For a few moments he had been certain — indeed, he had hoped — that White would look up and say, 'Robbins, you put us on the Kentish Knock!' If only he had, the horrible truth would have been spread and shared. But instead he had simply walked gloomily over and hauled up the broken rope. It was when Jim had realized that he was entirely alone with his secret that he had dashed forward, to halt in the darkness by the lee rail, looking down at the tumbling foam. He had stood there for many minutes, while the Mate called from the poop; but he was now too dead, far too sunk in lifeless apathy, to climb that rail, balance, and then jump.
And so, to the hand who called him, he appeared to be still alive when hands were called at six that morning. White and Brodie were too anxious about other things to notice his numbness, his misery. Though he was no longer a young man, but only a mechanical puppet, his outside showed little change.
As he emerged on deck, White was standing at the break of the poop, surveying the small crowd of seamen beneath him. He held up his hand for silence, which fell swiftly and utterly: "Lads, we've no time to argy-bargy, but I got two very grave things to tell you. First, as you can see, we're in a damned tight spot. I don't have to tell you that she may break up on the rising tide. Now I think you know that I'm not one to be trifled with. What I say goes. And I know I can rely on the fellers in front of me to do as much as men can do. That brings me to the second thing: last night I removed James Cameron from the command of this vessel. I'm now master, and I've appointed Mr Brodie as Mate. It was entirely my decision, and I'll take full responsibility for it when we reach port. That's all. Carry on forward. Bosun and steward report to me."
The men moved away from the poop with little of the buzzing excitement that would normally have followed a Captain's overthrow. White watched them go with concern, then turned to the Bosun: "Now then, Bosun, you can see wind's as bad as ever. Mr Brodie and I think she'll pound to pieces at high water. I want you to get all lifeboats cleared away ready for lowering. We can't use the weather side, o' course, or they'll be knocked to pieces, so you'll only be able to swing out two at a time. They should ride alongside to leeward all right, though, so start getting 'em in now." The Bosun, heavy and red-faced, caught the urgency in White's tone, and clattered almost nimbly down to the main-deck, bawling as he went. In his place now stood the slight, pale and rather studious figure of the officers' steward, shivering in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. He seldom came on deck at all, and, ignorant of the disaster, had been busy on the routine scrubbing of his pantry when the summons had arrived. He was bewildered as well as peevish, for he knew nothing of the violent end of Cameron's career, nor of White's new rank.
"What is it, sir?" he asked impatiently.
"How much whisky you got aboard?"
"How much whisky, sir? Well, I haven't got my stores book with me, of course. I really didn't know—"
"Come on, you wittering old woman — how much Scotch?"
"Well, in round figures, speaking unofficially, of course, about ten cases; but I don't quite—"
"Right. Get it up here. Dish it out. Bottle to every six hands."
"Give it to the . . . Surely you—" He faltered to a stop as the great raw hand of the Captain closed over a belaying-pin, then turned and dashed below.
"Might cheer 'em up a bit," said White to Brodie. "You heard what the carpenter told me just now, I daresay? Four foot o' water in two o' the lower holds."
"That was the pounding on the sand, I suppose?" said the Mate. "We shan't be able to keep it from the passengers much longer. They'll hear it swilling about underneath them. I've been having a job as it is to keep them below. Keep coming up to complain about the delay. Delay! Funny, really, I suppose."
"They'll have to stay there, though, till the boats are over-side, or we'll not get one away with hundreds of 'em sculling about on deck. Listen now, lad. Get your gun and two good men — big uns, you know. Get 'em all together on the 'tween-decks and tell them they're being sent ashore — or any cock-and-bull story you like, for that matter. Tell 'em they got to be ready, but stay down below till they're told. Show them your pistol."
Mr White had been hoping to hang on until daylight before sending the boats away. A rescue attempt might be made, and even if it was not, the boats must stand a slightly better chance of survival by day. Even so, heavily-loaded boats would be in the most appalling danger in the steep, high seas that were now beginning to shake the stranded hulk with their force. Once they were out of the shelter given by the ship he gave them no better than one chance in five of escaping capsize or swamping. Still, since Sardis was already leaking, there was no choice. By eight o'clock the full fury of the sea might well be breaking clean over the main-deck, and then it would be too late.
He looked over the lee rail; a few boats were already secured by their painters to the rail; even on this sheltered side they surged to and fro wildly as the sea rose and fell; in the bow of each boat a seaman prodded frantically at the ship's side to keep the boat off. On the main-deck was a scene of furious activity: while one body of hands cut and slashed with axes and knives, ripping off lashings and tarpaulins, the remainder went to each boat in turn, securing to its slings the hooks of great blocks which hung from the yard-arms of the fore and mainmasts. There was a flurry of shouts, and the boat was snatched aloft; a small body of hands on the braces swung the end of the yard over the water, and the boat was rapidly lowered into the swilling, heaving froth.
A still, hunched figure among the ant-like bustling of the seamen caught White's attention. Young Robbins! Got a bad attack of the jitters, by the look of it. That sort of thing could spread. "Hey — Robbins! Make yourself useful. Tell Cameron to come up here. Then go and help Mr Brodie down below."
The limp puppet that had once been an apprentice slouched mechanically into the doorway that led under the poop-deck, tapped on the familiar panelling, and repeated the message. On the open deck again, he headed for the hatchway to the main hold, from which came the stale stench of poor, unwashed, crowded people, and a roar of confused noise. At the bottom of the ladder he saw the backs of Brodie and two seamen; only a few feet away, in a half-circle, stood the vanguard of a wild and frightened herd — uncertain, bewildered, caught between a desperate desire for action and a sapping, paralysing fear.
From the ship's side came the thundering boom of a giant sea. The whole ship trembled from the ponderous blow, which shifted her sideways so roughly that the great packed mass of bodies stumbled sideways with a quick moan of terror. Inevitably, the men who considered themselves the toughest had shouldered their way to the front; their leader, unshaven and hollow-cheeked, turned to the crowd, raking them with his glittering, fanatical eyes: "You felt that, did you not? D'you believe the swine now when he says we're no in danger? Are you still going to let him pen us up down here like pigs, while he and his mates save their dirty hides?"