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"Mr. Wellard" he said to the volunteer beside him. "Go and tell the captain that I think another reef is necessary."

"Aye aye, sir."

It was only a few seconds before Wellard was back on deck again.

"Cap'n's coming himself, sir."

"Very good" said Bush.

He did not meet Wellard's eyes as he said the meaningless words; he did not want Wellard to see how he took the news, nor did he want to see any expression that Wellard's face might wear. Here came the captain, his shaggy long hair whipping in the wind and his hook nose turning this way and that as usual.

"You want to take in another reef, Mr. Bush?"

"Yes, sir" said Bush, and waited for the cutting remark that he expected. It was a pleasant surprise that none was forthcoming. The captain seemed almost genial.

"Very good, Mr. Bush. Call all hands."

The pipes shrilled along the decks.

"All hands! All hands! All hands to reef tops'ls. All hands!"

The men came pouring out; the cry of "All hands" brought out the officers from the wardroom and the cabins and the midshipmen's berths, hastening with their station-bills in their pockets to make sure that the reorganised crew were properly at their stations. The captain's orders pealed against the wind. Halbards and reef tackles were manned; the ship plunged and rolled over the grey sea under the grey sky so that a landsman might have wondered how a man could keep his footing on deck, far less venture aloft. Then in the midst of the evolution a young voice, soaring with excitement to a high treble, cut through the captain's orders.