“Very good, sir,” replied the first-lieutenant, handing him the speaking-trumpet. “Rise tacks and sheets, if you please, sir,” continued the first-lieutenant (sotto voce), “the sails are lifting.”
“Tacks and sheets!” cried the captain.
“Gather in on the lee main-tack, my lads,” said the first-lieutenant, going to the lee gangway to see the duty performed.
Now Captain Carrington did know that “mainsail haul” was the next word of command; but as this order requires a degree of precision as to the exact time at which it is given, he looked over his shoulder for the first-lieutenant, who usually prompted him in this exigence. Not seeing him there, he became disconcerted; and during the few seconds that he cast his anxious eyes about the deck, to discover where the first-lieutenant was, the ship had passed head to wind.
“Mainsail haul!” at last cried the captain; but it was too late; the yards would not swing round; every thing went wrong; and the ship was in irons.
“You hauled a little too late, sir,” observed the first-lieutenant, who had joined him. “You must box her off, sir, if you please.”
But Captain Carrington, although he could put the ship in irons, did not know how to take her out.
“The ship is certainly most cursedly out of trim,” observed he; “she’ll neither wear nor stay. Try her yourself, Mr Nourse,” continued the captain, “I’m sick of her;”—and with a heightened colour he handed the speaking-trumpet over to the first-lieutenant.
“York, you’re wanted,” observed the lieutenant abaft to the marine-officer, dropping down the corners of his mouth.
“York, you’re wanted,” tittered the midshipmen, in whispers, as they passed each other.