Close beside Roger stood Barzil Dunsack, his beard blowing, with Kate Vollar in a bright red shawl, her skirts whipping uneasily against her father's legs. Beyond were the Ammidons--William, and Rhoda in a deep furred wrap, and their daughters. Rhoda waved for him to join them, but he declined with a gesture of acknowledgment. The deck of the _Nautilus_ was above his vision but he could see most of the stir of departure. The peremptory voice of the mate rose from the bow, minor directions were issued by the second mate aft, a seaman was aloft on the main-royal yard and another stood at the stage rising sharply from the wharf. Gerrit and his wife had not yet arrived, and the pilot, making a leisurely appearance, stopped to exchange remarks with the Ammidons. He climbed on board the ship and Roger could see his head and shoulders moving toward the poop and mounting the ladder. The wind grew higher, shriller, every moment; it was thrashing among the stays and braces; the man aloft, a small movement against the clouds, swayed in its force. There was a faint clatter of hoofs from Derby Street, Brevard had a fleeting glimpse of an arriving carriage, and Gerrit, supporting Nettie Ammidon, advanced over the wharf. The shipmaster walked slowly, the woman clinging, almost dragging, at his erect strength. They went close by Roger: Nettie's pale face, her large shining dark eyes, were filled with placid surrender. Her companion spoke in a low grave tone, and she looked up at him in a tired and happy acquiescence. The two families joined, and there was a confused determined gayety of farewell and good wishes. Out of it finally emerged the captain of the _Nautilus_ and the slight figure upon his arm. He wore a beaver hat, and, as they mounted the stage, he was forced to hold it on with his free hand. When the quarter-deck was reached they disappeared into the cabin. "Mr. Broadrick," the pilot called, "you can get in those bow fasts. Send a hawser to the end of the wharf; I'm going to warp out." There was a harsh answering clatter as the mooring chain that held the bow of the _Nautilus_ was secured, and a group of sailors went smartly forward with a hemp cable to the end of the wharf's seaward thrust. The _Nautilus_ lay on the eastern side, with the wind beating over the starboard quarter, and there was little difficulty in getting under way. Strain was kept on the stern and breast fasts while the mate directed: "Ship your capstan bars." The capstan turned and the _Nautilus_ moved forward to the beat of song. "Low lands, low lands, hurrah, my John, I thought I heard the old man say. Low lands, low lands, hurrah, my John, We'll get some rum ... ... Hurrah, my John. Then shake her--" "Vast heaving," Mr. Broadrick shouted.