"What is sinking?" cried Britton, excitedly; "not the yacht!"
"No, the coaster," said Captain Daniels. "She has no water-tight compartments."
The terrified wail of the Arab crew proclaimed the inrush of the water as the steamer listed at an alarming rate to starboard. The officers shouted orders which were smothered in the tumult, for an uncontrollable panic seized passengers and sailors. Pandemonium in its wild, selfish authority ruled on the coaster's decks, and Britton, from the bridge of the Mottisfont, could view the mad, strenuous struggle for safety. A feminine cry startled him in its piercing shrillness.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, "there are women there, and those brutes of Berbers will trample them to death. Quick, man! Drive the yacht in close and throw out the ropes."
Daniels instantly obeyed, observing: "It's dangerous work, sir, and she's liable to drag us down when she founders, which may be any moment now!"
"Doesn't matter," said Britton, curtly. "We're bound to help them even if this was their own doing. Have you lowered the launch?"
"Mr. Ainsworth and Mr. Trascott have it, sir."
"The smaller boats?"
"They're out, sir, trying to take some of the passengers off. Why in the name of Neptune don't they lower their own?"
The Mottisfont was larger than the steamer, and overtopped it as they drew in again. Britton leaned forward and listened to the tumult on the smaller vessel.