Still, no more sail is taken in, for the captain is a driver, and, like all drivers, very partial to his top-gallant-sails.  A top-gallant-sail, too, makes the difference between a breeze and a gale.  When a top-gallant-sail is on a ship, it is only a breeze, though I have seen ours set over a reefed topsail, when half the bowsprit was under water, and it was up to a man’s knees in the lee scuppers.  At eight bells, nothing is said about reefing the topsails, and the watch go below, with orders to ``stand by for a call.’’ We turn-in, growling at the ``old man’’ for not reefing the topsails when the watch was changed, but putting it off so as to call all hands, and break up a whole watch below—­ turn-in ``all standing,’’ and keep ourselves awake, saying there is no use in going to sleep to be waked up again.  Wind whistles on deck, and ship works hard, groaning and creaking, and pitching into a heavy head sea, which strikes against the bows, with a noise like knocking upon a rock.  The dim lamp in the forecastle swings to and fro, and things ``fetch away’’ and go over to leeward. ``Doesn’t that booby of a second mate ever mean to take in his top-gallant-sails?  He’ll have the sticks out of her soon,’’ says Old Bill, who was always growling, and, like most old sailors, did not like to see a ship abused.  By and by, an order is given; ``Aye, aye, sir!’’ from the forecastle; rigging is thrown down on deck; the noise of a sail is heard fluttering aloft, and the short, quick cry which sailors make when hauling upon clew-lines. ``Here comes his fore top-gallant-sail in!’’ We are wide awake, and know all that’s going on as well as if we were on deck.  A well-known voice is heard from the mast-head singing out to the officer of the watch to haul taut the weather brace. ``Hallo!  There’s Ben Stimson aloft to furl the sail!’’ Next thing, rigging is thrown down directly over our heads, and a long-drawn cry and a rattling of hanks announce that the flying-jib has come in.  The second mate holds on to the main top-gallant-sail until a heavy sea is shipped, and washes over the forecastle as though the whole ocean had come aboard; when a noise further aft shows that that sail, too, is taking in.  After this the ship is more easy for a time; two bells are struck, and we try to get a little sleep.  By and by,—­ bang, bang, bang, on the scuttle,—­ ``All ha-a-ands, aho-o-y!’’ We spring out of our berths, clap on a monkey-jacket and southwester, and tumble up the ladder.  Mate up before us, and on the forecastle, singing out like a roaring bull; the captain singing out on the quarter-deck, and the second mate yelling, like a hyena, in the waist.  The ship is lying over half upon her beam-ends; lee scuppers under water, and forecastle all in a smother of foam.  Rigging all let go, and washing about decks; topsail yards down upon the caps, and sails flapping and beating against the masts; and starboard watch hauling out the reef-tackles of the main topsail.  Our watch haul out the fore, and lay aloft and put