"Shall we put the helm down ?" "If you please, Mr Nourse." "Down with the helm." When the master reported it down, "The helm's a-lee," roared the first lieutenant.
But Captain Carrington, who thought light winds and smooth water a good opportunity for practice, interrupted him as he was walking towards the weather gangway "Mr Nourse, Mr Nourse, if you please, I'll work the ship." "Very good, sir," replied the first lieutenant, handing him the speaking-trumpet.

"Rise tacks and sheets, if you please, sir," continued the first lieutenant (_sotto voce_), "the sails are lifting." "Tacks and sheets!" cried the captain.
"Gather in on the lee main-tack, my lads," said the first lieutenant, going to the lee gangway to see the duty performed.
Now, Captain Carrington did know that "mainsail haul" was the next word of command; but as this order requires a degree of precision as to the exact time at which it is given, he looked over his shoulder for the first lieutenant, who usually prompted him in this exigence.

Not seeing him there, he became disconcerted; and during the few seconds that he cast his anxious eyes about the deck, to discover where the first lieutenant was, the ship had passed head to wind.
"Mainsail haul!" at last cried the captain; but it was too late; the yards would not swing round; everything went wrong; and the ship was _in irons_.
"You hauled a little too late, sir," observed the first lieutenant who had joined him.

"You must box her off, sir, if you please." But Captain Carrington, although he could put the ship in irons, did not know how to take her out.
"The ship is certainly most cursedly out of trim," observed he; "she'll neither wear nor stay.

Try her yourself, Mr Nourse," continued the captain, "I'm sick of her!"-- and with a heightened colour, he handed the speaking-trumpet over to the first lieutenant.
"York, you're wanted," observed the lieutenant abaft to the marine officer, dropping down the corners of his mouth.
"York, you're wanted," tittered the midshipmen, in whispers, as they passed each other.
"Well, I've won your grog, Jim," cried one of the marines, who was standing at the forebrace; "I knew he'd never do it." "He's like me," observed another, in a low tone; "he left school too 'arly, and lost his edication." Such were the results of injudicious patronage.