“I can see what you mean. There is nothing to prevent her from tipping over.”
“On the wind, as the Goldwing is now, we keep her so that the sails will fill. Just a little
movement of the tiller will spill them all: see if it don’t,” continued Dory, as he put the helm down a very little. “All the sails are shaking. I keep her so that she bears on the helm all the time. When the pressure is too little, I know that she is coming up into the wind, and I shift the tiller.”
“I begin to see through it.”
When he had a good full, Dory put the helm down, explaining his action. When the jib began to draw, he began to right the helm. Oscar got the idea; and, after a few more tacks, he understood it perfectly, and was permitted to do it himself.
“Suppose you get caught with the wind blowing square against the sails, and are in danger of going, over, what do you do—put the helm down?” asked Oscar.
“If the wind was fresh I should not wait for her to come up, for she might go over before she came up to a safe position. Let me take the helm again, and I will show you.”
The skipper put the helm up, and in a moment the water began to pour in over the wash-board. Oscar thought she was going over, and he convulsively grasped the seat with both hands. Dory
gave the end of the fore and main sheets a twitch, in the twinkling of an eye, which cast them off. The two principal sails ran out instantly, the pressure was removed, and the boat came up to an even keel.
“That is the way to save yourself when you get into a tight place, Oscar; but you ought never to get into such a tight place as that. A boat can’t possibly upset unless she is in that position. But, before she falls off enough to put you into chancery in that style, she will bear very hard on the tiller, which will give you warning enough. If you let go the tiller, she will come into the wind herself. The Goldwing, or any boat properly rigged and ballasted, would never get you into such a scrape: you must force her into the dangerous position. Now you may take the helm.”