Then comes in trumpet tones the orders, issued in the commanding tones the sailors love so well to hear, and which fill their hearts with confidence in their commander:
“Reef topsails! Man the topsail clew lines and buntlines—weather topsail braces! Stand by the lee braces, bowlines and halyards!”
The young reefers obey with alacrity and seeming recklessness, the orders being taken up and repeated, the boatswain’s whistle piping merrily the while.
Soon comes another order in hoarse, manly tones from the executive, and it is given to a mass of youthful humanity huddled together at the foot of the shrouds, and awaiting their turn with all the eagerness of champions about to spring away upon a race of life or death.
Loud came the orders:
“Haul out the reef tackles! Haul up the buntlines! Aloft, topmen! Lay out!”
Away they go up the shrouds like a stampede of monkeys, and out upon the slender yards and “lay out.”
With strong hands they gather in the flapping, heavy folds of canvas and reef close, while just as the order is upon the lips of the officer: “Lay in, top men!” one of the reefers, by a violent lurch of the ship, is torn from his hold and goes downward, striking with a dull thud the yard below in his fall, and thence downward into the sea.
The command of the officer is heard and obeyed:
“Lay down from aloft!”