on for use as a raft. Many of the
seamen and stewards had gathered in the bar-room, where the attendant
was serving out glasses of whiskey to any and all who came for it; but
most men had an instinct against being under cover, and preferred to
stand out in the open.

And now those in the boats that had drawn off from the ship could see
that the end was at hand. Her bows had gone under, although the stern
was still fairly high out of the water. She had sunk down at the forward
end of the great superstructure amidships; her decks were just awash,
and the black throng was moving aft. The ship was blazing with light,
and the strains of the band were faintly heard still playing as they had
been commanded to do. But they had ceased to play the jolly rag-time
tunes with which the bustle and labour of getting off the boats had been
accompanied; solemn strains, the strains of a hymn, could be heard
coming over the waters. Many women in the boats, looking back towards
that lighted and subsiding mass, knew that somewhere, invisible among
the throng, was all that they held dearest in the world waiting for
death; and they could do nothing. Some tried to get the crews to turn
back, wringing their hands, beseeching, imploring; but no crew dared
face the neighbourhood of the giant in her death agony. They could only
wait, and shiver, and look.

XIII

The end, when it came, was as gradual as everything else had been since
the first impact. Just as there was no one moment at which everyone in
the ship realized that she had suffered damage; just as there was no one
moment when the whole of her company realized that they must leave her;
just as there was no one moment when all in the ship understood that
their lives were in peril, and no moment when they all knew she must
sink; so there was no one moment at which all those left on board could
have said, "She is gone." At one moment the floor of the bridge, where
the Captain stood, was awash; the next a wave came along and covered it
with four feet of water, in which the Captain was for a moment washed
away, although he struggled back and stood there again, up to his knees
in water. "Boys, you can do no more," he shouted, "look out for
yourselves!" Standing near him was a fireman and--strange
juxtaposition--two unclaimed solitary little children, scarce more than
babies. The fireman seized one in his arms, the Captain another; another
wave came and they were afloat in deep water,