“We were silent.  He talked apart with the captain for a time,—­seemed to argue with him.  Then they went away together to the steamer.

“When our skipper came back we learned that the steamer was the Sommerville, Captain Nash, from West Australia to Singapore via Batavia with mails, and that the agreement was she should tow us to Anjer or Batavia, if possible, where we could extinguish the fire by scuttling, and then proceed on our voyage—­to Bankok!  The old man seemed excited.  ‘We will do it yet,’ he said to Mahon, fiercely.  He shook his fist at the sky.  Nobody else said a word.

“At noon the steamer began to tow.  She went ahead slim and high, and what was left of the Judea followed at the end of seventy fathom of tow-rope,—­followed her swiftly like a cloud of smoke with mastheads protruding above.  We went aloft to furl the sails.  We coughed on the yards, and were careful about the bunts.  Do you see the lot of us there, putting a neat furl on the sails of that ship doomed to arrive nowhere?  There was not a man who didn’t think that at any moment the masts would topple over.  From aloft we could not see the ship for smoke, and they worked carefully, passing the gaskets with even turns.  ’Harbour furl—­aloft there!’ cried Mahon from below.

“You understand this?  I don’t think one of those chaps expected to get down in the usual way.  When we did I heard them saying to each other, ’Well, I thought we would come down overboard, in a lump—­sticks and all—­blame me if I didn’t.’  ‘That’s what I was thinking to myself,’ would answer wearily another battered and bandaged scarecrow.  And, mind, these were men without the drilled-in habit of obedience.  To an onlooker they would be a lot of profane scallywags without a redeeming point.  What made them do it—­what made them obey me when I, thinking consciously how fine it was, made them drop the bunt of the foresail twice to try and do it better?  What?  They had no professional reputation—­no examples, no praise.  It wasn’t a sense of duty; they all knew well enough how to shirk, and laze, and dodge—­when they had a mind to it—­and mostly they had.  Was it the two pounds ten a month that sent them there?  They didn’t think their pay half good enough.  No; it was something in them, something inborn and subtle and everlasting.  I don’t say positively that the crew of a French or German merchantman wouldn’t have done it, but I doubt whether it would have been done in the same way.  There was a completeness in it, something solid like a principle, and masterful like an instinct—­a disclosure of something secret—­of that hidden something, that gift, of good or evil that makes racial difference, that shapes the fate of nations.