Captain Snaggs, however, had not done with them yet.
“Clew up an’ furl the mainsail!”
“Man the jib down-haul!”
“Brail up the spanker!”
He shouted out these several orders as quickly as he could bawl them, the creaking of the cordage and rattling of the clew-garnet blocks forming a fitting accompaniment to his twangy voice; while the plaintive ‘Yo—ho—hoy—e! Yo—ho—hai—e!’ of the men, as they hauled upon the clewlines and leech and buntlines of the heavy main course, chimed in musically with the wash of the waves as they broke over the bows, dashing high over the yard-arms in a cataract of spray, and wetting to the skin those out on the fo’c’s’le furling the jib—these having the benefit also of a second bath below the surface as well, when the ship dived under as they got on to the footrope of the jib-boom, plunging them into the water up to their middles and more.
“I guess, we’re going to hev it rougher yet,” said the captain presently, when the second-mate came aft, after seeing all snug forward, to ask whether he might now dismiss the port watch to their long delayed dinner. “Thet thaar squall wer a buster, but thaar’s worse comin’, to my reck’nin’. We’d best take another reef in them topsails an’ hev one in the foresail, too.”
“Verra goot, sir!” replied Jan Steenbock, the mate, respectfully, as he made his way forward again to where the men were waiting, anxious to go below to their lobscouse—cold, alas! by now. “Verra goot!”
Captain Snaggs smiled contemptuously after him, and then broke into a laugh, which was shared in by the first-mate, an American like himself, but one of a stouter and coarser stamp and build, albeit he boasted of a more romantic sort of name—Jefferson Flinders, to wit. This worthy now sniggering in sympathy, as he came up the after companion and took his place by the captain’s side, having been roused out before his time by the commotion on deck.
“A rum coon thet, sir,” said he to the captain, in response to his laugh. “He’ll be the death of me some day, I reckon, with thet durned ‘verra goot!’ of his’n, you bet, sir!”
“We’ve a rum lot o’ hands altogither aboard, Flinders—chaps ez thinks they hev only come to sea to eat an’ enj’y themselves, an’ don’t want to work fur thaar grub; but, I guess I’ll haze’ ’em, Flinders, I’ll haze’ ’em!” snapped out Captain Snaggs, in reply, his wiry billy-goat beard bristling again as he yelled out in a louder tone,—“Forrud thaar! Mister Steenbock; what air ye about, man—didn’t I tell ye I want another reef taken in them topsails? Away aloft with ye agen; lay out thaar, an’ look spry about it!”