"That's so."
"Keep your helm hard down, Blair!" shouted Paul to the quartermaster in charge of the wheel.
"She don't mind it now, sir!" yelled the quartermaster, at the top of his lungs.
"She's falling off, Mr. Terrill," added Paul.
"I see she is, sir."
"We must keep her head up to it, or our decks will be washed. Hard down, Blair!"
"She don't mind it, sir!"
"Set the close-reefed foresail, Mr. Terrill," said the captain. "But be careful of the hands."
Terrill, with the trumpet in his hand, sprang from the life-line to the fife-rail, so as to be nearer to the hands who were to execute the captain's order. The unpleasant plight of Mr. Hamblin attracted his attention, in spite of the pressure of the emergency. His gyrations, as he bobbed about under the uneasy motions of the vessel, gave him a ludicrous appearance, which even the positive expression of suffering on his face did not essentially mitigate. He had evidently come to a realizing sense of the perils of the sea, and was a pitiful sight to behold.
"Man the foresail outhaul!" shouted Terrill, through his trumpet. "Mr. Martyn!"