“Good idea!” I said. “One can’t go on pumping for ever.”
And without hurry or alacrity, sullenly and wearily we got into the boats and pulled away from the Maud Mary until we were clear of her, and then we stayed resting on our oars, motionless upon a glassy sea, waiting for her to sink. We were all silent, even the captain was silent until she went down. And then he spoke quite mildly in an undertone.
“Dat is the first ship I haf ever lost.... And it was not a fair game! It wass not a cargo any man should take. No!”
I stared at the slow eddies that circled above the departed Maud Mary, and the last chance of Business Organisations. I felt weary beyond emotion. I thought of my heroics to Beatrice and my uncle, of my prompt “I’ll go,” and of all the ineffectual months I had spent after this headlong decision. I was moved to laughter at myself and fate.
But the captain and the men did not laugh. The men scowled at me and rubbed their sore and blistered hands, and set themselves to row....
As all the world knows we were picked up by the Union Castle liner, Portland Castle.
The hairdresser aboard was a wonderful man, and he even improvised me a dress suit, and produced a clean shirt and warm underclothing. I had a hot bath, and dressed and dined and drank a bottle of Burgundy.
“Now,” I said, “are there any newspapers? I want to know what’s been happening in the world.”
My steward gave me what he had, but I landed at Plymouth still largely ignorant of the course of events. I shook off Pollack, and left the captain and mate in an hotel, and the men in a Sailor’s Home until I could send to pay them off, and I made my way to the station.
The newspapers I bought, the placards I saw, all England indeed resounded to my uncle’s bankruptcy.