It was a busy scene, and an operation in which I could take no part. The captain gave the ship in charge to the master; the red cross of St. George was struck at the gaff and run up to the peak.  The shrill notes of the bosn’s whistle had hardly died away when the rigging was alive with men; the canvas was spread from the yards as if by magic, and all that remained was to break the anchor out, the cable already being hove short.