“That's our job,” announced the life-saving captain.
“Well, come on then. No use in delay,” said Captain Marsh.
The four men from the life-saving service dropped aboard. The five then went over the tug from stem to stern, tossing aside all movables, and lashing tight all essentials. From the pilot-house Captain Marsh distributed life preservers. Harvey declined his.
“Whaf-for I want dat?” he inquired. “Lots of good he gwine do me down here!”
Then all hatches were battened down. Captain Marsh reached up to shake the hand which Orde, stooping, offered him.
“I'll try to bring her back all right, sir,” said he.
“To hell with the tug!” cried Orde, impatient at this insistence on the mere property aspect. “Bring yourself back.”
Captain Marsh deliberately lit another cigar and entered the pilot-house with the other men.
“Cast off!” he cried; and the silent crowd heard clearly the single sharp bell ringing for attention, and then the “jangler” that called for full speed ahead. Awed, they watched the tiny sturdy craft move out into the stream and point to the fury of the open lake.
“Brave chaps! Brave chaps!” said Dr. McMullen to Carroll as they turned away. The physician drew his tall slender figure to its height. “Brave chaps, every one of them. But, do you know, to my mind, the bravest of them all are that nigger—and his fireman—nailed down in the hold where they can't see nor know what's going on, and if—if—” the good doctor blew his nose vigorously five or six times—“well, it's just like a rat in a hole.” He shook his head vigorously and looked out to sea. “I read last evening, sir,” said he to Bradford, “in a blasted fool medical journal I take, that the race is degenerating. Good God!”