“Men,” he said, “I’ve got an all-hands job for you this forenoon.”
“Mr. Mate,” he cried, “get all hands on to the main-tops’l halliards and bowse the sail stiff up and down.”
So they passed along the halliards, and took the turns off, and old John Chantyman piped up—
There’s a Black Ball clipper
Comin’ down the river.
And away the yard went to the mast-head till the bunt-robands jammed in the sheave.
“Very well that,” said the old man. “Now get my dinghy off o’ the half-deck and let her drag alongside.”
So they did that, too.
“Very well that,” said the old man. “Now forrard with you, to the chain-locker, and rouse out every inch of chain you find there.”
So forrard they went, and the chain was lighted up and flaked along the deck all clear for running.
“Now, Chips,” says the old man to the carpenter, “just bend the spare anchor to the end of that chain, and clear away the fo’c’s’le rails ready for when we let go.”