I was knocked down, and for some moments was unable to rise.
So great had been the incline of the schooner that the end of the yard of the mainsail was plunged three or four feet into the crest of a wave.

When it emerged Martin Holt, who had been astride on it, had disappeared.

A cry was heard, uttered by the sailing-master, whose arm could be seen wildly waving amid the whiteness of the foam.

The sailors rushed to the side and flung out one a rope, another a cask, a third a spar--in short, any object of which Martin Holt might lay hold.

At the moment when I struggled up to my feet I caught sight of a massive substance which cleft the air and vanished in the whirl of the waves.
Was this a second accident?
No! it was a voluntary action, a deed of self-sacrifice.