“What’s the row, Mr. Scott?” asked the former.

“Are ye’s thryin’ to shake the screw out of her?” inquired the Milesian, who could talk as good English as his crony, the owner, but who occasionally made use of the brogue to prevent him from forgetting his mother tongue, as he put it, though he was born in the United States.  “Don’t ye’s do it; for sure, you will want it ’fore we get to Bombay.”

“Don’t you see those men standing upon something, or clinging to whatever floats them?  They are having a close call; but I hope we shall be able to save them,” replied the third officer.

The captain had gone to the pilot-house, from the windows of which the wreck could be seen very plainly, as its distance from the ship was rapidly reduced.  By this time the entire crew had rushed to the deck, and were waiting for orders on the forecastle.  Mr. Boulong, with his boat’s crew, had gone to the starboard quarter, where the first cutter was swung in on her davits.  The boat pulled six oars, and the cockswain made seven hands.

With these the cutter wad quickly swung out, and the crew took their places in her, the bowman at the forward tackle, and the cockswain at the after.  It was the same crew with which the first officer had boarded the Blanche when she was in imminent peril of going down, and he had entire confidence both in their will and their muscle.  He stood on the rail, holding on at the main shrouds, ready for further orders.

In the pilot-house, with both quartermasters at the wheel, the captain was still observing with his glass the men in momentary peril of being washed from their insecure position into the boiling sea.  Felix had gone aft with the first officer, and had assisted in shoving out the first cutter from the skids inboard, and Louis had come into the pilot-house with Scott.

“Has any one counted the number of men on the wreck, or whatever it is?” inquired the commander.

“There are eleven of them,” promptly replied Scott, who, as an officer of the ship, was in his element, and very active both in mind and body.

“Too many for one boat in a heavy sea,” added Captain Ringgold.  “You will clear away the second cutter, Mr. Scott, and follow Mr. Boulong to the wreck.”

“All the second cutters aft!” shouted the third officer from the window; and the crew of this boat rushed up the ladder to the promenade deck, and followed the life-line to the davits of the cutter.

“Bargate, who pulls the stroke oar in the second cutter, has the rheumatism in his right arm, and is not fit to go in the boat,” interposed Mr. Gaskette, the second officer.

“Let me take his place, Captain Ringgold!” eagerly exclaimed Louis Belgrave.

“Do you think you can pull an oar in a heavy seaway, Mr. Belgrave?” asked the commander, who always treated the owner with entire respect in the presence of others, though he called him by his given name when they were alone.