"Weil sheer her 'round first, gentlemen," he pronounced with a nip to his voice. "Helm hard-over to larboard… hard alee, Quartermasters."
Streaming back from her mooring buoy by a single cable, Proteus already had steerageway, with that tide sluicing past her rudder and down her sides. With the helm hard-over to leeward, the tide forced her to turn, still tethered, bringing her stern up into the wind and her bows down towards the lee shores to the South.
She was held to the permanent mooring buoy by a single hawser up forrud, doubled from the starboard hawse hole to the metal ring atop the buoy and back to a belay, at fairly middling-stays. He'd placed Mr. Midshipman Adair, his best and brightest so far, all the way forrud in charge of letting slip.
"Mister Peacham," Lewrie barked, wheeling to face his eldest of the middies, who stood with the afterguard in charge of the mizzenmast. "Stand by to hoist spanker to get her stern 'round. Mister Ludlow… stand ready with the tops'ls and inner jib."
Up her stern came, Proteus angling more across the tideway with her stern almost directly into the wind. Any further and she'd snub on that mooring cable, Lewrie knew, fail to wheel far enough Sutherly to set sail, yet… for good or ill… they had to let go, to trust in the wind and tide to take her and let her get a touch of way on so they could sail her off and not trip over the buoy-or drift helplessly to strand her on the south bank!
Soon… wait, she'll snub… now! Lewrie thought, drawing in a preparatory breath. "Mister Adair… let slip!" he almost screamed. The wind… had it come almost due aft yet? A touch of veering on his left cheek? "Man the captsan! Haul in! Smartly, now!"
She was free, untethered. Horny bare feet pounded the deck as the hands on the capstan thundered about in a circle, breasting to the bars, the pawls ratcheting as fast as a trotting horse's hooves, winding the messenger cable inboard about its drum, with the heavier hawser "nippered" to it. That heavy cable groaned and grated through the eye of the hawse hole.
With no sails aloft, Proteus was taken by the out-flowing tide, adrift slowly astern, still so slowly turning with her helm hard-over, and her 740 tons of deadweight too much for the wind on her tall sides, her masts, and the maze of her rigging. There, the wind, a tiny touch on her larboard quarters!
"Hoist away aft, Mister Peacham! Sheet the spanker hard a'starboard! Mister Ludlow… let's begin with the foretops'l."
"Aye, aye, sir," Ludlow piped back, all enthusiasm, yet sounding dubious in spite of it. "Hoy, there! Let fall the foretops'l! Brace starboard! Clews… halliards… jears, an' haul away!"
Up the yard went from its rest upon the foretop, with topmen out on the foot-ropes freeing the brails, the clews singing in the blocks to haul the lower corners down to bare them to the wind, the canvas rustling and shivering as it began to belly in fits and starts, loose-footed.
Proteus was now swinging, not quite under control yet, drifting and driven by the tideway, the spanker forcing her stern down and her bows up, so she lay Sou'easterly, almost abeam the river, and angling more and more windward.
"Mister Adair! Bare the inner jib, larboard tack!"
Just enough pressure on her bows to keep her from swinging up too far into the wind, and getting her foretops'l laid aback on the mast! And that muddy, dangerous lee shore about as far away as Lewrie could spit, it seemed!
"Main tops'l, Mister Ludlow, hoist away!" Lewrie pressed for more sail and more control. "Mizzen tops'l too… but brace her all aback!"
Christ, he gloomed, just about ready to drop the larboard bower and surrender, admit he was a fraud, give up this nonsense, and slink off! She was now athwart the tideway, beam-onto the wind, hauled off by that shred of the inner jib's tack for the moment, but still making way mostly East, which would drift her onto the shore any second, did the tops'ls not fill and…!
Come on, lady, you can do it! he groaned to himself; God knows I'm not sure if I can, but you…!
Hmm, though…
The tops'ls were now fully alive, almost thundering as they were set wind-full. Slackly wind-full, but bellied out and drawing, braced 'round to be brushed by the wind, to shape it and cup it for an instant before it soughed past at an acute angle.
And Proteus began to steady, broadside to the wind, sailing into the wind, and making an awkward course to the Nor'east, still a bit too near that lee shore than Lewrie cared for, but…! She was going downriver with the tide, her fore and main tops'ls giving her lift, and the mizzen tops'l all aback to act as a brake as if she was cocked up to windward, fetched to! Turning a bit too much to windward, so…
"Mister Peacham, brail up the spanker to the gaff for a bit," Lewrie called, after a long moment of thought. "Mister Adair, douse the inner jib… for a bit!" he shouted forrud.
And without the wind's pressure on the spanker to act directly opposite of the usual effect, which would normally have swung her bow off, she steadied once more, a bit more broadside to the wind and the river. Got I it now, I think! he told himself; bows get too high, Ire-hoist the inner jib up forrud and that'll push her bows back down. Does she trend too far off the wind, Ire-hoist the spanker aft, makin' her stern-heavy. Rudder… well, hmm. What rudder? We're sailin' as fast as the tide, so we've no rudder control at all 'til we reach the river bend and try to haul our wind and sail Large to the Sou 'east…
And if it all goes to shit, he assured himself, though still a bit more than a tad shuddery; we just douse sail and drop anchors. Do we meet a string o' barges, or get goin' too fast, we brace the tops 'Is aback to slow down. Balance wind 'gainst tide… just sit in one spot for a bit…? As long as the wind complied and continued out of the Nor'east, it was-quite illogically and most disconcertingly-what was known as "smooth sailing"!
"Neatly done, sir," the river pilot drawled, with a beamish eye. "Incredible, ain't it… what you can do with a ship, do you set your mind to it? Short handed you may be, Captain Lewrie, but you've a talented batch of officers and mates. Includin' yerself, sir. Goes without sayin'."
"Ah… hmm, well," Lewrie cautiously allowed, wondering if he was being twitted. There was still plenty of river left in which he could come a spectacular cropper. Don't know what the blaies I'm about, he chid himself. Never done this in me life; don't know… damn fraud!
"This'll be the worst stretch, sir," the pilot went on, rocking on the balls of his feet, looking as if he'd be inclined to sing or hum in another minute. "No traffic this early it seems. Once to the bend Sou'east into Gillingham Reach, we'll be off the wind on larboard tack. Inner, outer jibs, an' foretopmast stays'l to get her bows down, then we'll fly for a spell. Tricky bit there, sir, oh mercy!" the pilot enthused. "Tricky as anything."
"Indeed!" Lewrie snapped, feeling more reason for misery. "Traffic, for certain, in Gillingham Reach, sir," the man went on, most blithe. "Upriver boats huggin' the weather shore, and us to cross the Reach and hug it too… beam-reachin' the wind for the main channel. Nasty shoals t'loo'rd, I can tell ye, so ye won't wish to be forced down on 'em. Where the channel narrows, 'fore it opens up once more? Sutherly pass below the shoals is possible, but 'tis fearsome narrow, and this tide'll be ebbin' too quick to trust to it by the time we get there. Short, sharp, beat t'weather into the northern channel where there's more room, I'd suggest, Captain Lewrie. Barring the odd lighters and ignorant barge captains, hey? Or some brute of a iiner' comin' upriver for a refit, ha, ha? No worry though, sir. We'll be right as rain. Right… as… rain, ha, ha!"