Acting Chief Officer Dick Preston, on receiving the Old Man\'s order to get the boats away, lost no time in getting to the scene of operations. The frantic rush of the lascars to the boat-deck warned him of what to expect. He had seen the panic-stricken clamour of a crew of white-livered dagoes, had watched them tumble pell-mell into the sole remaining boat, and had witnessed the result—a swamped whaler and twenty men struggling for dear life, and struggling in vain in the icy cold water off the Newfoundland Banks. That was many years ago, but the lesson had not been lost on Dick Preston.

Hurriedly loading his revolver, the Acting Chief gained the boat-deck. Already the native crew had swung out one of the boats, and a fierce struggle was in progress between the lascars and the firemen as to who should go away in her.

There was no love lost between the two classes. They were of different races, the lascars hailing from Bombay while the firemen were recruited from the Coromandel coast; they were of different faith, the former being Mahommedans, the latter Buddhists. It needed little to cause a row. When it came to a struggle for life the natives were in a state bordering upon madness.

"Chup rao!" shouted Preston, levelling his revolver. "Belay there! Stand fast!"

For a moment the lascars and firemen hesitated. Then, as the ship shook and staggered as the bulkhead of No. 2 hold gave way, they surged in a living torrent into the out-swung boat, regardless of the revolver shots which the Acting Chief fired over their heads.

Preston made no further attempt to restore order on the boat-deck. If the men disobeyed orders he was no longer responsible for their safety.

He passed along until he came to a knot of comparatively amenable Madrasis, who had been gathered together by Anstey and two of the engineers.

"Right-o, old man!" exclaimed the Acting Chief to the Third Officer. "Lower away! You take command, and good luck to you."

Quickly, yet with good discipline, the boat was manned and lowered—Anstey, the two engineers, and Mr. Shallop in the stern-sheets.

"Keep in company, Mr. Anstey," shouted Preston, as the falls swung free.

"Ay, ay, sir," was the reply, followed by the order: "give way."

Anstey\'s boat was barely clear of the side when the first boat to be swung out was let go with a run. Greatly overcrowded, it struck the water with tremendous force. The impact broke her back, and in a moment she filled, leaving the frantic natives floundering in the water. Some were crushed as the sea flung the waterlogged craft against the ship\'s side. Others strove to clamber into the boat, only to destroy her slight buoyancy. In the mêlée knives were used with deadly effect, until only half a dozen men, who had swum clear of the boat, were left out of the thirty odd who had crowded into her.

It had been both Preston\'s and Anstey\'s plan to get the women away first; but each had quickly realized that this was out of the question. For one thing, neither Mrs. Shallop nor Olive was on the boat-deck. For another, it was useless to attempt to place them in the boats until the panic-stricken mob was effectively dealt with.

Two more boats, each under the charge of an engineer, and with three or four stewards, got away with difficulty. The crowd on the boat-deck had thinned considerably.

"Now, then, where are the women?" demanded Preston. He was not altogether certain whether they had already got away, for, save for the less frequent flashes of lightning, the scene was in total darkness.

"Here you are, Preston!" shouted a voice that the Acting Chief recognized as the Purser\'s.

A bluish glare, a prolonged flash, enabled Preston to see the missing passengers. The Purser was literally dragging Mrs. Shallop along the deck, while Olive was close behind.

For once Mrs. Shallop was silent. She was unconscious.

"I wondered why she wasn\'t complaining that she was not being treated as a lady," thought Preston grimly. "That accounts for it."

Together, the Acting Chief and the Purser unceremoniously bundled the insensible woman into the last boat but one on the port side. Those on the starboard were useless, for, owing to the excessive heel, they could not be lowered clear of the sloping side.

"Now, Miss Baird."

Guided by Preston the girl entered the boat, in which were three lascars—one of them Mahmed, Peter\'s boy.

"Where\'s Mostyn?" shouted the Acting Chief. "Partridge! Plover! Hurry up, now!"

He called in vain. The two Watchers had already got clear of the ship. Mostyn was still vainly endeavouring to get the SOS message through.

Meanwhile the Purser, the Chief Steward, and the remaining natives had lowered the last available boat. Preston was left alone on the boat-deck—a fact that was revealed to him when the next lightning-flash rent the sky.

"Where\'s the Captain?" he shouted, hailing the boats lying a short distance away. "Anyone seen Captain Bullock?"

By this time the water was washing over the well-deck. At any moment the West Barbican might turn turtle.

A voice from one of the boats replied:

"Here!"

"What\'s that?" bawled Preston.

"All right," answered the voice.

The Acting Chief was puzzled. It was not the Old Man\'s voice, but perhaps Captain Bullock had been injured. He had not seen the skipper since he left him on the bridge. Apparently the bridge was deserted. It looked untenable owing to the great list of the ship.

A muffled explosion, as yet another bulkhead gave way under the pressure of water, warned Preston that it was time for him to go. It was his duty to take charge of the boat in which were the two women passengers.

Leaping into the boat, Preston signed to Mahmed to help him with the after falls, at the same time shouting to the other two lascars to lower away handsomely.

Although there was no one on deck to man the falls, it was a fairly easy matter to lower away the comparatively light boat with only six persons on board, the distance from the davit-heads to the water being only about ten feet, so deep had the ship settled.

"Fend off!" ordered Preston, as he jerked the lever of the patent disengaging gear.

Even as he spoke the heavy metal block of the lower after falls swung violently outwards. In the darkness the Acting Chief did not see the impending danger.

The next instant the swaying lump of metal struck Preston full on the temple. Without a groan or a cry he pitched headlong upon the stern-sheet gratings.

It was Mahmed who discovered the apparently lifeless form of the Chief Officer. He communicated his discovery to his compatriots, and an excited conversation ensued. Meanwhile the boat was drifting aimlessly at less than ten yards from the West Barbican\'s port quarter. Until it occurred to the lascars—who were arguing on a question of precedence as to who should now give orders—that there was imminent danger of the boat being swamped by the suction of the foundering ship, they made no effort to man the oars.

When about a hundred yards from the ship the lascars ceased rowing and resumed their argument.

All this time Olive had done what lay in her power to render Mrs. Shallop\'s plight less painful. She was in utter ignorance of the accident that had befallen the luckless Acting Chief Officer, although she was rather puzzled at the lack of discipline displayed by the lascars, and the fact that the officer in charge of the boat made no attempt to check the dispute.

Another vivid sheet of lightning illumined the scene, but Olive was not looking into the boat. Her attention was attracted by the sight of two men standing on the listing bridge of the ill-fated West Barbican.

The glare was of sufficient duration to enable her to distinguish Captain Bullock and Mostyn. She saw the former raise his hand and beckon the boat to pull clear. He was shouting something, but in the turmoil the words were indistinguishable.

The long-drawn lightning flash ended, leaving the girl blinking in Stygian darkness.

"There\'s Captain Bullock and Mostyn still on board, Mr. Preston," she exclaimed, in anxious tones. "Can\'t we put back to fetch them?"

There was no reply.

In a louder tone Olive repeated the question of entreaty.

Still there was no answer.

The lascar bowman resumed his oar, pulling the boat\'s head round. Finding his companion idle he prodded him in the back with............