They were standing beside the dripping rail outside the pilot-house.
Far below them, in the spacious depths of the steamer, a bugle sounded
long-drawn notes and the monotonous calls of stewards warned "All
ashore!"
The gangways were withdrawn with dull "clackle" of wet chains over
pulleys, and Captain Mayo, after a swift glance at his watch, to make
sure of the time, ordered a quartermaster to sound the signal for "Cast
off!" The whistle yelped a gruff note, and, seeing that all was clear,
the captain yanked the auxiliary bell-pulls at the rail. Two for the
port engine, two for the starboard, and the Montana began to back into
the gray pall which shrouded the river.
Captain Mayo saw the lines of faces on the pier, husbands and wives,
mothers and sweethearts, bidding good-by to those who waved farewell
from the steamer's decks. He gathered himself with supreme grip of
resolve. It was up to him! He almost spoke it aloud.
Tremors of doubt did not agitate him any longer. It was unthinking
faith, nevertheless it was implicit confidence, that all those folks
placed in him. They were intrusting themselves to his vessel with the
blind assurance of travelers who pursue a regular route, not caring how
the destination is reached as long as they come to their journey's end.
The hoarse, long, warning blast which announced to all in the river that
the steamer was leaving her dock drowned out the shouts of farewell and
the strains of the gay air the orchestra was playing.
"See you later," said General-Manager Fogg. "I think I'll have an early
dinner."
Captain Mayo climbed the short ladder and entered his pilot-house.
It was up to him!