"I'll shame ye all, then, for a set of cowardly lubbers!" cries the mate; and what with the anger and the drink he was as good as his word, and up the ratlines in a twinkle.
In a flash we were after him,—he was our officer, you see, and we felt ashamed,—me at the head, and the lads following after.
I got to the futtock shrouds, and there I stopped, for I saw him myself,—a palish boy, with a jerk of thin hair on his forehead; I'd have known him anywhere in this world or t'other. I saw him just as distinct as I see you, Tom Brown, sitting on that yard quite steady with the royal flapping like to flap him off.
I reckon I've had as much experience fore and aft, in the course of fifteen years aboard, as any man that ever tied a reef-point in a nor'easter; but I never saw a sight like that, not before nor since.
I won't say that I didn't wish myself well on deck; but I will say that
I stuck to the shrouds, and looked on steady.
Whitmarsh, swearing that that royal should be furled, went on and went up.
It was after that I heard the voice. It came straight from the figure of the boy upon the upper yard.
But this time it says, "Come up! Come up!" And then, a little louder, "Come up! Come up! Come up!" So he goes up, and next I knew there was a cry,—and next a splash,—and then I saw the royal flapping from the empty yard, and the mate was gone, and the boy.
Job Whitmarsh was never seen again, alow or aloft, that night or ever after.
I was telling the tale to our parson this summer,—he's a fair-minded chap, the parson, in spite of a little natural leaning to strawberries, which I always take in very good part,—and he turned it about in his mind some time.