"Goad!" cried the skipper."Wull it be a colleesion?""All's clear and the davits are outboard," said Gissing.He had been studying the manual of boat handling in one of the nautical volumes in the chart-room.
"Auld Hornie!" ejaculated the skipper."we'll no can salve the specie! Make note of her poseetion, Mr.Gissing!" He hastened to gather his papers, the log, a chronometer, and a large canister of tobacco.
"The Deil's intil't," he said as he hastened to his boat."I had yon pragmateesm of yours on a lee shore.Two-three hours, I'd have careened ye."Gissing was ready with his megaphone.From the wing of the bridge he gave the orders.
"Lower away!" and the boats dropped to the passenger rail.
"Avast lowering!" Each boat took in her roster of passengers, who were in high spirits at this unusual excitement.
"Mind your painters! Lower handsomely!" The boats took the water in orderly fashion, and were cast off.Remaining members of the crew swarmed down the falls.The bandsmen had a boat to themselves, and resumed their tune as soon as they were settled.
Gissing, left alone on the ship, waved for silence.
"Look sharp, man!" cried Captain Scottie."Honour's satisfied! Take your place in the boat!"The passengers applauded, and there was quite a clatter of camera shutters as they snapped the Pomerania looming grandly above them.
"Boats are all provisioned and equipped," shouted Gissing."I've broadcasted your position by radio.The barometer's at Fixed Fair.Pull off now, and 'ware the screw."He moved the telegraph handle to DEAD SLOW, and the Pomerania began to slip forward gently.The boats dropped aft amid a loud miscellaneous outcry.Mr.Pointer was already examining the horizon.Captain Scottie, awakened to the situation, was uttering the language of theology but not the purport.
"Don't stand up in the boats," megaphoned Gissing."You're quite allright, there's a ship on the way already.I wirelessed last night."He slid the telegraph to slow, half, and then full.Once more the ship creamed through the lifting purple swells.The little flock of boats was soon out of sight.
Alone at the wheel, he realized that a great weight was off his mind.The responsibility of his position had burdened him more than he knew.Now a strange eagerness and joy possessed him.His bubbling wake cut straight and milky across the glittering afternoon.In a ruddy sunset glow, the sea darkened through all tints of violet, amethyst, indigo.The horizon line sharpened so clearly that he could distinguish the tossing profile of waves wetting the sky."A red sky at night is the sailor's delight," he said to himself.He switched on the port and starboard lights and the masthead lanterns, then lashed the wheel while he went below for supper.He did not know exactly where he was, for he seemed to have steamed clean off the chart; but as he conned the helm that evening, and leaned over the lighted binnacle, he had a feeling that he was not far from some destiny.With cheerful assurance he lashed the wheel again, and turned in.He woke once in the night, and leaped from the hammock with a start.He thought he had heard a sound of barking.
