"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; everything 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.
"Well, I've won your grog, Jim," cried one of the marines, who was standing at the forebrace; "I knew he'd never do it."