"We'll have to tack, Mister Fox," Lewrie said, about the same time that Lt. Fox opened his mouth to suggest the same thing, grimacing again. "Loose another reef in the spanker, pipe All Hands,' and shake a reef from the main tops'l, as well, so we can build up enough speed t'get her round without gettin' caught 'in irons.'"

"Aye aye, sir! Bosun! Pipe 'All Hands'!" Fox yelled. Five Bells chimed before all was ready, before Thermopylae had accelerated to five knots, and "Stations for Stays" had been piped. Despite the heavy weather, and the continual shipping of seas over the bow, the larboard hawse buckler for the best bower had been removed, and the heavy-weather lashings on that anchor freed, with a cable of thigh-thick rope affixed to the anchor stock, and bound about the capstan. Men in hawse breeches swung lead lines from either channel of the foremast, just in case the Thermopylae could not cross the eye of the wind, and the sea-bottom might be close enough for them to anchor-to save the ship from drifting helplessly shoreward if unable to tack, or to try to box-haul her over to starboard tack so they could sail away, even if it meant cutting the bower cable and losing it altogether.

"Ready, sir," Lt. Fox reported. It was still his watch, though all watch-standing officers and Midshipmen were on deck, along with the Sailing Master, Mr. Robert Lyle, and his Mates.

"Pick your moment, Mister Fox," Lewrie allowed. "I have every confidence in you."

"Thankee, sir."

And I don't trust myself t'choose it, Lewrie wryly told himself. "Pay her off half a point loo'rd, Mister Hook," Lt. Fox said. "Half a point loo'rd, aye, sir!"