The Tragedy of the Boats

When the boats were within hailing distance, a man in the bow of the long-boat rose up.

"Quarter-boat ahoy!"

"Ahoy!"

"How much water have you?"

"None!"

The word came floating over the placid moonlit water. At it the fellows in the long-boat ceased rowing, and you could see the water-drops dripping off their oars like diamonds in the moonlight.

"Quarter-boat, ahoy!" shouted the fellow in the bow. "Lay on your oars."

"Here, you scowbanker!" cried Le Farge, "who are you to be giving directions--"

"Scowbanker yourself!" replied the fellow. "Bullies, put her about!"

The starboard oars backed water, and the boat came round.

By chance the worst lot of the Northumberland's crew were in the long-boat veritable--"scowbankers" scum; and how scum clings to life you will never know, until you have been amongst it in an open boat at sea. Le Farge had no more command over this lot than you have who are reading this book.

"Heave to!" came from the quarter-boat, as she laboured behind.

"Lay on your oars, bullies!" cried the ruffian at the bow, who was still standing up like an evil genius who had taken momentary command over events. "Lay on your oars, bullies; they'd better have it now."

The quarter-boat in her turn ceased rowing, and lay a cable's length away.