There had been a great rush to the other side of the ship, a wild scrambling up the steep deck, over skylights and between masts and ventilators.  People clung to anything, to cleats, to steamer chairs, to the brass railings, to the person who stood next to them.  They no longer listened to the protestations of the brave boatswain’s mate; that last long roll had terrified them.  The sense of a great catastrophe began to spread and widen all about like the rising of some fearful invisible mist. “What had happened?  What was to become of them?”

While Vandover clung to the starboard rail, rolling his eyes wildly, trying to control himself again, a young man, a waiter in the dining saloon, rushed up to him from out of the crowd, holding out his hand.  “It’s all up!” he shouted.

Vandover grasped his extended palm, shaking hands with him fervently, without knowing why.  The two looked straight into each other’s eyes, their hands gripped close; then the waiter turned away, and dropping on his knees began to pray silently to himself.

Vandover saw a great many others praying; there was even a large group gathered about the band of Salvationists trying to raise a hymn.  Every now and then their voices could be heard, singing all out of tune, a medley of discords.

At one time Vandover caught sight of the little Jew of the plush cap with the ear-laps; he was grovelling upon the deck, huddling a small black satchel to his breast; without a moment’s pause he screamed, “God ‘a’ mercy!  God ‘a’ mercy!”

The sight revolted Vandover and in a great measure helped to calm him.  In a few moments he had himself in hand again, cool and self-collected, resolved not to act like a fool before the others, but to help them if he could.

Near to him a Salvation Army lassie was down upon her knees trying to cord up a huge bundle wrapped in sail-cloth.  “Here,” exclaimed Vandover coming up to her, “let me help.  I’ll tie this for you—­you put this on.”  He took the wet, stiff ropes from between her fingers and held the life-preserver toward her; but she refused it.

“No,” she cried enthusiastically, “I’m going to be saved anyhow; I ain’t going to drown; Jesus is watching over me.  Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed with a burst of fervor, “Jesus is going to save me.  I know I’m going to be saved.  I feel it, I feel it here,” and she struck her palm on the breast of the man’s red jersey she was wearing.

“Well, I wish I could have such a confidence,” answered Vandover, sincerely envying the plain little woman under the ugly blue bonnet.

She seemed as if inspired, her face glowing.  “Only believe; that’s all,” she told him.  “It isn’t too late for you now.  Ah,” she went on, smiling, “ah, you don’t know what it is in a time like this!  What a comfort!  What a support!  Oh, look, look!” she cried, breaking off and starting to her feet.  “That man is going to jump!”