Ole shot an anxious glance at his masts, another at the boat load
of armed Greeks, and consented.

The five men were in the bow of the boat--a bad place when a craft
is towing. I was watching the behavior of their boat as the great
fisherman's staysail, far, far larger than the top-sail and used
only in light breezes, was broken out. As the Mary Rebecca lurched
forward with a tremendous jerk, the nose of the boat ducked down
into the water, and the men tumbled over one another in a wild rush
into the stern to save the boat from being dragged sheer under
water.

"That settles them!" Charley remarked, though he was anxiously
studying the behavior of the Mary Rebecca, which was being driven
under far more canvas than she was rightly able to carry.

"Next stop is Antioch!" announced the cheerful sailor, after the
manner of a railway conductor. "And next comes Merryweather!"

"Come here, quick," Charley said to me.

I crawled across the deck and stood upright beside him in the
shelter of the sheet steel.

"Feel in my inside pocket," he commanded, "and get my notebook.
That's right. Tear out a blank page and write what I tell you."

And this is what I wrote: