I looked up from the black depths and my unpleasant reflections, and gazed to the southward.  As I did so, several sharp flashes showed upon the dark horizon.  It looked as if something were raising fast, and I stepped below a moment to see the glass.  It was down to twenty-eight.  Going on deck at once, I bawled for the watch to clew down the main-topgallantsail.  In a moment the men were swarming up the main rigging, and the sail was let go by the run, the yard settling nicely, while the clews, buntlines, and leachlines were hauled down in unison.

“Mizzen topsail!” I cried.

The watch came up the poop ladders with a rush and tramping of feet that sounded ominously loud for the work on so quiet a night.  The yelling of the men at the braces coupled with the tramping aroused Captain Thompson in spite of his liquor, and he came up the after-companion to see what was the matter.

“Hey, there, hey!” he bawled.  “What are you doing, Rolling?  Are you coming to an anchor already?  Have I been asleep six months, and is this the Breakwater ahead?  No?  Well, do you expect to get to port without canvas on the ship?  Split me, but I thought you knew how to sail a boat when you signed on as mate.  Don’t come any of these grandmother tricks on me, hey?  I won’t have it.  Don’t make a fool of yourself before these men.  Get that topsail up again quicker’n hell can scorch a feather, or I’ll be taking a hand, see!  I’ll be taking a hand.  Jump lively, you dogs!” he roared, as he finished.

The topsail was swayed up again, the men silent and sullen with this extra work.  Then came the order for the t’gallantsail, and by the time that was mastheaded, the skipper followed with orders for royals, fore and aft.

During the time these affairs were going on upon the ship, the southern horizon was lit up again and again by vivid flashes.  It appeared to sink into a deeper gloom afterward, but in another moment we heard the distant boom of thunder.  Before we could get the topgallantsail set there was a blinding flash off the bow-port, followed by a deep rolling peal of thunder.  I was standing in the waist and sprang to Trunnell’s room—­

“All hands!” I bawled.

Then I rushed for the mizzen rigging, yelling for the men to clew down the t’gallantsail and let the topsail halyards go by the run.  At the cry for all hands the men tumbled out, looking around to see what had happened.  It was dead still, and the only sounds were the cries of the men on deck to those aloft, and the rattling of gear.  Trunnell was on deck in a moment, and as he rushed aft I went for the main rigging with the intention of saving the upper topsail if I could.  It was quick work getting up those ratlines, but even as I went I heard a deepening murmur from the southward.  The yard came down by the run as I gained the top, owing to Trunnell having cast off everything, trusting that we might get some stops on the sail before too late.  I heard the skipper roaring out orders to “hurry there,” followed by curses at the slowness of the work.  He appeared to realize now what was happening, and it sobered him.