“I’m after thinking, Mr Terence, that Dan Hoolan, though he’s mighty quiet just now, will be playing us some prank or other before long, if he can find a chance,” observed Larry to me.
“Well, then, Larry, just keep an eye on him, and let me know what he’s about. I don’t want to make you an eavesdropper, but for the man’s own sake he must not be allowed to attempt any mischief. He’d be sure to have the worst of it.”
“Arrah now, of course he would, Mr Terence. They’re honest boys aboard here, and they’d soon clap him in limbo,” observed Larry as I passed on along the deck.
He had already become thoroughly imbued with the right spirit of a British seaman.
I gave myself, however, little concern about Hoolan after this.
For some time we had a favourable breeze; the sea was calm, and everything went smoothly. We had plenty of work keeping the squadron together, compelling the fast vessels to shorten sail, and the laggards to make it. Some ran on with only their topsails set. Others had studding-sails set on either side. We were all day long sending the bunting up and down, and firing guns as signals.
“Why are all those bits of coloured stuff hoisted to the masthead?” asked Larry. “They tell me that the captain makes the young gentlemen run them up and down to keep their fingers warm.”
I explained to him that each flag represented a figure or number, and sometimes a word or a sentence, according to the distinguishing pennant hoisted over it. For which purpose every vessel was provided with a book of signals, and we could thus communicate with each other just as if we were speaking.