So cocoa is the word and the snotty starts on an adventurous voyage over the deck to the galley which is forrard; if he is unlucky he gets a sea over him on the way.  Here he finds the hands of the watch, smoking and keeping warm, and he forages round for some hot water, which he gets safely back to the pantry down in the wardroom.  Here he mixes the cocoa and collects sufficient clean mugs (if he can find them), spoons, sugar and biscuits to go round.  These he carefully “chocks off” while he goes and calls Wilson and gives him his share—­for Wilson gets up at 4.30 every morning to sketch the sunrise, work at his scientific paintings and watch the sea-birds flying round the ship.  Then back to the bridge, and woe betide him if he falls on the way, for then it all has to be done over again.

Pennell, who sleeps under the chart table on the bridge, is also fed and inquires anxiously whether there are any stars showing.  If there are he is up immediately to get an observation, and then retires below to work it out and to tabulate the endless masses of figures which go to make up the results of his magnetic observations—­dip, horizontal force and total force of the magnetic needle.

A squall strikes the ship.  Two blasts of the whistle fetches the watch out, and “Stand by topsail halyards,” “In inner jib,” sends one hand to one halyard, the midshipman of the watch to the other, and the rest on to foc’stle and to the jib downhaul.  Down comes the jib and the man standing by the fore topsail halyard, which is on the weather side of the galley, is drenched by the crests of two big seas which come over the rail.

But he has little time to worry about things like this, for the wind is increasing and “Let go topsail halyards” comes through the megaphone from the bridge, and he wants all his wits to let go the halyard from the belaying-pins and jump clear of the rope tearing through the block as the topsail yard comes sliding down the mast.

“Clew up” is the next order, and then “All hands furl fore and main upper topsails,” and up we go out on to the yard.  Luckily the dawn is just turning the sea grey and the ratlines begin to show up in relief.  It is far harder for the first and middle watches, who have to go aloft in complete darkness.  Once on the yard you are flattened against it by the wind.  The order to take in sail always fetches Pennell out of his chart-house to come and take a hand.

The two sodden sails safely furled—­luckily they are small ones—­the men reach the deck to find that the wind has shifted a little farther aft and they are to brace round.  This finished, it is broad daylight, and the men set to work to coil up preparatory to washing decks—­not that this would seem very necessary.  Certainly there is no hose wanted this morning, and a general kind of tidying up and coiling down ropes is more what is done.

The two stewards, Hooper, who is to land with the Main Party, and Neale, who will remain with the Ship’s Party, turn out at six and rouse the afterguard for the pumps, a daily evolution, and soon an unholy din may be heard coming up from the wardroom.  “Rouse and shine, rouse and shine:  show a leg, show a leg” (a relic of the old days when seamen took their wives to sea).  “Come on, Mr. Nelson, it’s seven o’clock.  All hands on the pumps!”