CHAPTER XXII
A Night of Horror
Acting Chief Officer Dick Preston, on receiving the Old Man's order to get the boats away, lost no time in getting to the scene of operations. The frantic rush of the lascars to the boat-deck warned him of what to expect. He had seen the panic-stricken clamour of a crew of white-livered dagoes, had watched them tumble pell-mell into the sole remaining boat, and had witnessed the result—a swamped whaler and twenty men struggling for dear life, and struggling in vain in the icy cold water off the Newfoundland Banks. That was many years ago, but the lesson had not been lost on Dick Preston.
Hurriedly loading his revolver, the Acting Chief gained the boat-deck. Already the native crew had swung out one of the boats, and a fierce struggle was in progress between the lascars and the firemen as to who should go away in her.
There was no love lost between the two classes. They were of different races, the lascars hailing from Bombay while the firemen were recruited from the Coromandel coast; they were of different faith, the former being Mahommedans, the latter Buddhists. It needed little to cause a row. When it came to a struggle for life the natives were in a state bordering upon madness.
"Chup rao!" shouted Preston, levelling his revolver. "Belay there! Stand fast!"
For a moment the lascars and firemen hesitated. Then, as the ship shook and staggered as the bulkhead of No. 2 hold gave way, they surged in a living torrent into the out-swung boat, regardless of the revolver shots which the Acting Chief fired over their heads.
Preston made no further attempt to restore order on the boat-deck. If the men disobeyed orders he was no longer responsible for their safety.
He passed along until he came to a knot of comparatively amenable Madrasis, who had been gathered together by Anstey and two of the engineers.
"Right-o, old man!" exclaimed the Acting Chief to the Third Officer. "Lower away! You take command, and good luck to you."