by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER TWELVE.
THE LIFE-PRESERVER.
The concussion, unlike anything I had ever heard, was, nevertheless,significant of the nature of the catastrophe. I felt an instantaneousconviction that the boilers had burst, and such in reality was the fact.
At the moment, I chanced to be on the balcony in rear of my state-room.I was holding by the guard-rail,--else the shock and the sudden lurch ofthe boat would have flung me headlong.
Scarce knowing what I did, I staggered into my state-room, and throughthe opposite door into the main saloon.
Here I paused and looked around me. The whole forward part of the boatwas shrouded in steam and smoke, and already a portion of the hotscalding vapour floated through the cabin.
Dreading the contact of this, I rushed aft; but by a fortunate chancethe lurch of the boat had brought her stern to windward, and the breezeblew the dangerous element away.
The engine was now silent--the wheels had ceased to move--the'scape-pipe no longer gave out its booming notes; but instead of thesesounds, others of terrible import fell upon the ear. The shouts of men,mingled with oaths--wild, awful imprecations--the more shrill piercingshrieks of women--the groans of rounded from the deck below--theagonised cry of those blown into the water and drowning--all rang uponthe ear with terrible emphasis!
How changed the tones from those that, but a moment before, pealed fromthe self-same lips!
The smoky vapour was soon partially blown off, and I could catch aglimpse of the forward part of the boat. There a complete chaos met theeye. The smoking-saloon, the bar with its contents, the front awning,and part of the starboard wheel-house, were completely carried away--blown up as if a mine had been sprung beneath them--and the hugesheet-iron funnels had fallen forward upon the deck! At a glance I wasconvinced that captain, pilots, all who had been upon that part of theboat, must have perished!
Of course such reflections passed with the rapidity of thought itself,and occupied me not a moment of time. I felt that _I_ was still unhurt,and my first natural thought was that of preserving my life. I hadsufficient presence of mind to know there was no danger of a secondexplosion; but I perceived that the boat was badly injured, and alreadyleaning to one side. How long would she swim?
I had hardly asked myself the question when it was answered by a voicethat, in terrified accents, shouted out:--
"Good God! she is sinking! she is sinking!"
This announcement was almost simultaneous with the cry of "Fire!" and atthe same moment flames were seen bursting forth and shooting up to theheight of the hurricane-deck! Whether by burning up or going down, itwas evident the wreck would afford us but short refuge.
The thoughts of the survivors were now turned to the Magnolia. I lookedin the direction of that boat. I perceived that she was doing her bestto back, and put round toward us; but she was still several hundredyards off! In consequence of the Belle having steered a while towardsthe Bringiers landing, the boats no longer ran in the same track; and,although they were head and head at the moment of the explosion, theywere separated from each other by a wide stretch of the river. A fullquarter of a mile distant appeared the Magnolia; and it was evident thata considerable time must elapse before she could get alongside. Wouldthe wreck of the Belle keep afloat so long?
At a glance I was convinced it would not. I felt it settling down undermy feet inch by inch; and the blaze already threatened the after-part ofthe boat, licking the light wood-work of the gaudy saloon as if it hadbeen flax! Not a moment was to be lost: we must take voluntarily to thewater, be drawn in by the sinking wreck, or driven to it by the fire.One of the three was inevitable!
You will fancy me to have been in a state of extreme terror at thismoment. Such, however, was not the case. I had not the slightest fearfor my own safety: not that I was redeemed from the common lot by anysuperior courage, but simply that I had confidence _in my resources_.Though sufficiently reckless in my temperament, I have never been afatalist. I have saved my life more than once by acts of volition--bypresence of mind and adroitness. The knowledge of this has freed mefrom the superstitions of fore-ordination and fatalism; and therefore,when not too indolent, I take precautions against danger.
I had done so on the occasion of which I am writing. In my portmanteauI carried--I do so habitually--a very simple contrivance, alife-preserver. I always carry it in such a position as to be ready tothe hand. It is but the work of a moment to adjust this, and with itaround my body I feel no fear of being plunged into the broadest river,or even a channel of the sea. It was the knowledge of this, and not anysuperior courage, that supported me.
I ran back to my state-room--the portmanteau was open--and in anothermoment I held the piece of quilted cork in my hands. In a few secondsits strap was over my head, and the strings securely knotted around mywaist.
Thus accoutred, I stood _inside_ the state-room, intending to remainthere till the wreck should sink nearer the surface of the water.Settling rapidly as it was, I was convinced I should not have long towait. I closed the inner door of the room, and turned the bolt. Theouter one I held slightly ajar, my hand firmly clutching the handle.
I had my object in thus shutting myself up. I should be less exposed tothe view of the terror-stricken wretches that ran to and fro likespectres--for any fear I now had was of _them_--not of the water. Iknew that, should the life-preserver be discovered, I should have acrowd around me in a moment--in fact, that escape by such means would behopeless. Dozens would follow me into the water--would cling to mylimbs--would drag me, in their despairing grasp, to the bottom!
I knew this; and, clutching the Venetian door with firmer grasp, I stoodpeering through the apertures in stealthy silence.