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Updated: May 22, 2025
I can't get at her starboard side, that's down in the mud, and I cal'late she'd leak like a skimmer. She's only got a fores'l and a jib, and the jib's only a little one that used to belong to a thirty-foot sloop. Her anchor's gone, and I wouldn't trust her main topmast to carry anything bigger'n a handkerchief, nor that in a breeze no more powerful than a canary bird's breath.
Mayhap at the first burst o' the gale you're hove on your beam-ends, an' away go the masts, leavin' ye to drift ashore or sink; or p'raps you're sharp enough to get in sail, and have all snug, when, just as ye're weatherin' a headland, away goes the sheet o' the jib, jib's blowed to ribbons, an' afore ye know where ye are, `breakers on the lee bow! is the cry.
"She was end on to us, and I didn't see the mizzen. Why, she's in full sail!" "Yes, sir, a regular crowd of canvas, topgallants and stunsles all up, and if I haven't forgotten all about a man-of-war, that's what she is, as we used to say, by the cut of her jib, which is a very sensible remark, sir, as from here her jib's quite out of sight."
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