‘Now, Polychrests,’ he said, ‘now we are going to crack on until she groans again. Stuns’ls aloft and alow, royals, and, damn me, royal stuns’ls and skys’ls if she’ll bear ’em. The sooner we’re there, the sooner we’re home. Topmen, upperyardmen, are you ready?’ ‘Ready, aye ready, sir.’ A comfortable, good body of sound – relief, thankfulness? ‘Then at the word, up you go. Lay aloft!’
