As The Staunchness And The Strength Of
The Snark Went Glimmering, Charmian And I Pinned Our Faith More And
More To The Snark's Wonderful Bow.
There was nothing else left to
pin to.
It was all inconceivable and monstrous, we knew, but that
bow, at least, was rational. And then, one evening, we started to
heave to.
How shall I describe it? First of all, for the benefit of the tyro,
let me explain that heaving to is that sea manoeuvre which, by means
of short and balanced canvas, compels a vessel to ride bow-on to
wind and sea. When the wind is too strong, or the sea is too high,
a vessel of the size of the Snark can heave to with ease, whereupon
there is no more work to do on deck. Nobody needs to steer. The
lookout is superfluous. All hands can go below and sleep or play
whist.
Well, it was blowing half of a small summer gale, when I told Roscoe
we'd heave to. Night was coming on. I had been steering nearly all
day, and all hands on deck (Roscoe and Bert and Charmian) were
tired, while all hands below were seasick. It happened that we had
already put two reefs in the big mainsail. The flying-jib and the
jib were taken in, and a reef put in the fore-staysail. The mizzen
was also taken in. About this time the flying jib-boom buried
itself in a sea and broke short off.
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