where things DO go wrong; but whatever the ship--good or bad, lucky
or unlucky--it is in the forepart of her that her chief mate feels
most at home. It is emphatically HIS end of the ship, though, of
course, he is the executive supervisor of the whole. There are HIS
anchors, HIS headgear, his foremast, his station for manoeuvring
when the captain is in charge. And there, too, live the men, the
ship's hands, whom it is his duty to keep employed, fair weather or
foul, for the ship's welfare. It is the chief mate, the only
figure of the ship's afterguard, who comes bustling forward at the
cry of "All hands on deck!" He is the satrap of that province in
the autocratic realm of the ship, and more personally responsible
for anything that may happen there.

There, too, on the approach to the land, assisted by the boatswain
and the carpenter, he "gets the anchors over" with the men of his
own watch, whom he knows better than the others. There he sees the
cable ranged, the windlass disconnected, the compressors opened;
and there, after giving his own last order, "Stand clear of the
cable!" he waits attentive, in a silent ship that forges slowly
ahead towards her picked-out berth, for the sharp shout from aft,
"Let go!" Instantly bending over, he sees the trusty iron fall
with a heavy plunge under his eyes, which watch and note whether it
has gone clear.

For the anchor "to go clear" means to go clear of its own chain.
Your anchor must drop from the bow of your ship with no turn of
cable on any of its limbs, else you would be riding to a foul
anchor. Unless the pull of the cable is fair on the ring, no
anchor can be trusted even on the best of holding ground. In time
of stress it is bound to drag, for implements and men must be