Then he went back to his cabin to dress.
Presently Mr.Barker's neat person emerged from the cuddy.

He looked about to see if any one were out yet, but only a party of red-capped tars were visible, swabbing the forward deck with their pendulum-like brooms, and working their way aft in a regular, serried rank.

The phalanx moved with an even stroke, and each bare foot advanced just so many inches at every third sweep of the broom, while the yellow-haired Norse 'prentice played the hose in front of them.

Mr.Barker perceived that they would overtake him before long, and he determined on flight, not forward or aft, but aloft; and he leisurely lifted himself into the main-shrouds, and climbing half-way, hooked his feet through the ratlines.

In this position he took out a cigar, lighted it with a vesuvian, and, regardless of the increased motion imparted to him at his greater elevation, he began to smoke.