because we were behind time with that mizzen t'gallant sail that he's stopping all leave at Rio."