"Nigh up and down," called Jerry.
Jack threw a couple of bights of the chain over the bollard, and held it. The big yacht forged ahead slowly into the eye of the wind, carried along by the impetus given her by the handing of the chain. The bits creaked a little, the chain grew very taut and vibrant. The Merle checked up and began to drift back.
"Now then!" cried Jack. "Lay along!"
Each one of them grasped the chain with a fierce vigor, as a man might seize the throat of his enemy, while Jerry burst into an explosive whaling chantey, and the men fell into time with its rhythm.
"Haul the bowline, the bowline, the bowline;
Haul the bowline, the bowline,—Haul!"
"Here she comes!" he shouted in the midst of a stave, as, all at once, the anchor was broken out.
Jack dropped his end of the chain and ran aft to mind the wheel, leaving the men to take in the rest of the slack. The headsails were up in stops, but before breaking them out it was necessary to lay the yacht round on the port tack. As she was under sternway, Jack whirled the spokes over to port, and so—for her steering-gear was "balanced"—brought her head around to the southward. When he felt the wind on his left cheek, he put his hand to his mouth and shouted.
"Break out fore-staysail!" he bellowed. "Trim it a-weather!—Hang on to the weather-sheet till she falls well off!"
With a great slatting and booming of canvas the schooner payed off rapidly.