“Mind your painters! Lower handsomely!”
The boats took the water in orderly fashion, and were cast off. Remaining members of the crew swarmed down the falls. The bandsmen had a boat to themselves, and resumed their tune as soon as they were settled.
Gissing, left alone on the ship, waved for silence.
“Look sharp, man!” cried Captain Scottie. “Honour's satisfied! Take your place in the boat!”
The passengers applauded, and there was quite a clatter of camera shutters as they snapped the Pomerania looming grandly above them.
“Boats are all provisioned and equipped,” shouted Gissing. “I've broadcasted your position by radio. The barometer's at Fixed Fair. Pull off now, and 'ware the screw.”
He moved the telegraph handle to DEAD SLOW, and the Pomerania began to slip forward gently. The boats dropped aft amid a loud miscellaneous outcry. Mr. Pointer was already examining the horizon. Captain Scottie, awakened to the situation, was uttering the language of theology but not the purport.
