“Mr. Allen,” said the captain, “you are the best man in such an emergency as this.  You handle a boat better than any man I know.  There is now only one boat left, and you must take charge of her.  You will have to take a big lot of people—­the four women, the parson, the old French priest, Mr. Otway, Captain Burr, the carpenter, and the five men.”

“I guess I’ll stand out, and stick to the ship,” said Burr in a lazy, drawling manner, “I don’t like bein’ crowded up with a lot of wimmen.”

“Neither do I, said Otway.

“Same here, captain,” said the carpenter, a little grizzled man of sixty.

Robertson shook hands with each of them in turn.  “I knew you were men,” he said simply.  “Come below and let’s have a drink together, and then see to the boat.”

“What’s all this, skipper?” said Allen, with an oath, “d’ye think I’m going to save my carcase and let you men drown?  I’ll see you all damned first!”

“You’ll obey orders,” growled the captain, “and my orders are that you take charge of that boat.  And don’t give me any lip.  You are a married man and have children.  None of us who are standing by the ship are married men.  By God, my joker, if you don’t know your duty, I’ll teach you.  Are you going to let these four women go adrift in a boat to perish when you can save them?”

Allen looked the captain squarely in the face and then put out his hand.

“I understand you, sir.  But I don’t like doing it.  The ship won’t keep afloat another hour.  But, as you say, I’ve a wife and kids to consider.”

* * * * *

Followed by the others, Robertson went below, and told his passengers to get ready for the boat.  The old French priest, exhausted by his labour at the pumps, was still lying on the transom cushions, sleeping; the Rev. Lacy was seated at the table smoking his pipe (all the ladies were in their state-rooms).  He rose as the men entered, and looked at them inquiringly.

“We’re in a bit of a tight place,” said the captain, as he coolly poured out half a tumblerful of brandy, “but I’m sending you, Mr. Lacy, and Father Roget, and the ladies away with Mr. Allen in one of the boats.  Allen is a man whom I rely upon.  He’ll bring you ashore safely.  He’s a bit rough in his talk, but he’s one of God’s own chosen in a boat, and a fine sailor man—­better than the mate, Captain Burr, or myself; isn’t that so, Mr. Bruce?”

The white-haired old mate bent his head in acknowledgment.  Then he stood up stiff and stark, his rough bony hands clasped upon his chest.

“I’ll no’ deny but that Mr. Allen is far and awa’ the best man to have charge o’ the boat.  But as there is a meenister here, surely he will now offer up a prayer to the Almighty for those in peril on the sea, and especially implore Him to consider a sma’ boat, deep to the gunwales.”

He looked at the clergyman, who at first made no reply, but stood with downcast eyes.  The men looked at him expectantly; he put one hand on the table, and then slowly raised his face.