Having lighted my cigarette, I strolled for'ard along the deck to where work was going on.

Above my head dim shapes of canvas showed in the starlight.

Sail was being made, and being made slowly, as I might judge, who was only the veriest tyro in such matters.

The indistinguishable shapes of men, in long lines, pulled on ropes.

They pulled in sick and dogged silence, though Mr.Pike, ubiquitous, snarled out orders and rapped out oaths from every angle upon their miserable heads.
Certainly, from what I had read, no ship of the old days ever proceeded so sadly and blunderingly to sea.