sweeping slowly inside Peach's Point, was the tall ship with her canvas
towering gold in the western sun against the distance of sea and sky. As
Rhoda watched she saw their house flag--a white field checkered in
blue--fluttering from the main royal truck.

"The royals are coming in!" Jeremy Ammidon exclaimed, gripping Rhoda's
arm. "He is lowering his top-gallant yards and hauling up the courses! My
dear, there's nothing on God's earth finer than a ship."

The _Nautilus_ slipped along surprisingly fast. Rhoda could now see the
crew moving about and coiling the gear.

"Look, father, there's Gerrit on the quarter-deck."

The shipmaster, shorter than common, with broad assertive shoulders in
formal black, was easily recognizable. A woman with a worn flushed face
pressed by Jeremy. "Andrew's there, too," she told them, "Mr. Broadrick,
the mate."

The ship moved more slowly, under her topsails and jibs, in a soundless
progress with the ripples falling away in water like dark green glass,
liquid and still. She was now but a short distance from the end of the
wharf. Mr. Broadrick was forward between the knightheads with the crew
ranged to the starboard and at the braces, while Gerrit Ammidon stood
with one hand on the quarter-deck railing and the other holding a brass
speaking trumpet to his lips:

"Let go your port fore and after braces, Mr. Broadrick; brace the fore
and mizzen yards sharp up, leave the main braces fast, and lay the main
topsail to the mast. As she comes to the wind let the jibs run down." He