"About a hundred feet aft, sir," the man answered, pointing into the blackness that enveloped the steamer.
"Lower the port lifeboat," shouted the newcomer on the scene to the men who were collected on the forward deck.
He darted back toward the cabin as he spoke and the sound of creaking ropes told that his orders were being rapidly carried out.
"The boat will never live in this sea," shouted the mate.
The man turned at the cabin door with a scowl.
"You heard my orders," he said, sharply. "There are lives to be saved and it is not a question whether the boat will live. We will make her live. Call for volunteers if the men have any scruples about trusting themselves with me, but get the boat into the water at once. Every minute counts."
He was gone but a second and emerged from the cabin in a heavy suit of oilskins. He sprang nimbly down the companionway to the deck.
"Who goes with me in the boat?" he shouted to the assembled crew.
"I, sir, and I," cried the men in chorus, all anxious to be in the boat with their commander.
"You, and you, and you," he shouted, as he designated six men with a quick movement of his forefinger. The men tumbled over the side into the boat that was tossing like a cockle shell in the waves that threatened to dash her to pieces against the big steamer. The captain slipped over the side and took his place in the stern. It was a difficult task to get the boat safely off, but it was finally accomplished by skill and strength; and as she rode away from the side on the top of a nasty roller she was greeted with a cheer from the disappointed men who had been left behind and who longed to be with their commander in his perilous undertaking.