Two more anchors were next carried outside the
passage, which was not more than two hundred feet in length. The
chains were attached to the windlass, the sailors worked away at
the handspikes, and at four o'clock in the afternoon the
"Chancellor" was in motion.
High tide would be at twenty minutes past four, and at ten
minutes before that time the ship had been hauled as far as her
sea-range would allow; her keel grazed the ridge, and her
progress was arrested. When the lowest part of her stern,
however, just cleared the obstruction, Curtis deemed that there
was no longer any reason why the mechanical action of the wind
should not be brought to bear and contribute its assistance.
Without delay, all sails were unfurled and trimmed to the wind.
The tide was exactly at its height, passengers and crew together
were at the windlass, M. Letourneur, Andre, Falsten, and myself
being at the starboard bar. Curtis stood upon the poop, giving
his chief attention to the sails; the lieutenant was on the
forecastle; the boatswain by the helm. The sea seemed
propitiously calm and, as it swelled gently to and fro, lifted
the ship several times.
"Now, my boys," said Curtis in his calm clear voice, "all
together! Off!"
Round went the windlass; click, click, clanked the chains as link
by link they were forced through the hawse-holes.
The breeze freshened, and the masts gave to the pressure of the
sails, but round and round we went, keeping time in regular
monotony to the sing-song tune hummed by one of the sailors.
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