“Up with it!” responded Captain Lennard from the poop, where the pilot now appeared by his side awaiting all these preparations to be completed before taking charge of the ship.
Half-a-dozen more heaves and the anchor-stock showed above the water.
“Hook cat!” cried the second-mate.
“I wonder what that means!” thought Teddy. “I hope they won’t hurt the poor thing!”
But, the next moment, he was undeceived.
Nothing in the shape of cruelty to animals was about to be perpetrated.
Mr Capstan only ordered the men to hook on the tackle by which the head of the anchor was to be braced up; and, before he could say “Jack Robinson,” if he had been that way inclined, the falls were manned and the anchor run up to the cathead with a rousing chorus as the men scampered aft with the tail-end of the rope.
The headyards were then filled, and the ship bowed her head as if in salute to Father Neptune, the next instant gathering way as the sails began to draw.
“Port!” sang out the pilot from the bridge.
“Port it is,” responded the man at the wheel, shifting the spokes with both hands like a squirrel in a cage, it seemed to Teddy, who was looking at him from the break of the poop, where he had taken up his station by Captain Lennard’s orders so that he might the more easily see all that was going on.