"I wondered why she wasn't complaining that she was not being treated as a lady," thought Preston grimly. "That accounts for it."
Together, the Acting Chief and the Purser unceremoniously bundled the insensible woman into the last boat but one on the port side. Those on the starboard were useless, for, owing to the excessive heel, they could not be lowered clear of the sloping side.
"Now, Miss Baird."
Guided by Preston the girl entered the boat, in which were three lascars—one of them Mahmed, Peter's boy.
"Where's Mostyn?" shouted the Acting Chief. "Partridge! Plover! Hurry up, now!"
He called in vain. The two Watchers had already got clear of the ship. Mostyn was still vainly endeavouring to get the SOS message through.
Meanwhile the Purser, the Chief Steward, and the remaining natives had lowered the last available boat. Preston was left alone on the boat-deck—a fact that was revealed to him when the next lightning-flash rent the sky.
"Where's the Captain?" he shouted, hailing the boats lying a short distance away. "Anyone seen Captain Bullock?"
By this time the water was washing over the well-deck. At any moment the West Barbican might turn turtle.
A voice from one of the boats replied: