Then, facing the passengers, and in the same tone of voice with which he would have ordered a cup of coffee from a steward, he said: “My friends, I find it necessary to abandon the ship. There is time enough and no necessity for crowding. The boats are provisioned for thirty days. The women and children will go first: this order will be literally carried out; those who disobey it will have to be dealt with in another way. This, I hope, you will not make necessary. I will also tell you that I believe we are still within the steamer zone, although the fog and weather have prevented any observation. Do you stay here, madam. I'll come for you when I am ready--” and he laid his hand encouragingly on the widow's arm. With this he turned to the Texan and the Actor: “You understand, both of you, do you not, Mr. Bonner? You and your friend will guard the aft companion-way, and help the Chief Engineer take care of the stokers and the steerage. I and the First Officer will fill the boats.” The beginning of a panic is like the beginning of a fire: first a curl of smoke licking through a closed sash, then a rush of flame, and then a roar freighted with death. Its subduing is along similar lines: A sharp command clearing the way, concentrated effort, and courage. Here the curl of smoke was an agonized shriek from an elderly woman who fell fainting on the deck; the rush of flame was a wild surge of men hurling themselves toward the boats, and the roar which meant death was the frenzied throng of begrimed half-naked stokers and crazed emigrants who were wedged in a solid mass in the companion-way leading to the upper deck. The subduing was the same. [Illustration: Back, all of you ] “Back, all of you!” shouted the Engineer. “The first man who passes that door without my permission I'll kill! Five of you at a time--no crowding--keep 'em in line, Mr. Bonner--you and your friend!” The Texan and the Bum Actor were within three feet of him as he spoke--the Texan as cool as if he were keeping count of a drove of steers, except that he tallied with the barrel of a six-shooter instead of a note-book and pencil. The Bum Actor's face was deathly white and his pistol hand trembled a little, but he did not flinch. He ranged the lucky ones in line farther along, and kept them there. “Anything to get home,” he had told the Texan when he had slipped Bonner's other revolver, an hour before, into his pocket.