"'They'll tell o' this all the days they live,' said Bell. 'A rescue at sea by night, as pretty as a play. Young Bannister an' Calder will be drinkin' in the saloon, an' six months hence the Board o' Trade 'll gie the skipper a pair o' binoculars. It's vara philanthropic all round.'
"We'll lay by till day—ye may think we waited for it wi' sore eyes an' there sat the Grotkau, her nose a bit cocked, just leerin' at us. She looked paifectly ridiculous.
"'She'll be fillin' aft,' says Bell; 'for why is she down by the stern? The tail–shaft's punched a hole in her, an'—we 've no boats. There's three hunder thousand pound sterlin', at a conservative estimate, droonin' before our eyes. What's to do?' An' his bearin's got hot again in a minute: he was an incontinent man.
"'Run her as near as ye daur,' I said. 'Gie me a jacket an' a lifeline, an' I'll swum for it.' There was a bit lump of a sea, an' it was cold in the wind—vara cold; but they'd gone overside like passengers, young Bannister an' Calder an' a', leaving the gangway down on the lee–side. It would ha' been a flyin' in the face o' manifest Providence to overlook the invitation. We were within fifty yards o' her while Kinloch was garmin' me all over wi' oil behind the galley; an' as we ran past I went outboard for the salvage o' three hunder thousand pound. Man, it was perishin' cold, but I'd done my job judgmatically, an' came scrapin' all along her side slap on to the lower gratin' o' the gangway. No one more astonished than me, I assure ye. Before I'd caught my breath I'd skinned both my knees on the gratin', an' was climbin' up before she rolled again. I made my line fast to the rail, an' squattered aft to young Bannister's cabin, whaaur I dried me wi' everything in his bunk, an' put on every conceivable sort o' rig I found till the blood was circulatin'. Three pair drawers, I mind I found—to begin upon—an' I needed them all. It was the coldest cold I remember in all my experience.
"Syne I went aft to the engine–room. The Grotkau sat on her own tail, as they say. She was vara shortshafted, an' her gear was all aft. There was four or five foot o' water in the engine–room slummockin' to and fro, black an' greasy; maybe there was six foot. The stoke–hold doors were screwed home, an' the stoke–hold was tight enough, but for a minute the mess in the engine–room deceived me. Only for a minute, though, an' that was because I was not, in a manner o' speakin', as calm as ordinar'. I looked again to mak' sure. 'T was just black wi' bilge: dead watter that must ha' come in fortuitously, ye ken."
"McPhee, I'm only a passenger," I said, "but you don't persuade me that six foot o' water can come into an engine–room fortuitously."
"Who's tryin' to persuade one way or the other?" McPhee retorted. "I'm statin' the facts o' the case—the simple, natural facts. Six or seven foot o' dead watter in the engine–room is a vara depressin' sight if ye think there's like to be more comin'; but I did not consider that such was likely, and so, yell note, I was not depressed."
"That's all very well, but I want to know about the water," I said.
"I've told ye. There was six feet or more there, wi' Calder's cap floatin' on top."
"Where did it come from?"
"Weel, in the confusion o' things after the propeller had dropped off an' the engines were racin' an' a', it's vara possible that Calder might ha' lost it off his head an' no troubled himself to pick it up again. I remember seem' that cap on him at Southampton."
"I don't want to know about the cap. I'm asking where the water came from and what it was doing there, and why you were so certain that it wasn't a leak, McPhee?"
"For good reason–for good an' sufficient reason."
"Give it to me, then."
"Weel, it's a reason that does not properly concern myself only. To be preceese, I'm of opinion that it was due, the watter, in part to an error o' judgment in another man. We can a' mak' mistakes."
"Oh, I beg your pardon?"
"I got me to the rail again, an', 'What's wrang?' said Bell, hailin'.
"'She'll do,' I said. 'Send's o'er a hawser, an' a man to steer. I'll pull him in by the life–line.'
"I could see heads bobbin' back an' forth, an' a whuff or two o' strong words. Then Bell said: 'They'll not trust themselves—one of 'em—in this waiter—except Kinloch, an' I'll no spare him.'
"'The more salvage to me, then,' I said. 'I'll make shift solo.'
"Says one dock–rat, at this: 'D' ye think she's safe?'
"'I'll guarantee ye nothing,' I said, 'except maybe a hammerin' for keepin' me this long.'
"Then he sings out: 'There's no more than one lifebelt, an' they canna find it, or I'd come.'
"'Throw him over, the Jezebel,' I said, for I was oot o' patience; an' they took haud o' that volunteer before he knew what was in store, and hove him over, in the bight of my life–line. So I e'en hauled him upon the sag of it, hand over fist—a vara welcome recruit when I'd tilted the salt watter oot of him: for, by the way, he could na swim.
"Syne they bent a twa–inch rope to the life–line, an' a hawser to that, an' I led the rope o'er the drum of a hand–winch forward, an' we sweated the hawser inboard an' made it fast to the Grotkau's bitts.
"Bell brought the Kite so close I feared she'd roll in an' do the Grotkau's plates a mischief. He hove anither life–line to me, an' went astern, an' we had all the weary winch work to do again wi' a second hawser. For all that, Bell was right: we'd along tow before us, an' though Providence had helped us that far, there was no sense in leavin' too much to its keepin'. When the second hawser was fast, I was wet wi' sweat, an' I cried Bell to tak' up his slack an' go home. The other man was by way o' helpin' the work wi' askin' for drinks, but I e'en told him he must hand reef an' steer, beginnin' with steerin', for I was goin' to turn in. He steered—oh, ay, he steered, in a manner o' speakin'. At the least, he grippit the spokes an' twiddled 'em an' looked wise, but I doubt if the Hoor ever felt it. I turned in there an' then, to young Bannister's bunk, an' slept past expression. I waukened ragin' wi' hunger, a fair lump o' sea runnin', the Kite snorin' awa' four knots an hour; an' the Grotkau slappin' her nose under, an' yawin' an' standin' over at discretion. She was a most disgracefu' tow. But the shameful thing of all was the food. I raxed me a meal fra galley–shelves an' pantries an' lazareetes an' cubby–holes that I would not ha' gied to the mate of a Cardiff collier; an' ye ken we say a Cardiff mate will eat clinkers to save waste. I'm sayin' it was simply vile! The crew had written what they thought of it on the new paint o' the fo'c'sle, but I had not a decent soul wi' me to complain on. There was nothin' for me to do save watch the hawsers an' the Kite's tail squatterin' down in white watter when she lifted to a sea; so I got steam on the after donkey–pump, an' pumped oot the engine–room. There's no sense in leavin' waiter loose in a ship. When she was dry, I went doun the shaft–tunnel, an' found she was leakin' a little through the stuffin'box, but nothin' to make wark. The propeller had e'en jarred off, as I knew it must, an' Calder had been waitin' for it to go wi' his hand on the gear. He told me as much when I met him ashore. There was nothin' started or strained. It had just slipped awa' to the bed o' the Atlantic as easy as a man dyin' wi' due warning—a most providential business for all concerned. Syne I took stock o' the Grotkau's upper works. Her boats had been smashed on the davits, an' here an' there was the rail missin', an' a ventilator or two had fetched awa', an' the bridge–rails were bent by the seas; but her hatches were tight, and she'd taken no sort of harm. Dod, I came to hate her like a human bein', for I was eight weary days aboard, starvin'—ay, starvin'—within a cable's length o' plenty. All day I laid in the bunk reading the' Woman–Hater,' the grandest book Charlie Reade ever wrote, an' pickin' a toothful here an' there. It was weary, weary work. Eight days, man, I was aboard the Grotkau, an' not one full meal did I make. Sma' blame her crew would not stay by her. The other man? Oh I warked him wi' a vengeance to keep him warm.