I looked for the other boat. It was not in sight. The forms of two women came to the rail, one a young girl.
"Throw me a line," I yelled to the man in uniform.
A small line came sailing across the boat. I seized it, and went forward.
"Jake and you, Bill, come with me, the rest lie by—keep her clear whatever you do," I said, and waved my hand to those above to haul away. With the bowline under my arms, I was soon on deck. Then I helped to haul my two men up.
"I'm the second," said the man in uniform; "but I can't make 'em do anything. Just stretched one out when the rest knocked me over and took to the boats."
Without delay we made our way along the port rail to amidships, where the boats were being lowered. Men crowded around them, and fought for places. The fireroom crew, white-skinned and partly clothed, their pale faces dirty with coal dust, stood around the nearest boat, and worked at the lashings, cursing, swearing, and shoving each other in the suppressed panic of men who are hurrying from death.
The canvas covering was ripped off, and four men sprang into her, the rest shoving her bodily outboard. The men at the falls howled and swore, slacked off without regard to consequences, and the craft dropped a few feet, then swung off, and came with a crash against the side.
"Fine discipline," I said to the second mate, who was close to me.
A form touched my elbow. I turned, and saw a young girl.
"Aren't they going to take us along with them?" she asked quietly, but with a voice full of pleading.