It was an improved crank windlass, and the purchase it gave was enormous.

Of course, what it gave us in power we paid for in distance; as many times as it doubled my strength, that many times was doubled the length of rope I heaved in.

The tackle dragged heavily across the rail, increasing its drag as the spar arose more and more out of the water, and the exertion on the windlass grew severe.
But when the butt of the topmast was level with the rail, everything came to a standstill.
"I might have known it," I said impatiently.

"Now we have to do it all over again." "Why not fasten the tackle part way down the mast ?" Maud suggested.
"It's what I should have done at first," I answered, hugely disgusted with myself.
Slipping off a turn, I lowered the mast back into the water and fastened the tackle a third of the way down from the butt.

In an hour, what of this and of rests between the heaving, I had hoisted it to the point where I could hoist no more.