It was no longer the Mazatlan, no longer a thing of wood and iron, but some strange huge living creature that was dying there under his feet, some enormous brute that was plunging and writhing in its last agony, its belly ripped open by a hidden enemy that struck from beneath, its entrails torn out, its life-breath going from it in great gasps of steam.  Suddenly its bellow collapsed; the great bulk was sinking lower; the enemy was in its very vitals.  The great hoarse roar dwindled to a long death rattle, then to a guttural rasp; all at once it ceased; the brute was dead—­the Mazatlan was a wreck.

Almost at the moment, he heard an order shouted twice from the bridge, where he could see the shadowy figures of the captain and officers moving about through the clouds of steam and smoke and mist.  Immediately there followed the shrill piping of the boatswain’s whistle; one of the officers, the first engineer, and some half dozen of the crew came dashing through the crowd, and there was a great shout of “The boats!  The boats!”

The crowd broke up, rushing here and there about the ship, reforming again in smaller bands by the boats and life-rafts.  Vandover followed the first engineer, running forward toward one of the boats in the bow.

“Come on!” he shouted to the little Salvationist lassie, pausing a moment to help her with her heavy canvas-covered bundle.  “Come on! they’re going to lower the boats.”

She started up to follow him and the boom of the foremast, which the accident had in some way loosened, swung across the deck at the same moment.  Vandover was already out of its path but it struck the young woman squarely across the back.  She dropped in a heap upon the deck, then her body slowly straightened out, stiff and rigid, her eyes rapidly opened and shut, and a great puff of white froth slowly started from her mouth.  Vandover ran forward and lifted her up, but her back was broken; she was already dead.  He rose to his feet exclaiming to himself, “But she was so sure—­she knew she was going to be saved,” then suddenly fell silent again, gazing wonderingly at the body, disturbed, very thoughtful.

When Vandover finally reached the lifeboat, he found a great crowd gathered there; three people were already in the boat itself.  The first engineer, who commanded that boat, and three of the crew stood by the falls preparing to cast off.  Just below on the deck of the Mazatlan stood two sailors keeping the crowd in order, continually shouting, “Women and children first!” As the women passed their children forward, the sailors lifted them into the boats, some shrieking, others silent and stupid as if stunned.  Then the women were helped up; the men, Vandover among them, climbing in afterward.  The davits were turned out and the boat was swung clear of the ship’s side.

Vandover looked out and below him and then made an involuntary movement to regain the ship’s deck.  Far below him, or so at least it seemed, were mountains of tumbling green water, huge, relentless, irresistible, rushing on by thousands, to shatter themselves with dreadful force against the ship’s side.  It seemed simple madness to attempt to launch the boat; even the sinking wreck would be safer than this chance.  Vandover was terrified, again deserted by all his calmness and self-restraint.