Mostyn had a momentary vision of the lighted scuttles slipping upwards as the boat dropped down past the ship's side. Then with a sharp flop the lifeboat struck the oily surface. Simultaneously the lower blocks of the falls disengaged, and the boat began to drift astern.
The lascars, trained to obey commands issued in English, acted smartly. With the presence of a sahib in the lifeboat their fears, if not entirely banished, were cloaked by the sense of discipline.
The lifeboat turned in almost her own length.
Already the steadily converging patches of flames justified this order. To turn under the use of the helm alone would bring the boat in contact with the oil-fired water.
In five minutes from the time Peter had taken his place in the stern-sheets the two boats were gunwale to gunwale. In the tanker's whaler were seven human forms huddled in weird postures, either on the bottom-boards or across the thwarts.
Whether they were dead or alive Mostyn knew not. All he could do was to have the seemingly inanimate bodies transhipped, and then return to the _West Barbican_--if he could.
Working like men possessed, four of the lascars unceremoniously bundled the bodies into the lifeboat. Then, pushing off, they resumed their oars, pulling desperately for the ship, which was now gathering sternway at a distance of a cable's length.
For the first time Mostyn realized the extreme gravity of the situation. The ship was now gathering sternway, drifting rapidly to lee'ard the while. The churning of her propeller had caused a large patch of burning oil to still further contract the narrow fairway between the ship and the boat.
Peter knew full well that he and the boat's crew stood less than a dog's chance should the fiery sea cut them off. He was also aware of the great difficulty of being picked up by the ship, since the latter had herself to be constantly manoeuvring to avoid contact with the fire. Even if the lifeboat escaped the flames, there arose the danger of her being crushed by her parent. In that case there would be little or no chance of swimming in the thick layer of oil that had not as yet become ignited.
It was touch and go. Dazzled by the glare, partly stifled by the thick smoke, and scorched by the hot, raging wind, Peter all but lost his bearings. A momentary dispersal of the smoke showed him the hull of the _West Barbican_ less than four boats' lengths away.
