Leaving the old professor at the wheel, Frank called the coon and the Irishman to help him, and they went out on deck.
Mingled with the great clouds of down-falling snowflakes were the dreadful needles of ice that stung their eyes, were inhaled in their lungs, and fairly penetrated their skin.
The halliards were slackened off, and as the canvas fell in lazy-jacks the work of furling was reduced to a minimum.
Down fluttered the square sails from the yards, while the staysails were hauled to the bowsprit by the down-hauls.
Barney was at the mainmast, Pomp at the foremast, and Frank had gone up forward.
The wind was driving the ice and snow in their faces.
As soon as the canvas was down on the yards, the darky and the Celt ran up the shrouds to tie it down with gaskets.
All hands worked like beavers.
The sails had nearly all been fastened when the coon and the inventor were suddenly startled by hearing a wild yell from Barney.
It was followed by a snap like a pistol shot.