But there was no panic; there was excitement, confusion, bewilderment, but no excess of fear, no unreasoning terror, deaf, blind, utterly reckless.

All at once a man parted the crowd with shoulders and elbows, passing along the deck with great strides.  It was the captain.  The next instant Vandover saw him on the bridge, hatless, without his vest or his coat, just as he had sprung from his berth.  From time to time he shouted his orders, leaning over the rail, gesturing with his arm.  The crew ran about, carrying out his directions, jostling the men out of the way, knocking over women and children, speaking to no one, intent only upon their work.

In a few moments the deck steward and one of the officers appeared amid the crowd of passengers.  They were very calm, and at every instant shouted, “There is no danger; every one go back to his berth; clear the deck, please; no danger, gentlemen; everybody be quiet; go back to your berths!” The steward even came up to Vandover and pulled at the straps of his life-preserver, exclaiming, “Take this off!  There is no danger; you’re only exciting the other passengers.  Come on, take it off and go back to your berth.”

Vandover obeyed him, slowly loosening the buckles, looking around him, bewildered, but still holding the preserver in his hands.

Best of all, however, was the example of a huge old fellow wearing the cap and clothes of a boatswain’s mate of a United States battleship; he seemed to dominate the excited throng in a moment, going about from group to group, quieting them all, spreading a feeling of confidence and courage throughout the whole ship.  He was an inspiration to Vandover, who began to be ashamed of having yielded to the first selfish instinct of preservation.

Just as the boatswain’s mate was offering his flask to the woman whom Vandover had heard calling for “August,” the Mazatlan lurched heavily once or twice, and then slowly listed to the port side, going over farther and farther every instant.  Vandover heard a renewed rumbling and smashing noise far beneath him, and in some way knew that the cargo was shifting.  Instead of righting herself, the ship began to heave over more and more.  The whole sea on the port side seemed to rise up to meet the rail; under Vandover’s feet the incline of the deck grew steeper and steeper.  All at once his excitement came back upon him with the sharpness of a blow, and he caught at the brass grating of a skylight exclaiming:  “By God!  We’re going over.”  The women screamed with terror; one heard the men shouting, “Look out! hold on! catch hold there!” An old man, wearing only a gray flannel shirt, lost his footing; he fell, and rolled over and over down the deck stupidly, inertly, without making the slightest effort to save himself, without uttering the least cry; he brought up suddenly against the rail, with a great jar, the shock of his soft, withered body against the hard wood sounding like the sodden impact of a bundle of damp clothes.  There was a cry; they thought him killed—­Vandover had seen his head gashed against a sharp angle of iron—­but he jumped up with sudden agility, clambering up the slope of the deck with the strength and rapidity of an acrobat.