"I think," the captain said as Mr. Renshaw came up for his customary walk before breakfast, "we are going to have a change. The glass has fallen a good deal, and I did not like the look of the sun when it rose this morning."
"It looks to me very much as usual," Mr. Renshaw replied, shading his eyes and looking at the sun, "except perhaps that it is not quite so bright."
"Not so bright by a good deal," the captain said. "There is a change in the colour of the sky—it is not so blue. The wind has fallen too, and I fancy by twelve o'clock there will be a calm. Of course we cannot be surprised if we do have a change. We have had a splendid spell of weather, and we are getting into stormy latitudes now."
When the passengers went up after breakfast they found that the Flying Scud was scarcely moving through the water. The sails hung idly against the masts, and the yards creaked as the vessel rose and fell slightly on an almost invisible swell.
"This would be a good opportunity," the captain said cheerfully, "to get down our light spars; the snugger we are the better for rounding the Horn. Mr. Ryan, send all hands aloft, and send down all spars over the topmast."
The crew swarmed up the rigging, and in two hours the Flying Scud was stripped of the upper yards and lofty spars.
"She looks very ugly," Marion Renshaw said. "Do you not think so, Mary?"
"Hideous," Mary Mitford agreed.
"She is in fighting trim now," Mr. Atherton said.
"Yes, but who are we going to fight?" Marion asked.