"How is she—quick—get the pumps going—collision—keep the firemen cool, and for God's sake don't let them panic—keep them at their posts until we see what's up. We've run down the express steamer Blue Star, of the Royal Dutch Line——"
The master turned to the pilot house again and looked out of the window. His chief officer was still standing where he had left him.
"In Heaven's name, Mr. James, what's the matter with you to-night?" he broke out wildly, in passionate tones, almost sobbing. "It's all hands—get 'em out quick!"
He was a strange creature standing there in his undershirt and drawers, with his long gray beard streaming down across his breast. The man at the wheel even looked at him for a moment, but did not smile. It was tragedy, not comedy.
"Is she full speed astern?" asked the master quickly.
"Yes, sir, full speed astern, sir," said the man. His face was white, and his hands shook a little while he held the spokes of the wheel. There was death for many that night, and he knew it. It would be hard to tell who would survive in the rush that was sure to come if the ship went down. Yet his seamanship told him that much was to be hoped from the forward bulkhead. It would hold her up if it could stand the strain.
In two minutes there was a rush of hundreds of feet upon the decks below the flying bridge. The second officer came up half naked, dressed in shirt and trousers, without shoes or stockings. He was a powerful man and short, with a tremendous voice, a real Yankee bos'n voice; and he roared out orders for the men, who jumped to their stations automatically.
The captain came again to the bridge and took command. He yelled to the boat crews below, and strove to quiet the crowding passengers who pushed and fought about the boats in spite of the after guard and seamen.
"Get down there and wade into that mess, Wilson," said the master to the second officer; and he jumped down and went bawling through the press, pushing and pulling, striking here and there a refractory passenger who would insist upon trying to fill the small boats.
"There is no danger—no danger whatever," roared the captain again and again from the bridge. The petty officers took up the cry, and gradually the press about the starboard lifeboats grew less. The boats upon the port side had been all carried away or smashed to bits. Ten boats were left.