“Up with her, then! Out out-haul! Check your sheet!” ordered the Patrol Leader.
Craddock and Talbot at the halliard whipped the head of the canvas aloft. Simultaneously, Wilson tailed on to the out-haul. The spinnaker, distended by the light breeze, strained at the sheet; then, without warning, dropped from aloft in shivering folds. Unaccountably the halliard had parted, letting the spinnaker down with a run.
There was a heavy splash. Heavitree, enveloped by the canvas, had been jerked into the sea.
“Man overboard!” shouted Craddock. “Down helm, Carline!”
The helmsman put the tiller hard over. Peter, snatching up a life-buoy, prepared to throw it within easy reach of the Sea Scout in the ditch. The others, abandoning the spinnaker, rushed aft to bring the dinghy alongside to pick up their chum.
Alertly, Craddock watched the curving line of ripples astern as the Kestrel came up into the line. There was no sign of Heavitree. The lad was an excellent swimmer, but there was the likelihood that he had hit the rail as he fell and had been rendered insensible.
Full thirty long-drawn-out seconds passed, but still no sign of Heavitree. Peter looked at Brandon. The Patrol Leader shook his head.
He was outwardly cool and collected; yet the disappearance of Heavitree without a trace filled him with apprehension. Even a stunned man under water would be expelling air from his lungs and the bubbles would show on the surface. The difficulty was that already the yacht had covered fifty or more yards since the time the accident had occurred, and in consequence it was futile to attempt to dive after the lad. And yet it was agonising having to stand and watch and yet do nothing.
The Kestrel was now hove-to on to the port tack, her head-sheets, which had not been eased, being taut to wind’ard. The folds of the spinnaker hung idly over the starboard side between the shrouds and the forestay.
With one exception everyone was looking astern. The exception was Eric Little. Unnoticed by the others he crept cautiously for’ard and began to gather in the trailing canvas. Hanging on to the rail was the missing Heavitree, breathless but otherwise none the worse for his immersion. He had managed to grasp the coaming as he fell, although he was immersed up to his waist. The spinnaker, completely enveloping him, had effectually hidden him from view.