"I thought so!" growls Ned, as two hours later he hears the command to "turn out and shorten sail."
Ugh-h-h! It is ten degrees colder at least than when he went below. Mast and spar, brace and rigging, alike are cased in thin ice.
The upper topsails have been lowered on the caps, where they are thrashing as only stiff, half-frozen sails can thrash.
"Jump up there lively, and roll up the main topsail first," bellows Mr. Marline, and in a moment wiry little Mr. Kendall is in the main-rigging. Closely following him is Ned Rand, but not from any desire to show unusual activity. He has learned that in furling a sail the extremity of the yard is the easiest place, for here he has nothing particular to do except to hold on by the "lift" with one hand, and pass the yard-arm gasket to the man who stands next inside.
The sail is "picked up," and secured after a fashion, for it is as unmanageable as an oak plank. The gaskets are passed, and the men descend the slippery rigging. Ned delays as long as possible, for the fore and mizzen topsails have yet to be furled.
"You, Ned, are you going to stay on that yard all night?" thunders Mr. Marline from below, at which gentle hint Ned bestirs himself.
Crawling cautiously along the slippery, swaying foot-rope, one moment high in air, and the next with the boiling, seething sea beneath his feet, Ned is nearly half way in, when, as the ship rolls heavily to leeward, his mittened hands slip on the icy iron jack-stay, and with a wild cry, which is heard even above the storm, he is launched into space.
"Man overboard!" yells Mr. Kendall, who is very excitable.
Eph Jackson, who has been sent to the lee, hears it, and stooping, "yanks" the grating from under the helms-man's feet, sending it spinning over the rail.
Captain Elton was never known to be excited in his whole life.