The metal switch-box door clanged open as the thudding feet of the mate reached it and his hand clawed it open. Globes of light sprang out along the foggy deck and up in the wheelhouse. The captain bawled down the tube: "All right, chief! Hold her there! Watch the indicator!" A bell clanged harshly as he rammed the telltale over to "Stop." "Man the boats! Get them hooks and life-rings out! Snap to it, mister! Snap them carrions into it!" His voice was bawling through the short megaphone. He sprawled out upon the weather apron and bawled ahead. "Ahoy, out there! Ahoy!" his voice roared and quavered. * * * * * Faintly through the fog came: "Ahoy! Ahoy! This way!" He sprang back into the bridge and grabbed wildly for the whistle cord and the black steamer's hoarse whistle began to roar staccato blasts which echoed and reëchoed into the night. Men were racing about the deck to the sharp commands of the mate, which were punctuated by thudding fists and heavy boot toes. Port and starboard davits creaked outward, and the ropes whined in the sheaves as the lifeboats raced down and crashed into the water. The gangplank clattered to the water's edge. The mate ran down it and began to bawl through his megaphone. Up overhead the big whistle was still booming. Up on the bridge Joe Parento, the bootleg king, was gaping open-mouthed at the lanky captain, whose long arm was still yanking the whistle cord. "You stoppa that! You heara me? You quit it? You gone _lunatico_? What's matter you, cap? Cut it out, now!" He leaped forward and seized the captain's arm with both his own and dragged it down. "I'm goin' to stand by, Joe! They's men drowndin' out thar ef we don't help 'em!" "Stand by lika the hell!" the Italian jabbered. "You crazy! Swing 'round! Head back out! You hear me, hey?" [Illustration: _"You crazy!" the Italian jabbered. "Head back out!"_] He groped in the pocket of his coat and came out with a snub-nosed automatic. "Turn her 'round, cap, and don't waste no time, or I blow you to hell!" His voice was a yelping scream. The captain sprang toward him with clenched fist and arm doubled back, ready to strike. A lurid flame burst forth from the blunt muzzle of the pistol and searing pain jabbed at the left shoulder of the seaman. "Drop the gun, wop!" His clenched fist smashed down and the gun exploded in mid-air as it dropped toward the floor. The sturdy sea-muscled arm lashed upward and the blocky fist crunched under Parento's chin, lifting him upward from the floor and propelling him backward. He fell on his back with a thud. The captain snatched up the fallen pistol and thrust it into the pocket of his sou'-wester.