“Trim sails!” sang out Commander Nesbitt as soon as he saw the middies and their men coming down from aloft. “Lee braces—brace up the yards!”
During all this time, though, the wind had been shifting to the westward and ahead; and, noticing the jib beginning to shiver and flap, the commander came to the fore again.
“Brace the mainyard sharp up!” he shouted; when, on the seamen at the bitts reporting that “the mark” was “down,” or, in other words, that the yard had been braced up as far as it would go, the other yards were trimmed parallel and the active commander cried, “Belay the main brace!”
“By jingo, I think he might say ‘splice the main brace’ now, after all this jollification!” growled Mr Stormcock, who had come up on the quarter-deck while the ship was thus being made snug for the night and left now under easy sail, consisting of the courses with reefed topsails and topgallants, as well as the jib and spanker and foretopmast staysail. “The poor fellows must be precious dry with all that cutting about up and down the ratlines, and I wouldn’t mind a glass of grog myself.”
“No, really, you don’t mean that!” said Larkyns chaffingly. “Wouldn’t you prefer a cup of tea, now?”
“Cup of tea be hanged!” rejoined the master’s mate, angrily. “You youngsters of the present day are always thinking of your tea, like a lot of blessed old women! In my time, fellows at sea didn’t go in for slops and mollycoddling, as all of you do now. By jingo, the gunroom might as well be turned into a nursery at once, with such a pack of children about!”
“At all events, we’d never be at a loss for a nurse, old chappie, with you aboard,” said Larkyns, sniggering. “Indeed, you’d make even a better one than we could get ashore.”
“Hey!” exclaimed Mr Stormcock, a bit puzzled at this. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t mean a dry nurse, you know, old chappie, though you said, you were ‘dry’ just now,” replied Larkyns, laughing at his own joke. “Nor do I mean a wet ’un. No, old chappie, I mean a wetter-un, do you twig?”
“Phaugh!” ejaculated the master’s mate, with a gesture of disgust, as he turned towards the binnacle to take the course the ship was steering, so as to lay it off on his chart and estimate the distance run and our probable position by dead reckoning. “A beastly pun like that is enough a make a fellow sick!”