e down, fluttering a little
perhaps, if not carefully managed, but still quietly and easily, as
well as quickly. When, however, the wind has risen to a pitch beyond
its due proportion to the canvas spread, and the captain's anxiety to
make the most of a fair wind has tempted him to carry on too long, the
case becomes very difficult, the ropes which keep the sails in their
places contributing also an important share to the support of those
spars to which the sails are bent, or to which they may be hauled out.
Consequently, the moment the ropes alluded to, which are technically
named the haulyards and tacks, are slackened, the yards and booms,
being suddenly deprived of these material supports, are very apt to be
sprung, that is, cracked across, or even carried away, which means
being snapped right in two as short as a carrot, to use Jack's very
appropriate simile.

It is quite true, that lowering away the sail and easing off the tack
of a studding-sail does diminish the pressure of the sail on the spar,
and, of course, both the yard and the boom have less duty to perform.
Still, the moment which succeeds the order to "Lower away!" is
especially trying to the nerves of the officer who is carrying on the
duty. I have not unfrequently seen comparatively young officers handle
the sails and yards of a ship with perfect ease, from their superior
mechanical knowledge, at times when the oldest sailors on board were
puzzled how to get things right. One officer, for instance, may
direct the preparations for shortening sail to be made according to
the most orthodox rules laid down in Hamilton Moor's "Examination of a
Young Sea Officer," and yet when he comes to give the fatal word,
"Lower away! haul down!" everything shall go wrong. The tack being
eased off too soon, the spar breaks in the middle, and the poor
topmast studding-sail is spitted like a lark on the broken stump of
the boom, while the lower studding-sail, driven furiously forward by
the squall, is pierced by the spritsail yard-arm, the cat-head, and
the bumpkin; or it may be wrapped round the bowsprit, like so much wet
drapery in the inimitable Chantrey's studio over the clay figure of an
Indian bishop.

"What the blue blazes shall I do next?" moans the poor puzzled officer
of the watch, who sees this confusion caused entirely by his own bad
management. On such an occasion, a kind and considerate captain will
perhaps fairly walk below, and so leave the mortified youth