"You brute!" exclaimed the countess, who was sitting close to me. "Why didn't you let my husband come in this boat?"
"If he was a man, he wouldn't have wanted to," I snapped, hot at the insult.
"I notice you are here, all right, you ruffian!" she retorted, sneering. "What do you call yourself?"
I thought best not to answer her. Words with women are generally wasted, and the woman always gets the last one, anyhow. The countess had always been so courteous and gentle that I supposed the excitement had turned her head; and then, after all, I had treated her husband a bit rough. He was a gentleman, and I was only a mate. That made a difference in her point of view, although I can't say it did so much in my own.
I talked to Driscoll, and watched the Prince Gregory as she lay there in the oily sea. Boats came and went toward the light vessel, and, thinking it would be a good thing to get rid of my cargo, I trailed off after the bunch, and was soon alongside the lightship.
As fast as we could, we sent the women aboard, finding that the little ship would hold hundreds of passengers, in spite of her diminutive size. Inside of half an hour, she had fully five hundred people in her, and was jammed to the rails, below and on deck. Still, it was better than an open boat, and I kept bringing them by scores, until there were no more, save a few boatloads, and these we kept afloat in the lifeboats.
During this time I thought little, or not at all, about the count. The ship still hung by her after bulkhead, and Lord knows the man who set it in her deserves praise enough. How it stood that strain is a wonder to this day. If there had been any sea running she would have gone down like a stone, for no unbraced cross-section of a ship can stand the surge of ten thousand tons in a seaway. It must have burst like blotting paper when wetted down. With ten men—all second-class passengers—in my boat besides the crew, I went back to the ship for the last time, and watched old man Hall as he stood upon the bridge. I could just make him out through the hazy gloom of the night, but I could hear his voice distinctly, as he gave orders to the few men who stayed with him.
"Do you want any more help, sir?" I asked, coming alongside.
"What's that—you, Jack?" he answered. "No, I reckon not. She'll hang on for hours, if the weather remains calm like this. All the passengers safe?"
"All aboard the lightship, or hanging to her by painters—there's a line of boats half a mile long trailing on behind her, and they're safe enough, as they can't get lost as long as they hold to her. Tide runs hard here on the edge of the Stream, but her wireless is going right along, and she says two cutters left Boston half an hour ago, under full steam—ought to be here before late in the morning, anyway. Never lost a man, hey?"