“‘She’ll win to Rio yet, tail-shaft or no tail-shaft,’ says Bell.
“‘Last night shook her,’ I said. ‘She’ll jar it off yet, mark my word.’
“We were then, maybe, a hunder and fifty mile westsou’west o’ Slyne Head, by dead reckonin’. Next day we made a hunder an’ thirty—ye’ll note we were not racin-boats—an’ the day after a hunder an’ sixty-one, an’ that made us, we’ll say, Eighteen an’ a bittock west, an’ maybe Fifty-one an’ a bittock north, crossin’ all the North Atlantic liner lanes on the long slant, always in sight o’ the Grotkau, creepin’ up by night and fallin’ awa’ by day. After the gale it was cold weather wi’ dark nights.
“I was in the engine-room on Friday night, just before the middle watch, when Bell whustled down the tube: ‘She’s done it’; an’ up I came.
“The Grotkau was just a fair distance south, an’ one by one she ran up the three red lights in a vertical line—the sign of a steamer not under control.
“‘Yon’s a tow for us,’ said Bell, lickin’ his chops. ‘She’ll be worth more than the Breslau. We’ll go down to her, McPhee!’
“‘Bide a while,’ I said. ‘The seas fair throng wi’ ships here.’
“‘Reason why,’ said Bell. ‘It’s a fortune gaun beggin’. What d’ ye think, man?’
“‘Gie her till daylight. She knows we’re here. If Bannister needs help he’ll loose a rocket.’
“‘Wha told ye Bannister’s need? We’ll ha’ some rag-an’-bone tramp snappin’ her up under oor nose,’ said he; an’ he put the wheel over. We were goin’ slow.