The crowd swayed to the rail as another boat was slung from the davits. Rex grasped the arm of a man in marine uniform.
"Where's your captain?" he demanded, harshly.
"I am the captain," said the man, helplessly; "but what can I do? The passengers have gone mad! The Berbers are beasts!"
Britton flung aside the arm he had seized with a gesture of repulsion.
"Do?" he cried, in fine scorn. "You might at least try! You act like a baby. This rush must be stopped–"
Boom! rang the Mottisfont's cannon. Its message reverberated like hollow thunder over the great bay. Two score whistles rose in answer from the inner reaches of the harbor.
Boom! The whistles shrieked anew, and the riding lights of the vessels plunged into activity.
"You hear!" exclaimed Britton. "If that rush isn't stopped half of those on board will be drowned by the swamping of the boats, with a hundred harbor craft coming to the rescue. Come on, sir–be a man!"
Rex took hold of a heavy piece of broken stanchion and made a flying leap into the knot of Berbers stamping about the stern davits.
"Back, men!" he shouted in a voice that soared above every other noise. "Be calm! There'll be a hundred boats here in a minute, with room for all of you. Let the women forward at once!"