Part 7

The smallest boat on board was certified to hold twenty-five persons, and without waking the entire ship’s company we could as easily have moved the chart-room. This I pointed out.

“Don’t make objections!” Kinney cried petulantly. He was rapidly recovering his spirits. The imminence of danger seemed to inspire him.

“Think!” he commanded. “Think of some way by which we can get off this boat before she reaches New Bedford. We MUST! We must not be arrested! It would be too awful!” He interrupted himself with an excited exclamation.

“I have it!” he whispered hoarsely: “I will ring in the fire-alarm! The crew will run to quarters. The boats will be lowered. We will cut one of them adrift. In the confusion--”

What was to happen in the confusion that his imagination had conjured up, I was not to know. For what actually happened was so confused that of nothing am I quite certain. First, from the water of the Sound, that was lapping pleasantly against the side, I heard the voice of a man raised in terror. Then came a rush of feet, oaths, and yells; then a shock that threw us to our knees, and a crunching, ripping, and tearing roar like that made by the roof of a burning building when it plunges to the cellar.

And the next instant a large bowsprit entered our cabin window. There was left me just space enough to wrench the door open, and grabbing Kinney, who was still on his knees, I dragged him into the alleyway. He scrambled upright and clasped his hands to his head.

“Where’s my hat?” he cried.

I could hear the water pouring into the lower deck and sweeping the freight and trunks before it. A horse in a box stall was squealing like a human being, and many human beings were screaming and shrieking like animals. My first intelligent thought was of the lovely lady. I shook Kinney by the arm. The uproar was so great that to make him hear I was forced to shout. “Where is Lord Ivy’s cabin?” I cried. “You said it’s next to his sister’s. Take me there!”

Kinney nodded, and ran down the corridor and into an alleyway on which opened three cabins. The doors were ajar, and as I looked into each I saw that the beds had not been touched, and that the cabins were empty. I knew then that she was still on deck. I felt that I must find her. We ran toward the companionway.

“Women and children first!” Kinney was yelling. “Women and children first!” As we raced down the slanting floor of the saloon he kept repeating this mechanically. At that moment the electric lights went out, and, except for the oil lamps, the ship was in darkness. Many of the passengers had already gone to bed. These now burst from the state-rooms in strange garments, carrying life-preservers, hand-bags, their arms full of clothing. One man in one hand clutched a sponge, in the other an umbrella. With this he beat at those who blocked his flight. He hit a woman over the head, and I hit him and he went down. Finding himself on his knees, he began to pray volubly.

When we reached the upper deck we pushed out of the crush at the gangway and, to keep our footing, for there was a strong list to port, clung to the big flag-staff at the stern. At each rail the crew were swinging the boats over the side, and around each boat was a crazy, fighting mob. Above our starboard rail towered the foremast of a schooner. She had rammed us fair amidships, and in her bows was a hole through which you could have rowed a boat. Into this the water was rushing and sucking her down. She was already settling at the stern. By the light of a swinging lantern I saw three of her crew lift a yawl from her deck and lower it into the water. Into it they hurled oars and a sail, and one of them had already started to slide down the painter when the schooner lurched drunkenly; and in a panic all three of the men ran forward and leaped to our lower deck. The yawl, abandoned, swung idly between the Patience and the schooner. Kinney, seeing what I saw, grabbed me by the arm.

“There!” he whispered, pointing; “there’s our chance!” I saw that, with safety, the yawl could hold a third person, and as to who the third passenger would be I had already made up my mind.

“Wait here!” I said.

On the Patience there were many immigrants, only that afternoon released from Ellis Island. They had swarmed into the life-boats even before they were swung clear, and when the ship’s officers drove them off, the poor souls, not being able to understand, believed they were being sacrificed for the safety of the other passengers. So each was fighting, as he thought, for his life and for the lives of his wife and children. At the edge of the scrimmage I dragged out two women who had been knocked off their feet and who were in danger of being trampled. But neither was the woman I sought. In the half-darkness I saw one of the immigrants, a girl with a ‘kerchief on her head, struggling with her life-belt. A stoker, as he raced past, seized it and made for the rail. In my turn I took it from him, and he fought for it, shouting:

“It’s every man for himself now!”

“All right,” I said, for I was excited and angry, “look out for YOURSELF then!” I hit him on the chin, and he let go of the life-belt and dropped.

I heard at my elbow a low, excited laugh, and a voice said: “Well bowled! You never learned that in an office.” I turned and saw the lovely lady. I tossed the immigrant girl her life-belt, and as though I had known Lady Moya all my life I took her by the hand and dragged her after me down the deck.

“You come with me!” I commanded. I found that I was trembling and that a weight of anxiety of which I had not been conscious had been lifted. I found I was still holding her hand and pressing it in my own. “Thank God!” I said. “I thought I had lost you!”

“Lost me!” repeated Lady Moya. But she made no comment. “I must find my brother,” she said.

“You must come with me!” I ordered. “Go with Mr. Kinney to the lower deck. I will bring that rowboat under the stern. You will jump into it.

“I cannot leave my brother!” said Lady Moya.

Upon the word, as though shot from a cannon, the human whirlpool that was sweeping the deck amidships cast out Stumps and hurled him toward us. His sister gave a little cry of relief. Stumps recovered his balance and shook himself like a dog that has been in the water.

“Thought I’d never get out of it alive!” he remarked complacently. In the darkness I could not see his face, but I was sure he was still vaguely smiling. “Worse than a foot-ball night!” he exclaimed; “worse than Mafeking night!”

His sister pointed to the yawl.

“This gentleman is going to bring that boat here and take us away in it,” she told him. “We had better go when we can!”

“Right ho!” assented Stumps cheerfully. “How about Phil? He’s just behind me.”

As he spoke, only a few yards from us a peevish voice pierced the tumult.

“I tell you,” it cried, “you must find Lord Ivy! If Lord Ivy--”