When the log is hove, it is discovered, we shall suppose, that she is going eleven knots.

Well, the wind increases, and in come the studding-sails; but as the water is still smooth, the single-reefed topsails and top-gallant-sails may be carried, though it is evident the ship is rather over-pressed, or, at all events, not another stitch of sail could be set.
"Heave the log again, and see what she goes now!" says the officer.
"How much ?" "Eleven knots and a-half, sir," replies the middy of the watch.
Presently the sea rises, the masts bend, the ship begins to stagger along, groaning and creaking in every joint, under the severe pressure.

The topsails are close-reefed to meet the increased wind; but still, as before, she is under quite as much canvas as she can possibly bear.
"Heave the log now!" again says the officer.

"Ten knots!" reports the middy.
By-and-bye the courses are reefed, and before dark the mainsail is rolled up, the fore and mizen topsails handed, and the top-gallant yards sent on deck.

The sea has now risen to a disagreeable height, and the steering, in spite of every care, becomes wilder and much more difficult; and as the ship forges into the breast of the waves, or rises with a surge not much less startling, her way seems deadened for the moment, till she bounds up again on the top of the sea, to woo, as it were, the embraces of the rattling gale.