He poured rapid orders through his trumpet, while his lieutenants and other officers sprang away to their duties, leaving him almost alone upon the quarter-deck.
"It's plain enough what it means," he said aloud. "There's trouble coming; we must in with every rag. This ship's too light, anyhow, for a hurricane. The men don't know it, but they may be working for their lives. All right! Things are coming in fast enough. I'll get that schooner, too, wind or no wind."
As yet, there was only a fresh breeze to take note of, so far as a landsman could have discerned. There was no actual excitement among the sailors of the Clyde, merely because of a change in the color of the sky. Some of them, however, had sailed as many seas as had their captain or the whalers of the Noank, and they were freely expressing to their comrades their approval of his prudence. All were working, therefore, with an uncommon degree of energy. Their ways and their performances would have been, if he could have seen them, a very instructive lesson to Guert Ten Eyck. He would have learned much concerning the differences between a square-rigged three-master and a schooner like the Noank.
During this somewhat brief and exceedingly busy time, the two vessels had steadily approached each other. The first officer of the Clyde had attended to his taking in and reefing, and he now stood once more before his captain.
"The prize is within long range, sir."
"All right, Mr. Watson. Give her a gun. We must take her or sink her."
"Best sink her, sir. It's not safe to send off a boat. Most likely she's heavily armed, sir."
"No," said the captain, "no boat. We're short-handed, anyhow. We'll not sink her if we can help it. One thing I'm after is to overhaul her crew."
"You are right, sir," laughed the lieutenant. "A shot may bring her to."
There was more than one element, therefore, in the supposable value of the Noank, considered as the prize of the British frigate, Clyde.