At the Fall of Port Arthur

Larry passed the word to Cal Vincent, who was the boatswain of the Columbia, and soon the whistle piped up shrilly, and those who were below or in the forecastle, came on deck in a hurry. Already the wind was freshening, ruffling up the whitecaps in all directions. The sky, that had been so blue a short while before, became leaden, and the depths of the ocean took on a somber hue. The barometer indicated a great and immediate change.

"Lay aloft there, men!" cried Captain Ponsberry. "Our sails are mostly new and we don't want them ripped up if we can help it. Skip along there, Peterson!" The latter words to a big sailor who was moving across the deck at a snail's pace.

The sailor addressed, scowled. It was not his watch on deck and he hated to have his midday nap disturbed.

"Got a nail in ma boot," he said.

"Well, haul it out--after the sails are trimmed," returned the captain, and then turned to another hand: "S