but he knew no more about a ship than Cleats, the boatswain, did about Greek. He was a very learned man, and lived in a Greek and Latin atmosphere. The dead languages were the chief end of man to him. He was cold, stern, and precise, except that, when hearing a class in Greek, he warmed up a little, and became more human, especially if the students manifested a becoming interest in his favorite branch.
Unfortunately for Paul Kendall, he was not an enthusiastic devotee of the Greek language and literature. He lived too much in the present to be enamoured of anything so old, and, as it seemed to him, so comparatively useless. But he was faithful in the discharge of all the academic requirements of the institution, not excepting even those branches which he disliked. Though he was always very respectful to Professor Hamblin, he was candid enough to say that he did not like Greek. He was, therefore, no favorite of the learned gentleman, who thought his abilities and his scholarship were over-estimated—because he did not like the dead languages.
“Mr. Terrill directs me to inform you that a squall is coming up,” said Ritchie, the third master, as he touched his cap to Captain Kendall.
“No interruption! No interruption!” interposed Professor Hamblin, very ill-naturedly.
The third master touched his cap, as the captain bowed to him in acknowledgment that he had heard the message, and then retired. The professor was vexed: perhaps he was a little more ill-natured than usual, on account of being slightly seasick—an effect produced by the uneasy roll of the vessel in the calm.
“Now, Mr. Kendall, go on with the dual of [Greek: admêv],” added he, as Ritchie retired.
“I must beg you will excuse me, Professor Hamblin,” said Paul, with the utmost deference, as he rose from the bench on which he was seated.
“Go on with the dual!” replied the professor, sternly.
Paul looked at the snapping gray eye of the learned gentleman, and was assured that he had a will of his own. As the captain of the Josephine, he did not wish to set an example of insubordination, which others might adopt before they were certain that the emergency required it. He had not seen the gathering clouds, and he had full confidence in the judgment and skill of Terrill, who was in charge of the deck. The rule was that the professors should be obeyed in study hours. This had always been the regulation on board the ship; but, then, the principal, who was a sailor himself, was always present to prevent any abuse of power.
Paul decided to yield the point for a time, at least, and he recited his lesson as directed by the professor. Half an hour later, Ritchie appeared again, with another message from the first lieutenant, to the effect that the squall was almost upon them. This was about the time that Flag-officer Gordon had sent for the signal-officer, on board of the ship.
“You must excuse me now, Professor Hamblin, for I must go on deck,” said Paul, as respectfully as he could speak.
“I can’t spare you; I haven’t finished the exercise yet,” replied Mr. Hamblin, sourly. “This is a plan to break up the lesson in Greek, because some of the young gentlemen don’t like to study it.”
“I beg your pardon, sir; but the officer of the deck sends me word that the squall is upon us. You can hear the thunder and see the lightning,” added Paul.
“I am not afraid of thunder and lightning,” growled the professor. “My classes are not to be broken up on any frivolous pretences. Mr. Lowington assured me I had full powers over all during study hours; and I tell you to be seated, and go on with your recitation.”
“But the vessel is in danger, sir,” protested Paul.
“I’m not afraid, and you need not be. Take your seat, sir, or I will report you to the principal.”
Paul’s face flushed. No officer or professor had before ever threatened to report him to Mr. Lowington. Mr. Hamblin was as ignorant as a baby upon nautical matters, and while the Josephine rolled easily on the waves, and the sails flapped idly against the masts, he could imagine no peril.
“I am sorry to disobey your order, sir; but in this instance I must,” said Paul, firmly, though his voice trembled with emotion.
“Very well, sir,” replied the professor, angrily, “I shall report you to the principal, and if I have any influence with him, you will be removed from your present position.”
Paul did not wait to hear any more, but hastened on deck. His quick eye discovered the peril of the moment. The squall was indeed upon them. At the peak of the Young America hung the signal which had been hoisted; but it was not necessary to look in the book for its meaning.
“Mr. Terrill, call all hands—quick!” said Captain Kendall, in sharp tones.
“All hands on deck, ahoy!” roared the boatswain’s mate, as he piped his shrill whistle at the main hatch.
The students flew from their seats at the mess table, deserting the two professors without an apology. With only two exceptions, the officers and crew of the Josephine were all old sailors. Most of them had been on board the ship for two years, and a sudden squall was no new thing to them. They leaped into their stations, and when the orders were given they knew exactly what to do.
“Stand by sheets and halyards!” shouted the first lieutenant. “Man the jib, and flying jib halyards, and downhauls!”
“All ready forward, sir,” reported the second lieutenant, whose place was on the forecastle.
“Man the topgallant clewlines and buntlines!” continued Terrill.
“All ready, sir!”
“Ease off the sheets! Settle away the halyards! Clew up! Lay aloft, and furl topgallant-sail!”
The topgallant men sprang up the rigging like so many cats, for all hands had been thoroughly waked up by the impending peril.
“Let go the flying jib halyard! Haul down! Lay out and stow the flying jib!”
“Man the topsail clewlines and buntlines!”
“All ready, sir,” replied the second lieutenant.
“Let go the topsail sheets! Clew up! Settle away the halyards! Haul taut the braces!”
All this was done in half the time it takes to read it; and the light sails of the Josephine were furled. The main gaff-topsail was taken in, and then the schooner had only her jib, foresail, and mainsail. It was not necessary to take these in until the peril became more imminent; but Paul ordered the foresail to be lowered, and reefed, for the vessel was supposed to lie to best under this sail. The Young America had furled everything except her topsails, jib, and spanker.
Professor Hamblin had not yet recovered from his astonishment, and he was as indignant as a learned Greek scholar could be. Professor Stoute and himself were the only persons left in the steerage; but while the former laughed, the latter stormed.
“I have been insulted, Mr. Stoute,” said the learned gentleman. “That boy has disobeyed me, as though I were a person of no consequence.”
“Why, he was perfectly respectful to you,” laughed the good-natured professor. “You must remember that he is the captain of the ship, and that everything depends upon him.”
“He left the class contrary to my orders; and not satisfied with that, he calls
