"All hands for'ard on the anchor!" he sang out, rapping his shins on the cockpit combings as he scrambled out and ran along the deck. "We'll make sail when we get out the mudhook. 'F we try to get her mains'l up, they'll hear us all over the place. We'll drop down under heads'ls. Catch ahold there!"
The Merle was riding at her port bower in some six fathoms of water. She had out a good bit of scope, however, and between the eight hands which gripped the quarter-inch chain and the anchor to which it was bent were some ten fathoms to be "handed over." In the light of the big Fresnel anchor-lantern upon the deck, the men, silent, rigid, braced back, strained steadily. For a full half-minute there was no gain whatever, but then one link of the chain came to the brazen lip of the hawse-hole with a sharp rap. The men grunted and hissed, bringing every muscle into play. Taberman was foremost on the chain. He faced the hawse-hole squarely, his legs wide apart, and his head thrown back. His face, even as seen by the white light of the Fresnel, was a dark brick-red, and out of the left corner of his mouth his tongue protruded. Dave was behind him, his left knee bent, and his right leg straight from toe to hip. He hung on savagely, his face unnaturally blank; his hair, damp with fog and sweat, clung to his brown forehead and temples. The third man was Jim, lying back in a strange posture, as though the small of his back were invisibly supported. His cheeks were white; his breathing was inaudible.
With a little salvo of metallic snaps a scant dozen links more came in. Jack was last on the chain, and was separated from the man next him by a space greater than that between any other pair, so that he could when necessary take a turn of the slack about one of the brass-capped bollards at his side. His body was tense and rigid, his face and forehead full of odd puckers and lines. He was white at the lips, and the corners of his mouth were drawn down. His nose moved nervously with almost the suggestion of a rabbit's. One more link came in.
"Better take it on the winch," gasped Jerry.
"Damn it,—pull!" cried Jack.
Jim grunted and Dave drew a breath through his closed teeth with a sharp whistling sound. Suddenly the chain rattled in so quickly that they could almost over-hand it. The Merle was moving at last.
"Smartly!" Jack cried. "Smartly, and we'll make her trip it out herself."
The four hauled lustily.