The sea ran swiftly, with a quick, live feeling. As sure as death there was awful wind somewhere in that peaceful ocean, driving with immense force and resistless power.
Slade looked askance at the topsails. As he gazed the old man sang out from aft:
"Clew up the topsails and roll them up snug. Put extra gaskets on them!"
Then came the main and mizzen along with the outer jibs, and by the time the watch had their dinner we were close reefing the mizzen and taking the bonnet out of the foresail.
Miss Aline was on deck, as the sudden motion was so extraordinary that to remain below meant to be seasick. Her aunt came up from a hasty meal, and clung to the poop rail and watched us work.
"Oh, those gallant men!" she murmured to her niece. "See how they climb like monkeys upon that awful sail. Romantic heroes! Yes, Aline, they are wonderful, and the way that officer talks to them is a revelation. Just hear him."
I was at that moment holding forth to a couple of squareheads upon the evident virtues of passing reef points properly, and I may have slipped my etiquette a bit, for my language was such that I was almost persuaded to follow it with action. But I had heard enough. I stopped. The men went on lazily, growling at the work.
"Reefing a ship in a dead calm," grumbled one, "ten minutes for the eats, and then we'll loose these here p'ints out ag'in, and take the sail to the winch."
I was too angry to hear more. Here was an old lady putting me queer with men who ought to know better than talk when they were expected to hurry. At least they should not criticize their officers.
"Get along, you Scandaluvian sons of Haman! Get those points in lively, or the squall'll break before you know it—an' I'll be the rain, thunder, and lightning!" I roared.