The following day, fortunately, was clear and calm. At noon Gissing blew the syren, fired a rocket from the bridge, and swung the engine telegraph to STOP. The ship's orchestra, by his orders, struck up a rollicking air. Quickly and without confusion, amid cries of Women and children first! the passengers filed to their allotted places. The crew and officers were all at their stations. Gissing knocked at Captain Scottie's cabin. “We are taking to the boats,” he said. “Goad!” cried the skipper. “Wull it be a colleesion?” “All's clear and the davits are outboard,” said Gissing. He had been studying the manual of boat handling in one of the nautical volumes in the chart-room. “Auld Hornie!” ejaculated the skipper. “We'll no can salve the specie! Make note of her poseetion, Mr. Gissing!” He hastened to gather his papers, the log, a chronometer, and a large canister of tobacco. “The Deil's intil't,” he said as he hastened to his boat. “I had yon pragmateesm of yours on a lee shore. Two-three hours, I'd have careened ye.” Gissing was ready with his megaphone. From the wing of the bridge he gave the orders. “Lower away!” and the boats dropped to the passenger rail. “Avast lowering!” Each boat took in her roster of passengers, who were in high spirits at this unusual excitement. “Mind your painters! Lower handsomely!” The boats took the water in orderly fashion, and were cast off. Remaining members of the crew swarmed down the falls. The bandsmen had a boat to themselves, and resumed their tune as soon as they were settled. Gissing, left alone on the ship, waved for silence. “Look sharp, man!” cried Captain Scottie. “Honour's satisfied! Take your place in the boat!” The passengers applauded, and there was quite a clatter of camera shutters as they snapped the Pomerania looming grandly above them. “Boats are all provisioned and equipped,” shouted Gissing. “I've broadcasted your position by radio. The barometer's at Fixed Fair. Pull off now, and 'ware the screw.” He moved the telegraph handle to DEAD SLOW, and the Pomerania began to slip forward gently. The boats dropped aft amid a loud miscellaneous outcry. Mr. Pointer was already examining the horizon. Captain Scottie, awakened to the situation, was uttering the language of theology but not the purport. “Don't stand up in the boats,” megaphoned Gissing. “You're quite all right, there's a ship on the way already. I wirelessed last night.” He slid the telegraph to slow, half, and then full. Once more the ship creamed through the lifting purple swells. The little flock of boats was soon out of sight.