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.

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 knee