“Wind’s coming aft,” he said to Buckland. “Aloft there! Send a hand to bear those backstays abreast the topbrim. Hands to the weatherbraces. After guard! Haul in the weather main brace! Haul together, men! Well with the fore-yard! Well with the main yard! Belay every inch of that!”

The orders were given sensibly and sanely, and the hands stood waiting for the watch below to be dismissed.

“Bosun’s mate! My compliments to Mr. Lomax and I’ll be glad to see him on deck.”

Mr. Lomax was the purser, and the officers on the quarterdeck could hardly refrain from exchanging glances; it was hard to imagine any reason why the purser should be wanted on deck at this moment.

“You sent for me, sir?” said the purser, arriving short of breath on the quarterdeck.

“Yes, Mr. Lomax. The hands have been hauling in the weather main brace.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Now we’ll splice it.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me. We’ll splice the main brace. A tot of rum to every man. Aye, and to every boy.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me. A tot of rum, I said. Do I have to give my orders twice? A tot of rum for every man. I’ll give you five minutes, Mr. Lomax, and not a second longer.”

The captain pulled out his watch and looked at it significantly.

“Aye aye, sir,” said Lomax, which was all he could say. Yet he still stood for a second or two, looking first at the captain and then at the watch, until the big nose began to lift in his direction and the shaggy eyebrows began to come together. Then he turned and fled; if the unbelievable order had to be obeyed five minutes would not be long in which to collect his party together, unlock the spirit room, and bring up the spirits. The conversation between captain and purser could hardly have been overheard by more than half a dozen persons, but every hand had witnessed it, and the men were looking at each other unbelievingly, some with grins on their faces which Bush longed to wipe off.