turned to the man at the wheel, "Helm hard a starboard."

"Hard a starboard, sir."

The ship answered quickly and rounded to while her weather fore and
mizzen yards flew forward until they touched the starboard backstays
and the men hauled in the slack of the braces. With the main yard
square to check her way the jibs drooped down along the stays. "Mr.
Broadrick, you may let go the starboard anchor and furl sails." The
mate grasped a top maul and struck the trigger of the ring stopper a
clean blow, the anchor splashed into the water with a rumbling cable,
and the _Nautilus_ was home.

Gerrit Ammidon walked hurriedly to the companionway and went below, while
the mate continued, "Stand by to let go your topsail halliards and man
the gear. Sharper with the mizzen sheets and unbend those clew lines and
garnets... stow the clews in a harbor furl." At a rhythmic shout the
bunts of the three topsails came up together.

The wind had died away and the flags hung listlessly from the main truck
and spanker gaff. The water of the harbor was unstirred except for the
swirls at the oar blades of an incoming quarter boat and the warp paying
out at her stern. The voice of the mate, the chantey of the crew heaving
at the capstan bars, came to Rhoda subdued:

_"The times are hard and wages low,
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her.
I guess it's time for us to go,
Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her.
I thought I heard the old man say,