over by the force of the wind aloft, appeared hardly capable of
supporting the great fabrics raised upon them. The California was
to windward of us, and had every advantage; yet, while the breeze
was stiff we held our own. As soon as it began to slacken she
ranged a little ahead, and the order was given to loose the royals.
In an instant the gaskets were off and the bunt dropped. "Sheet
home the fore-royal!"--"Weather sheet's home!"--"Lee sheet's
home!"--"Hoist away, sir!" is bawled from aloft. "Overhaul your
clewlines!" shouts the mate. "Aye-aye, sir, all clear!"--"Taut
leech! belay! Well the lee brace; haul taut to windward!" and the
royals are set.


What would the captain of any sailing-vessel of our time say to
that? He would say, "The man that wrote that didn't learn his
trade out of a book, he has BEEN there!" But would this same
captain be competent to sit in judgment upon Shakespeare's
seamanship--considering the changes in ships and ship-talk that
have necessarily taken place, unrecorded, unremembered, and lost to
history in the last three hundred years? It is my conviction that
Shakespeare's sailor-talk would be Choctaw to him. For instance--
from The Tempest:


Master. Boatswain!

Boatswain. Here, master; what cheer?

Master. Good, speak to the mariners: fall to't, yarely, or we run
ourselves to ground; bestir, bestir!