“Mr. Truscott! Don’t you see that signal? Attend to your duties, or it will be the worse for you, peace or no peace.”
The wretched Truscott put his glass to his eye.
“All ships,” he read. “Form line on the larboard tack.”
Bush glanced at the captain for permission to proceed.
“Hands to the braces, there!” yelled Bush. “Fill that main tops’l. Smarter than that, you lubbers! Full and by, quartermaster. Mr. Cope, haven’t you eyes in your head? Take another pull at that weatherbrace! God bless my soul! Easy there! Belay!”
“All ships,” read Truscott with his telescope, as the Renown gathered way and settled in the wake of her next ahead. “Tack in succession.”
“Stand by to go about!” yelled Bush.
He noted the progress of the next ahead, and then spared time to rate the watch for its dilatoriness in going to its stations for tacking ship.
“You slowfooted slobs! I’ll have some of you dancing at the gratings before long!”
The next ahead had tacked by now, and the Renown was advancing into the white water she had left behind.