“Boatswain’s mate,” bawled out the sleepy and sulky Mr Rattlin, “watch and idlers, wear ship.”
“Ay, ay, sir—whew, whew, whittle whew—watch and idlers, wear ship! Tumble up there, tumble up. Master-at-arms, brush up the bone-polishers.”
“What an infarnal nonsensical ceremony!” growled the pilot, sotto voce; “all bawl and no hawl—lucky we have plenty of sea-room.”
“Jump aft, Mr Rattlin,” said the captain, “and see that the convoy-signal to wear is all right.”
Mr Rattlin makes one step aft.
“Are the fore-topmast staysail halliards well manned, Mr Rattlin?—Jump forward and see,” said the officer of the watch.
Mr Rattlin makes one step forward.
“Is the deep sea-lead ready?” said the master. “Mr Rattlin, jump into the chains and see.”
Mr Rattlin makes one step to the right—“starboard, the wise it call.”
“Mr Rattlin, what the devil are you about?—where’s the hand stationed to the foresheet?” said the first-lieutenant. “Jump there and see.”