Part 9 (1/2)

CHAPTER VII.

THE DISASTER.

The next morning's sun rose clear and bright, and by nine o'clock the town was swarming with pleasure-seekers. The little steamer lay at the landing awaiting its burden of human freight. The boat was already fast filling up with old and young, grave and gay.

A little party, which consisted of Mrs. Horton, Mr. and Mrs. Platts, Guy, Zula and Carrie, entered the boat.

The boat had been under way a short time, when Carrie exclaimed, with a look of alarm: ”Oh, Zula, what is the matter?”

Zula looked up and saw that each face around had become serious.

Guy answered the question, though apparently unconcerned.

”The water is coming into the boat.”

One after another arose to their feet.

”What is it?” ran from mouth to mouth.

”The boat has sprung a leak.”

A wild, despairing cry went up from the frightened crowd, and then the color fled from each face until one looking over the pitiful scene of white and agonized faces turned toward Heaven, would almost have thought the sea had given up its dead.

The water which was fast running into the boat defied the laborious task of bailing, and one brave man after another, overcome with heat and labor, surrendered and was brought on deck fainting. At last when all efforts were found to be unavailing, the captain, with haggard face and ashen lips, gave the command to repair to the upper deck. It was the last hope. The scene of that moment cannot be portrayed.

Parents who had left children on the mainland, and children who had gone abroad without their parents, called in vain for loved ones, and wringing their hands, mingled their tears, and praying, cursing, and weeping, words of regret and heart-rending shrieks, all mingled in one mighty cry, went up to Heaven through the still air, while death seemed to stand and mock them in their agony, hopeless, out upon the water in a frail boat, which in a few moments more would go down, down, consigning them to a watery grave.

Mrs. Horton, in mute despair, clasped the hands of her sister and daughter. Guy had stepped a little aside, and with a very solemn look, was studying what course to pursue, as the agony and excitement of all seemed to settle to a dumb despair and a resignation of the fate that awaited them, and one by one they sank to the floor, giving themselves up to the mercy of the waters.

The flag of distress had been raised, but the steamer, yet three miles away from the mainland, where the rowboats lay, was steadily, but slowly and surely going down. Would they reach the sinking vessel in time to save any of the victims? Ah, how anxiously they watch while there seems but a step between them and eternity.

Every eye was directed toward the mainland, from which were coming a large number of rowboats. Nearer they come, one after another, bringing a faint ray of hope to the leaden hearts. The steamer is sinking, sinking, oh, will they reach her in time to rescue the precious load of humanity? Something seems to buoy her up, as though stayed by the hand of Providence. The little boats fairly fly over the water and at last they reach the sinking steamer, and are filled and rowed safely to the island. Back and forth they go until there is one more load left. The last boat is nearly filled and all have descended with the exception of Guy and Zula. How fast they crowd to their places; these frightened people, seemingly so selfish because life is at stake. Guy and Zula hold back. They are both cooler than the rest, and perhaps less fearful.

”Alas,” the pilot says, ”the boat will not hold one more.”

”Oh, just one,” Guy says, motioning Zula to go.

”No, not one; it is already a risky load. One more may sink all; you must wait.”

Away goes the heavily laden boat, and faster and yet faster, down--down goes the sinking vessel. The deck but just clears the water, and there stand Guy and Zula waiting, with but a moment between them and death. How calmly they wait. Guy clasps her hand, his face has grown pale.

”Zula,” he says, ”I can swim, but you shall not go down alone. The lifeboat cannot possibly return in time to take us away.”

Zula draws her hand away, and, stooping, unfastens and draws her shoes from her feet, then turning to Guy she says in a cool and fearless manner:

”I have no idea of going down.”

”I am not an expert swimmer and perhaps I can do no more than save myself; but I will try to save you.”