"Lay aloft there, men!" cried Captain Ponsberry. "Our sails are mostly new and we don't want them ripped up if we can help it. Skip along there, Peterson!" The latter words to a big sailor who was moving across the deck at a snail's pace.
The sailor addressed, scowled. It was not his watch on deck and he hated to have his midday nap disturbed.
"Got a nail in ma boot," he said.
"Well, haul it out—after the sails are trimmed," returned the captain, and then turned to another hand: "Semmel, what's the matter with you?" This to the suspicious-looking sailor with the heavy black beard.
"Nodding," grumbled Semmel, and turned away sulkily.
"Then get a move on, or we may lose a stick as well as a sail," and there followed a perfect volley of orders in a tone that none of the sailors misunderstood. Up to the yards they crawled like so many monkeys, and soon the creaking of halyard blocks was heard, as the topsails came down. The jib and flying jib were also taken in, and a little later the main-course and the mizzen-course.
"Reckon we can stand the fore-course for a little while longer," said Captain Ponsberry to Tom Grandon. "What do you think?"
"We can, unless it comes quicker nor it is coming now," returned the first mate.
"Well, keep an eye on the wind and reef her as soon as it begins to look nasty," said Captain Ponsberry, and returned to the cabin, to finish his nautical calculations.
The Columbia had left the last of the Philippines behind and was headed north through the China Sea toward the lower extremity of Formosa. She was not as new a ship as when Larry had first boarded her at Honolulu, for since that time she had seen half a dozen years of hard service. But Captain Ponsberry was a careful man and believed in making repairs as soon as they were needed, so there was small danger of her opening her seams or going to pieces even in the stiffest of blows. She leaked a little—the best of ships do that—but a short pumping every morning kept the water at the bottom of the well.