were got into the swaying, dancing boats as tenderly as might be, and the men were bidden to watch, and wait their turn.  When they grew restive, as the scorching fire drew more near, they were beaten savagely; the Grosser Carl’s crew, with the shame of their own panic still raw on them, knew no mercy; and the second mate of the Flamingo, who stood against a davit, insulted them all with impartial cheerfulness.  He was a very apt pupil, this young man, of that master of ruling men at the expense of their feelings, Captain Owen Kettle.

Meanwhile the two lifeboats took one risky journey after another, being drawn up to their own ship by a chattering winch, discharging their draggled freight with dexterity and little ceremony, and then laboring back under oars for another.  The light of the burning steamer turned a great sphere of night into day, and the heat from her made the sweat pour down the faces of the toiling men, though the gale still roared, and the icy spindrift still whipped and stung.  On the Flamingo, Captain Kettle cast into the sea with a free hand what represented the savings of a lifetime, provision for his wife and children, and an old-age pension for himself.

The Grosser Carl had carried thirty first-class passengers, and these were crammed into the Flamingo’s slender cabin accommodation, filling it to overflowing.  The emigrants—­Austrians, Bohemians, wild Poles, filthy, crawling Russian Jews, bestial Armenians, human debris which even soldier-coveting Middle Europe rejected—­these were herded down into the holds, as rich cargo was dug out by the straining winches, and given to the thankless sea to make space for them.

“Kindly walk up,” said Kettle, with bitter hospitality, as fresh flocks of them were heaved up over the bulwarks.  “Don’t hesitate to grumble if the accommodation isn’t exactly to your liking.  We’re most pleased to strike out cargo to provide you with an elegant parlor, and what’s left I’m sure you’ll be able to sit on and spoil.  Oh, you filthy, long-haired cattle!  Did none of you ever wash?”

Fiercely the Grosser Carl burned to the fanning of the gale, and like furies worked the men in the boats.  The Grosser Carl’s own boat joined the other two, once the ferrying was well under way.  She had hung alongside after Kettle cast off her line, with her people madly clamoring to be taken on board; but as all they received for their pains was abuse and coal-lumps—­mostly, by the way, from their own fellow-countrymen, who made up the majority of the Flamingo’s crew—­they were presently driven to help in the salving work through sheer scare at being left behind to drown unless they carried out the fierce little English Captain’s orders.