ks.

I looked back to the water. I saw that the raft was moving rapidly
through it. There was a rushing along the edge of the timbers--there
was froth where the spars were cleaving the sea. I looked for the
swimmers. I saw their round heads and grim faces, but no longer around
the raft--they were already in its wake, every moment falling further
away. Merciful heaven! at least from that terrible fate were we saved.

I kept gazing behind. I still saw the dark heads above the water. I
could no longer distinguish their faces. I thought they had turned them
away. I thought they were swimming back toward the blazing barque.

They may have turned back, but with what hope? They could have had
none; though despair may have driven them in that direction as well as
any other.

It was a sad beacon to guide them; nor did it serve them long. They
could not have got near it--not half-way--before that event, so dreaded
by Brace and myself, came to pass. The crisis had at length arrived.

Wherever the powder had been kept, it was long before the fire had
reached it--far longer than we had expected; but the searching flames
found it at last, and the concussion came.

It was a terrific explosion, that resembled not the report of a cannon,
but a hundred guns simultaneously fired. Bed masses were projected far
up into the heavens, and still farther out to the sea, hurtling and
hissing as they fell back into the water. A cloud of fiery sparks hung
for some minutes over the spot; but these at length came quivering down,
and, as soon as they reached the surface, were observed no more. These
sparks were the last that was seen of the _Pandora_.

The crew at this moment were awed into silence. There was silence far
over the sea; yet for nearly another hour that silence was at intervals
broken by the death-shriek of some exhausted swimmer or some victim of
the ravening shark.

The breeze still continued to blow, the raft moved on, and long before
morning the _Pandora's_ crew were carried far away from the scene of the
terrible tragedy.

CHAPTER SIXTY TWO.

The breeze died away before the morning, and when day broke there was
not a breath stirring. The calm had returned, and the raft lay upon the
water as motionless as a log.

The men no longer tried to propel it; it could have served no purpose to
make way--since, go in what direction we might, there would be hundreds
of miles of the ocean to be crossed, and to s