"Let go and haul!" the mate hollars
...At once, the seamen haul hard and fast on the main and mizzen braces-- Benjiman too hauling frantically, with all the diversion feeling less like dying, his nausea in abeyance. Yards swing round at the run, just enough momentum to bring the bow through, formast sails untouched, now aback, wind blowing into their forward side, helping the ship's turn; men getting the yards round and trimmed as close as possible on the new tack before the wind fills the sails-- to avoid hauling the wind as well -- sheeting fore and aft sails onto the new tack, hauling round the topgallant and royal braces as the main and mizzen sails begin to draw. The ship pushes ahead, waves helping now as they butt the bow to leeward, men belaying lines-- even the captains little dog feeling it, barking and snapping at the men on the poop.
"Let go and haul!" the mate hollars
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