The second mate of the Bengal was the only officer left, but he was a good sailor, a man of cool nerve and great personal strength.  He now went calmly to work, sounded the well and found four feet of water in the ship, made his calculations how long it would require for the ship to fill at the rate she then made water, and then set to work with his two companions to rig a triangle with spars above the long boat, so as to lift and launch it just when the proper moment should arrive, but this he found to be impracticable.  As the morning broke in the cast the gale subsided, but the sea still kept up its angry commotion, though that too, gradually subsided, the waves growing less and less, and the ship becoming more and more quiet, enabling those on board to keep at least upon their feet.

In the meantime, the ship had gradually settled so that the water was already on the cabin floor.  In vain were the entreaties of the mate and his companions for the four or five hands who had possessed themselves of the key of the spirit room to come on deck and save themselves; they could neither be persuaded nor forced to move, but lay in a state of beastly intoxication.  Everything had been done that was possible, to prepare for launching the long boat, and the widow and her daughter had already by the mate’s sanction taken their seats within it, while one of the seamen secured and carefully stored the few articles of necessity which had been selected.

The two masts of the boat were stepped and carefully secured, the gripes that secured the boat in its place were cut, leaving it standing upright in its wooden bed, but entirely free from the deck of the ship.  Already had the ship sunk so low that all communication with the cabin was cut off, and the poor inebriated wretches who had there sought oblivion in intoxication also found their tomb.  Food, water and compass were properly disposed, so that any sudden movement of the boat should not dislodge them, oars and sails in readiness, and a careful examination had, lest some straggling rope might in some way connect the boat with the wreck, so as to draw them under when the floundering mass should at last go down.  The crisis which they now expected seemed strangely protracted, and their fearful suspense was almost unbearable.  The mate had placed one of his hands at the bows, another amidships, while himself and the two passengers occupied the stern; the precaution having also been taken to secure the ladies by ropes to the boat.

The weather had now entirely moderated, and the sea was comparatively calm, except that now and then a heavy swell would lift the waterlogged craft and surge about the hull, causing it to groan as though conscious of its approaching fate.  Moments assumed the length of hours now, and the countenance of each was a picture of agonized suspense and momentary expectation, no one spoke above their breath.  Again the heavy swell caused the hull to lurch and pitch until her bows were almost buried, and the water was even with the scuppers—­the moment was approaching.