"Here!"
"What's that?" bawled Preston.
"All right," answered the voice.
The Acting Chief was puzzled. It was not the Old Man's voice, but perhaps Captain Bullock had been injured. He had not seen the skipper since he left him on the bridge. Apparently the bridge was deserted. It looked untenable owing to the great list of the ship.
A muffled explosion, as yet another bulkhead gave way under the pressure of water, warned Preston that it was time for him to go. It was his duty to take charge of the boat in which were the two women passengers.
Leaping into the boat, Preston signed to Mahmed to help him with the after falls, at the same time shouting to the other two lascars to lower away handsomely.
Although there was no one on deck to man the falls, it was a fairly easy matter to lower away the comparatively light boat with only six persons on board, the distance from the davit-heads to the water being only about ten feet, so deep had the ship settled.
"Fend off!" ordered Preston, as he jerked the lever of the patent disengaging gear.
Even as he spoke the heavy metal block of the lower after falls swung violently outwards. In the darkness the Acting Chief did not see the impending danger.
The next instant the swaying lump of metal struck Preston full on the temple. Without a groan or a cry he pitched headlong upon the stern-sheet gratings.