"Lay hold of this rope, men," cried Mr. Leach, placing the end of the
main-topsail halyards in the hands of half-a-dozen athletic steerage
passengers, who had all the inclination in the world to be doing, though
uncertain where to lay their hands; "lay hold, and run away with it."
The second mate performed the same feat forward, and as the sheets had
never been started, the broad folds of the Montauk's canvas began to open,
even while the men were heaving at the anchor. These exertions quickened
the blood in the veins of those who were not employed, until even the
quarter-deck passengers began to experience the excitement of a chase, in
addition to the feelings of compassion. Captain Truck, was silent, but
very active in preparations. Springing to the wheel, he made its spokes
fly until he had forced the helm hard up, when he unceremoniously gave it
to John Effingham to keep there. His next leap was to the foot of the
mizen-mast, where, after a few energetic efforts alone, he looked over his
shoulder and beckoned for aid.
"Sir George Templemore, mizen-topsail-halyards; mizen-topsail-halyards,
Sir George Templemore," muttered the eager master, scarce knowing what he
said. "Mr. Dodge, now is the time to show that your name and nature are
not identical."
In short, nearly all on board were busy, and, thanks to the hearty good
will of the officers, stewards, cooks, and a few of the hands that could
be spared from the windlass, busy in a way to spread sail after sail with
a rapidity little short of that seen on board of a vessel of war.
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