Sub-lieutenant Tressidar raised his hand as a signal for the winch to be stopped. Jorkler, his eyes fixed upon the man who had aroused his enmity, made no effort to obey.
Leading Stoker Smith realised his peril. The wire rope which he was grasping was being drawn completely through the sheave. He changed his grip from the rope to the metal block, but the latter afforded no adequate hold.
"Stop winding, you blithering idiot!" roared the commander, who from the after-bridge was a witness of all that occurred.
Still Jorkler, ostentatiously fumbling with the mechanism, allowed the winch to revolve. The end of the rope, including the eye-splice, pulled through the sheave and fell with a thud upon the deck, the men scattering right and left to avoid it in its descent.
In the midst of his peril Smith espied a short length of rope bent to the end of the derrick. Again he shifted his hold, and, grasping the rope's-end, strove to fling his legs athwart the steeply sloping spar.
As he did so the rope parted like pack-thread. Groans escaped the on-lookers as the doomed man, with arms and legs outstretched, hurtled through the air. To the spectators he seemed to fall slowly, but with a sickening crash his back came into contact with a beam in the hold of the lighter.
A dozen of his shipmates rushed to his assistance, but the man was beyond mortal aid.
"What the deuce have you been up to?" inquired the engineer-lieutenant of the man at the winch.
"Sorry, sir," replied Jorkler with well-feigned grief. "The engine got out of gear. Is he dead, sir?"
"As if he could be anything else!" retorted the irate officer. "Stand aside, you blithering idiot! There'll be something for you to answer." Five minutes later the interrupted work was resumed. The lifeless victim had been removed; only sheer hard work could dispel the gloom that had fallen on the ship's company.