The frightened Italian skipper was more concerned with investigating his own damages. Paying no heed, he kept his engines reversed and sluggishly backed out of the gap he had torn. Hysterically blowing his whistle he drifted off in the darkness until his lights were lost to view.
Richard Cary lost no time making signals of distress. His job was to get the crew off a ship that was dropping from under their feet. He could hear the sea rushing into the hold.
His first thought was for the men in the forecastle. He made his way over the splintered deck which was humped like a cat’s back. Beyond the chasm in the ship’s side, he found the wooden structure still intact, but tipped at a crazy slant. Already the men were bringing out the one wounded comrade who was unable to help himself. They were excited and noisy, but ready to do whatever El Capitan said. He drove them aft ahead of him, telling them to find their stations just the same as at boat drill.
By now the others came rushing up from the engine-room and stoke-hole. The safety-valve had been opened to let her blow off. This was the only farewell ceremony that any one had delayed to perform. The water had been splashing to their knees when they scrambled for the ladder. Luckily the crippled Charlie Burnham had turned in for a nap and came hobbling from his room in the state of mind of a young man who regarded this as one thing too many.
There was no panic. As a ship’s crew the habit of obedience was more than skin deep. This was the finish of the old hooker and it was time for them to go. Two boats were promptly swung out. There was room and to spare in them.
“Mr. Duff takes the number one boat,” said Captain Cary. “Stow Mr. Panchito carefully and look out for his broken arm. The chief engineer goes in the other boat.”
“What about our treasure?” demanded Charlie Burnham, in anguished accents. “If we have to lose it, this shipwreck is a mighty serious affair, let me tell you, sir.”
“Let ’em go get it then,” rapped out Captain Cary, “but you’ll all be drowned if you fiddle here five minutes longer.”
Jubilantly they dragged the canvas sacks from the storeroom and flung them into the boats. Even this brief delay was perilous, but Cary had not the heart to refuse them. So fast was the steamer sinking that the waves were even now breaking across her well deck. She was going down by the head, and her stern was cocking high in air. Had they stayed too long? As he shouted to lower away, Cary wished he had parted the fools and their money.
One boat plopped upon the back of a crested wave and was safely shoved away from the perishing ship. The other waited for the captain, but he told them to let go and pull clear. Glancing forward, he saw the Valkyrie’s bow plunge under in a ghastly smother of foam. Were all hands accounted for? He had to satisfy himself of this before he was willing to quit the ship. It was the imperative demand of duty, the final rite of a commander faithful to his task. Had any of those reckless idiots been left in the storeroom wrestling with their cursed bags of silver? He felt sure he had shoved or thrown them all into the boats, but he could not afford to carry the smallest doubt with him.