“Man overboard.”
He was rooted to the spot. In helpless consternation he looked to his officer for instructions. A human being was adrift in this angry sea, or maybe had been already killed by a swiftly moving propeller blade.
As in a dream he saw Lazar grasp the handles of the telegraphs to the engine room and signal “full speed astern.”
There could be but one interpretation. Lazar would lower a life-boat after all.
Phil ran down the bridge ladder and swung himself nimbly out on the life-boat gallery.
There he found the lee life-boat ready for lowering; six sailors sat quietly at the thwarts, while those of the watch had led out the boat-falls. O’Neil, the coxswain, with his hand on the strong-back, stood ready to leap into the boat. That they were doing more than their duty did not occur to these stout American hearts. A fellow-being was in danger of drowning—that was enough reason for them.
“Shall I lower, sir?” the coxswain shouted to Phil as the latter swung himself over the rail of the superstructure and stood by his side; “he can’t live long in this sea.”
Phil surveyed hastily the strongly built boat, then his gaze traveled down to the angry sea beneath him.
The engines were backing. He saw the heavy surge of the sea astern as the propellers threw a powerful race current forward. Why did not the order come? After the ship had started astern the boat could not be lowered. Far away on the lee quarter the chemical flame of the patent life-buoy showed a dim light against a background of troubled waters.
Under the spell of one of those impulses that seem to take possession so absolutely of the mind in times of emergency, Phil cried: