I looked with horror up aloft; then came over me the remembrance of Marryat's story of the lad who refused to go to the mast-head, and who was hoisted up by the signal halyards.

While thinking of this, another 'Well, sir, why don't you obey orders ?' started me into the lower rigging, which I began with the greatest difficulty to climb, expecting at every step to go headlong overboard.
A good-natured sailor, seeing the fix I was in, gave me a helping hand, and up I crawled as far as the maintop.

This, I must explain to my non-nautical reader, is not the mast-head, but a comparatively comfortable half-way resting-place, from whence one can look about feeling somewhat secure.
On looking down to the deck my heart bled to see the poor sailor who had helped me undergoing punishment for his kind act.

I heard myself at the same time ordered 'to go higher,' and a little higher I did go.

Then I stopped, frightened to death, and almost senseless; terror, however, seemed to give me presence of mind to cling on, and there I remained till some hours afterwards; then I was called down.