“Yes, sir,” said I. “A woman, or rather, perhaps a girl, for she had a lot of long hair streaming over her shoulders, all flying about in the wind.”
“What was she doing?”
“She appeared to be waving a white handkerchief or something like that, as if to attract our attention—asking us to help her, like.”
The skipper drew himself up to his full height on my telling this and turned round on Mr Fosset, his face blazing with passion.
“A ship in distress, a woman on board imploring our aid,” he exclaimed in keen, cold, cutting tones that pierced one like a knife, “and you passed her by without rendering any assistance,—a foreigner too, of all. We Englishmen, who pride ourselves on our humanity above all other nations. What will they think of us?”
“I tell you, sir, we could not see any ship at all!” retorted the first mate hotly, in reply to this reproach, which he felt as keenly as it was uttered. “And if we couldn’t see the ship, how could we know there was a woman or anybody aboard?”
“Quite so,” echoed Spokeshave, emphasising Mr Fosset’s logical argument in his own defence. “That’s exactly what I say, sir.”
“I would not have had it happen for worlds. We flying the old Union jack, too, that boasts of never passing either friend or foe when in danger and asking aid.”
He spoke still more bitterly, as if he had not heard their excuses.
“But hang it, cap’en,” cried Mr Fosset, “I tell you—”