Mr. Mott, temporarily in command, addressed the passengers in the main saloon, where they had congregated at his request. He did not mince matters. He stated the situation plainly. It was best that they should realize, that they should understand, that they should know the truth, in order that they might adapt themselves to the conditions he was now compelled of necessity to impose upon them. They were, so to speak, occupying a derelict. Help might come before nightfall, it might not come for days. He hoped for the best but he intended to prepare for the worst.
Without apology he laid down a rigid set of rules, and from these rules, he made it perfectly clear, there could be no deviation. The available supply of food was limited. It was his purpose to conserve it with the greatest possible care. Down in the holds, of course, was a vast store of consigned foodstuffs, but he had no authority to draw upon it and would not do so unless the ship's own stock was exhausted. Passengers and crew, therefore, would be obliged to go on short rations. “Better to eat sparingly now,” he said, “than not to eat at all later on.” He concluded his remarks in this fashion:
“Remember that we are all in the same boat. We don't know how long we'll be drifting like this and we don't know where we're drifting to. It's an everlastingly big ocean we're on. We ought to thank God we're not at the bottom of it now. If we're lucky we'll be picked up soon, if not,—well, it's up to us, every one of us, to make the best of it. We're alive, and that's certainly something. We'll all find it easier if we keep ourselves busy. That's why I'm asking you, one and all, to do a good day's work regularly, one way or another, from now until relief comes. We can't have any loafers or quitters on board this ship. That means everybody, rich and poor. You may think I'm putting a hardship on you, seeing as how you have paid for your passage and all that, but what I'm ordering you to do ain't a marker to what you'd be doing if you were out there in lifeboats, eight hundred miles from shore, and—well, we won't go into that. We've got to make the best of it, my friends. We're up against it good and plenty, that's the plain facts of the case. There's no use in me saying it's all going to turn out right in a day or so, because I don't know a da—- blamed thing about it. We're in God's hands. Maybe it will help to pray, but I doubt it. All I've got to say is this: go down on your knees as much as you like, but don't lick!”
Signor Joseppi lifted his voice, but not in song. In very bad English he wanted to know how long the Captain thought it would be before they were rescued, and when he was informed that it might not be for weeks or even months, he cried out in worse English that he was ruined. He would have to violate his contract! No impressario would think of engaging him again! His wonderful American tour! If he was not rescued within a week—Oh, my God, the consequences! He did not regret the paltry two thousand a week—for thirty weeks—but to violate a contract!
Mr. Mott looked rather helpless. He appreciated the fact that Signor Joseppi was a very great personage, but what was he saying? Was it—could it be mutiny?
“I'm sorry, Mr. Joseppi,” he broke in, “but if Madame Amori is willing to take her regular turn at making up berths, I guess it won't hurt you to help every now and then in the dining-room.”
Signor Joseppi did not understand a word of it. He turned to the man at his elbow for enlightenment.
“What did he say?” he whispered.
“He says you have a perfectly marvellous voice and that he'd give two thousand any time to hear you sing,” replied his neighbour in excellent Italian.
Whereupon the Signor favoured the severe-looking Mr. Mott with a beaming smile and as deep a bow as he could make in such close quarters.