A sail was rigged on the foremast, and a sea anchor hastily constructed
as soon as it was discovered that the helm was useless. Rockets flared
up into the sky at regular intervals, in the faint hope that should
they attract the attention of another vessel she would follow the
disabled _Sirdar_ and render help when the weather moderated.

When the captain ascertained that no water was being shipped, the
damage being wholly external, the collision doors were opened and the
passengers admitted to the saloon, a brilliant palace, superbly
indifferent to the wreck and ruin without.

Captain Ross himself came down and addressed a few comforting words to
the quiet men and pallid women gathered there. He told them exactly
what had happened.

Sir John Tozer, self-possessed and critical, asked a question.

"The junk is destroyed, I assume?" he said.

"It is."

"Would it not have been better to have struck her end on?"

"Much better, but that is not the view we should take if we encountered
a vessel relatively as big as the _Sirdar_ was to the unfortunate
junk."

"But," persisted the lawyer, "what would have been the result?"

"You would never have known that the incident had happened, Sir John."