“All hands! Up anchor, ho!”
With only five minutes to jump into our clothes, we tumbled out hurriedly. Twenty-two men and boys, their heads still heavy with sleep, grasped the bars of the capstan—the wheel that pulled up the anchor. For four hours we marched round and round the creaking thing. One man at a proper machine could have raised the anchor in ten minutes; but the Glenalvon had not so much as a donkey-engine.
Dawn found us still treading around in a circle in time to a mournful song sung by long-winded members of the crew. The sun rose, and the sweat ran in streams along the bars. Hunger gnawed us inwardly. The captain went ashore for his morning outing, a steamer slipped by us, and I caught myself gazing sorrowfully away across the bay at the city we were about to leave behind.
Then all at once the second mate, peering over the side, raised a hand.
“Shake ’em out!” he bellowed. “All hands! Man the wheel!”
The crew sprang into the rigging and climbed the masts. We loosened a dozen sails, and, leaving a man on each mast to fasten the ropes, slid down on deck again. Then came a harder task, to raise the upper topsail-yards—timbers that kept the sails stretched out to their full width. Every man on board pulled on the rope; even then we were not enough. The heavy iron yard rose, but only inch by inch; and every pull seemed to yank our arms half out of their sockets.
It was finally fastened in place, however. Then, breaking up into smaller groups, the crew raised more timbers, and, when we turned in for breakfast an hour late, weak and ugly from hunger, the Glenalvon was ready to sail.
“At least,” I told myself, rubbing my aching arms between mouthfuls of watery soup, “we’re off, and the worst is over.”
Which only proved how little I knew of the queer ways of “wind-jammers.”
Refusing to hire a tug, our captain was determined to beat his way out of Tokyo harbor by tacking back and forth against the wind that blew steadily in at the mouth of the bay. A bellow called us on deck before breakfast was half over, to go about ship again. A few more mouthfuls, and we were at it again. But it was of no use. The wind blew stronger and held us back; the bay was narrow. On the third time across the captain moved too near the shore, lost his head, and roared out an order: