“Top-gallant sheet and halyards.”
“Luff you may, quarter-master; luff, I tell you. A small pull of that weather maintop-gallant brace—that will do,” said the master.
“Top-men aloft there;—stand by to clew up the royals—and, Captain Wilson, shall we take them in?—I’m afraid of that pole—it bends now like a coach-whip,” said Mr Pottyfar, looking up aloft, with his hands in both pockets.
“In royals—lower away.”
“They are going about, sir,” said the second lieutenant, Mr Haswell.
“Look out,” observed the chaplain, “it’s coming.” Again the breeze increased, and the frigate was borne down.
“Hands reef topsails in stays, Mr Pottyfar.”
“Ay, ay, sir—’bout ship.”
The helm was put down and the topsails lowered and reefed in stays.
“Very well, my lads, very well indeed,” said Captain Wilson.