Stiff on the neck, as though Death whispered there.
A man below him punched him in the side.
"Get up, you Dauber, or let me get past."
He saw the belly of the skysail skied,
Gulped, and clutched tight, and tried to go more fast.
Sometimes he missed his ratline and was grassed,
Scraped his shin raw against the rigid line.
The clamberers reached the futtock-shrouds' incline.
Cursing they came; one, kicking out behind,
Kicked Dauber in the mouth, and one below