To do away with such thoughts, she determined no longer to sit gazing, and tempted by the shore; and, giving one look to the land which contained her lover, she went down below, and busied herself, even through her blinding tears, in trying to arrange her own cabin, and Edward’s.  She heard boat after boat arrive loaded with passengers.  She learnt from Edward, who came down to tell her the fact, that there were upwards of two hundred steerage passengers.  She felt the tremulous shake which announced that the ship was loosed from her moorings, and being tugged down the river.  She wrapped herself up once more, and came on deck, and sat down among the many who were looking their last look at England.  The early winter evening was darkening in, and shutting out the Welsh coast, the hills of which were like the hills of home.  She was thankful when she became too ill to think and remember.

Exhausted and still, she did not know whether she was sleeping or waking; or whether she had slept since she had thrown herself down on her cot, when suddenly, there was a great rush, and then Edward stood like lightning by her, pulling her up by the arm.

“The ship is on fire—­to the deck, Maggie!  Fire!  Fire!” he shouted, like a maniac, while he dragged her up the stairs—­as if the cry of Fire could summon human aid on the great deep.  And the cry was echoed up to heaven by all that crowd in an accent of despair.

They stood huddled together, dressed and undressed; now in red lurid light, showing ghastly faces of terror—­now in white wreaths of smoke—­as far away from the steerage as they could press; for there, up from the hold, rose columns of smoke, and now and then a fierce blaze leaped out, exulting—­higher and higher every time; while from each crevice on that part of the deck issued harbingers of the terrible destruction that awaited them.

The sailors were lowering the boats; and above them stood the captain, as calm as if he were on his own hearth at home—­his home where he never more should be.  His voice was low—­was lower; but as clear as a bell in its distinctness; as wise in its directions as collected thought could make it.  Some of the steerage passengers were helping; but more were dumb and motionless with affright.  In that dead silence was heard a low wail of sorrow, as of numbers whose power was crushed out of them by that awful terror.  Edward still held his clutch of Margaret’s arm.

“Be ready!” said he, in a fierce whisper.

The fire sprung up along the main-mast, and did not sink or disappear again.  They knew then that all the mad efforts made by some few below to extinguish it were in vain; and then went up the prayers of hundreds, in mortal agony of fear: 

“Lord! have mercy upon us!”

Not in quiet calm of village church did ever such a pitiful cry go up to heaven; it was like one voice—­like the day of judgment in the presence of the Lord.