“Yes, all hands aboard,” replied the second-mate laconically.
“Then make sail at once,” said Captain Lennard, going aft on the poop; while Mr Capstan bustled forwards, shouting out as he scrambled up on the windlass bitts and thence to the fo’c’s’le, “All hands make sa-i–il!” drawling out the last word as if it were a chorus to some mariner’s ditty he were singing.
The crew were all picked men, the majority having been in the ship on one or two previous voyages; so they were quite at home, and sprang into the rigging long before the second-mate had got to the end of his refrain.
In a second, the topsails were dropped and sheeted home, and the rattling of the clewgarnet blocks told of the courses following their example; after which the hands aloft then loosed the topgallant, there being a fine breeze fair for the Downs.
Teddy was puzzled for a moment by all the seeming confusion that reigned in the ship, with ropes flying about and cordage cracking, while the hoarse orders issued by Mr Capstan and Uncle Jack were answered by the cheery cry of the men, singing out lustily as they hoisted and pulled at the halliards with a will. But, the confusion was only momentary and in appearance only; for, hardly had he begun to realise what all the bustle was about, than the ship was clothed in canvas from truck to deck, like a lady attired for a ball all in white!
The headyards were then backed, and Captain Lennard’s voice rang through the vessel fore and aft as clear as a bell—
“Hands up anchor!”
Then, the windlass was wound; and, slip, slap, click, clack, it went round the pawl belaying every inch of cable got in.
“Cheerily, men! heave with a will!” urged the second-mate; and the brawny fellows bent all their strength to the handspikes, heaving them down with sheer brute force.
“Hove short!” presently sang out Mr Capstan.