Mr Ansell and Mr Petres had two fatigue parties on the poop, without muskets. "To the right—face—to the right face. To the right—face—to the right—face."
"It's a dead calm with them soldiers—head round the compass," said one of the seamen to another.
"To the left—face—quick march, to the left—turn—to the right—turn—close file—mark time—right—left—right—left—forward."
"Them 'ere chap's legs all going together put one in mind of a centipee—don't they, Tom?"
"Yes, but they don't get on quite so fast. Holloh, what pipe's that?—'All hands, air bedding.'"
The ship was hauled close to the wind, which was light. At the pipe, the sailors below ran up the hatchway, and those on deck threw down their work. In a minute every hammock was out of the netting, and every seaman busy at unlashing.
"Now, major, we had better go into the cabin," said Captain Oughton, laughing. "I shall, I can assure you."
Beds and blankets which are not aired or shook more than once a month, are apt to be very full of what is termed fluff and blanket hairs, and they have a close smell, by no means agreeable. The sailors, who had an idea that the order had not been given inconsiderately, were quite delighted, and commenced shaking their blankets on the forecastle and weather gangway, raising a cloud, which the wind carried aft upon the parties exercising upon the quarter-deck.
"What the devil is all this?" cried Captain Majoribanks, looking forward with dismay. "Order—arms."
Lieutenant Winterbottom and half of his party were now seized with a fit of coughing. "Confound it!—shut—pans—handle—upon my soul I'm choked."