—was rushing at a maddened spurt of fifteen or even twenty miles an hour straight for the vessel's side, where a blind instinct made her believe her calf still was to be found. There was a death-like pause and then—a shock.
Almost every man aboard was thrown to the deck, and the vessel heeled over to starboard until it seemed she must turn turtle. But she righted herself, heavily and with a sick lurch that spoke of disaster. The ship's carpenter ran to the pumps and sounded the well.
"Four inches, sir!" he called.
A moment later he dropped the rod again.
"Five and a half inches, sir," he cried, "an' comin' in fast."
It hardly needed the carpenter to tell the story, for the ship had a heavy list to starboard. In a minute or two the stokers came up from below and close upon their heels, the engineer.
"The water is close to the fire-boxes, Captain Murchison," he said.
"I know, Mr. Macdonald," the captain answered. "Boat stations!" he cried.
"I'm thinkin'," the engineer said quietly, looking at the windy sky and stormy sea, the last streaks of twilight disappearing in the west,
"I'm thinkin' it may be a wee bit cold. Are we far from land, Captain?"