The master of the Stormy Petrel arose and stretched himself. Then he put on the shoes he had dropped on lying down, and came out into the cabin. He gave one look at the barometer and his sleepiness vanished.
"I should say there was a storm coming!" he exclaimed, and ran for the companionway. He was soon on deck, and cast an anxious eye around.
"Mr. Shepley, why haven't you shortened sail?" he demanded, in a low but sharp voice.
"I didn't think it necessary, just yet," was the cool response.
"I don't agree with you," returned the master of the bark, shortly, and then, without delay, gave orders to take in fully half the sails, while the crew were ordered to remain in readiness to stow away still more of the canvas at a moment's notice. The sailors, for the most part, worked with a will, although there were several laggards, for laziness among certain classes of men is not confined to the land alone.
Captain Marshall was angry, and he did not hesitate to let the first mate know it.
"There is no sense in taking too many risks," he remarked, after his orders had been obeyed. "That storm is coming, as sure as fate."
"I wanted to make as much headway as possible before it struck us," grumbled Shepley. "We haven't suffered any."
"No, but we might have lost a topmast or a topsail. After this, you will please be a little more careful."
There was no time to argue the matter, for a little later the storm began in earnest. All of the sails were taken in but the fore sheet, and this was reefed down, allowing just enough canvas to fly to keep the bark before the wind. The breeze was turning to half a gale, and from a distance came the rumble of thunder. Then the sky grew still blacker and a flash of lightning illuminated the angry waters.