As soon as I’d seen that we were caught aback, I had let the three upper topsails come down with a run. My crew were aloft now on fore, main and mizzen, furling these sails, which I couldn’t afford to lose. Neither could I afford to lose the mainsail or break the main yard; but at that moment there were no men to spare from the topsails, where the second mate was working like a demon; while old Ridley had all that he could do on deck, letting go gear and attending to the three topsail yards. With every fresh puff of westerly wind, I saw the main yard bending like a bow; it was a big spar, over ninety feet long. The mainsail was a new piece of canvas, and probably would hold; but the tack or the weather brace might carry away under the unequal strain, and then the yard was gone. "You can blow your whistle, sir" I said to the young officer who had been watching me so closely—they all carried whistles in their pockets, to call their men with. "Take charge of that mainsail, if you please, and get it off her as quickly as you can" He needed no second invitation; was off in a flash, blowing a loud toot as he ran forward. I heard the call answered by another whistle in the waist; that little Cockney boatswain had been getting anxious, too. Out came the steamer’s crew with a rush from their side of the forward house, where they’d fallen into the habit of loafing regardless of what went on outside. Clew-garnets and buntlines were manned with seamanlike precision, the tack was started, the sheet was eased away, and in a remarkably short time they had smothered the big sail and hauled it up to the yard. But they didn’t intend to leave the job half finished. "Aloft, boys, and out on the yard!" cried the mate. A moment later he sprang up the ratlines himself, to superintend the job; the little Cockney took the weather yardarm, piping a song as he perched above the water; they furled the sail smartly, reaching the deck along with our own men from the topsail yard. Captain Potter, who had come on deck in the interval, was watching his men with manifest pride. I was glad that it happened so, and took especial pains to compliment the chief officer before all hands. He blushed like a school girl, now that the emergency was over. The little Cockney, however, couldn’t resist a stroke of impudence. "We thanks ye, Captain" he sang out loudly "That’s the w’y we does it aboard of a bloomin’ lime-juicer" The sally brought a roar from the whole main-deck, in which I’d have been a stick if I hadn’t joined. "What do you do with such saucy rascals?" I called to Captain Potter "Shall I keel-haul him, or serve him an extra pint of grog?" "Myke it a pint o’ grog all around, Ol’ Bo-ri-i" giggled the boatswain, dodging around the mast.