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"Wind's coming aft" he said to Buckland. "Aloft there! Send a hand to bear those backstays abreast the top-brim. Hands to the weather-braces. After guard! Haul in the weather main brace! Haul together, men! Well with the foreyard! 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."