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The manoeuvre was executed gradually and ably, and scarce a bucketful of water shipped. "Furl taupsles and set the main trysail! There, Mr. Dodd, so much for you and your Isle of Wight. The land you saw was Dungeness, and you would have run on into the North Sea, I'll be bound."
In two hours more, tap, tap, came Bayliss, in charge. "If we don't take sail in, they'll take themselves out." "Furl to-gallen'sels, and call me if it gets any worse." In another hour Bayliss was at him again. "Blowing a gale, sir, and a Channel fog on." "Reef taupsles, and call me if it gets any worse."
However, these theorists were no sooner loaded than something occurred to make them more serious. They were sent for in haste to Dodd's cabin; they found him giving Sharpe a new order. "Shorten sail to the taupsles and jib, get the colours ready on the halyards, and then send the men aft." Sharpe ran out full of zeal, and tumbled over Ramgolam, who was stooping remarkably near the keyhole.
"Shorten sail to the taupsles and jib, get the colors ready on the halyards, and then send the men aft. . . ." Sail was no sooner shortened, and the crew ranged, than the captain came briskly on deck, saluted, jumped on a carronade, and stood erect. He was not the man to show the crew his forebodings. "My men, the schooner coming up on our weather quarter is a Portuguese pirate.
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