"Aye, sir!"
"Head-sails and spanker ready sir," came the voice of Leman. "Anchor a-trip!"
Then a confused medley of orders:
"Brace round them head-yards! Cat your hook and shake out those courses! ... Aft with that sheet, now. Shake a leg! ... Bo'sun, haul out that bowline!"
"Aye, sir! Haul out the bowline!"
Haul upon the bowline, Kitty lives at Liverpool,
Haul on the bowline, the bowline haul!
Haul upon the bowline, Kitty lives at Liverpool,
Haul on the bowline, the bowline haul!
Breathless, Florence watched and listened. Would Tom succeed without trouble? Would the plan, dangerous at best, succeed in getting little Jerry safe ashore? The ship's lights were slowly moving now, moving toward the entrance of that winding, precipitous passage. Captain Pontifex was in charge himself, for the passage demanded sharp tacking and skilful handling; his steely voice carried back across the light wind, across the silence of the northern night. Florence strained her eyes into the darkness. The time was at hand, now.
"Ready about! Down your helm, there! Hard-a-lee!" Florence could picture the big spanker-boom hauled in, the head-sheets slackening off; the lights showed that the brig was coming up into the wind, "Tacks and sheets! Maintops'l haul! Round with them after-yards, there! Fore-bowline, let go an' haul!"
Not ten minutes were consumed in the manoeuvre, for the Pelican was smartly handled. To the watching Florence, however, that ten minutes seemed an eternity. The voices lessened in the distance; the whaler's lights became tiny glimmering points as she slowly slid away and was gone.
Suddenly, down on the surface of the water, appeared a tiny pin-point—a flash of light that was gone instantly. It flashed again, and again vanished. From the watching girl came a deep breath—a sigh of almost agonized relief, as the tension which was holding her was swiftly relaxed.