burning blue-lights, and the ship and all on
board seemed to be enclosed in a mist of light,
under a great black dome.

The light shone up so high that I could see
the huge Iceberg upon which we had struck,
cloven at the top and down the middle,
exactly like Penrith Church in my dream. At
the same moment I could see the watch last
relieved, crowding up and down on deck; I could
see Mrs. Atherfield and Miss Coleshaw thrown
about on the top of the companion as they
struggled to bring the child up from below;
I could see that the masts were going with
the shock and the beating of the ship; I
could see the frightful breach stove in on the
starboard side, half the length of the vessel,
and the sheathing and timbers spirting up;
I could see that the Cutter was disabled, in a
wreck of broken fragments; and I could see
every eye turned upon me. It is my belief
that if there had been ten thousand eyes
there, I should have seen them all, with their
different looks. And all this in a moment.
But you must consider what a moment.

I saw the men, as they looked at me, fall
towards their appointed stations, like good
men and true. If she had not righted, they
could have done very little there or anywhere
but die—not that it is little for a man to
die at his post—I mean they could have done
nothing to save the passengers and themselves.
Happily, however, the violence of the shock
with which we had so determinedly borne down
direct on that fatal Iceberg, as if it had been
our destination instead of our destruction,
had so smashed and pounded the ship that
she got off in this same instant, and righted.
I did not want the carpenter to tell me she
was filling and going down; I could see
and hear that. I gave Rames the word to
lower the Long-boat and the Surf-boat, and I
myself told off the men for each duty. Not
one hung back, or came before the other. I
now whispered to John Steadiman, “John,
I stand at the gangway here, to see every
soul on board safe over the side. You shall
have the next post of honor, and shall be
the last but one to leave the ship. Bring
up the passengers, and range them behind
me; and put what provision and water you
can get at, in the boats. Cast your eye
for’ard, John, and you’ll see you have not a
moment to lose.”

My noble fellows got the boats over the
side, as orderly as I ever saw boats lowered
with any sea running, and, when they were
launched, two or three of the nearest men in
them as they held on, rising and falling with
the swell, called out, looking up at me,
“Captain Ravender, if anything goes wrong with
us and you are saved, remember we stood
by you!”—“We’ll all stand by one another
ashore, yet, please God, my lads!” says I.
“Hold on bravely, and be tender with the
women.”

The women were an example to us. They
trembled very much, but they were quiet
and perfectly collected. “Kiss me, Captain
Ravender,” says Mrs. Atherfield, “and God
in Heaven bless you, you good man!” “My
dear,” says I, “those words are better for me
than a life-boat.” I held her child in my
arms till she was in the boat, and then kissed
the child and handed her safe down. I now
said to the people in her, “You have got
your freight, my lads, all but me, and I am
not coming yet awhile. Pull away from the
ship, and keep off!”

That was the Long-boat. Old Mr. Rarx
was one of her complement, and he was the
only passenger who had greatly misbehaved
since the ship struck. Others had been a
little wild, which was not to be wondered at,
and not very blameable; but, he had made a
lamentation and uproar which it was
dangerous for the people to hear, as there is
always contagion in weakness and selfishness.
His incessant cry had been that he must
not be separated from the child, that he
couldn’t see the child, and that he and the
child must go together. He had even tried
to wrest the child out of my arms, that he
might keep her in his. “Mr. Rarx,” said I
to him when it came to that, “I have a loaded
pistol in my pocket; and if you don't stand
out of the gangway, and keep perfectly quiet, I
shall shoot you through the heart, if you have
got one.” Says he, “You won’t do murder,
Captain Ravender?” “No, sir,” says I, “I
won’t murder forty-four people to humour
you, but I’ll shoot you to save them.” After
that, he was quiet, and stood shivering a little
way off, until I named him to go over the
side.

The Long-boat being cast off, the Surf-boat
was soon filled. There only remained aboard
the Golden Mary, John Mullion the man
who had kept on burning the blue-lights (and
who had lighted every new one at every old
one before it went out, as quietly as if he had
been at an illumination); John Steadiman;
and myself. I hurried those two into the
Surf-boat, called to them to keep off, and
waited with a grateful and relieved heart for
the Long-boat to come and take me in, if she
could. I looked at my watch, and it showed
me, by the blue-light, ten minutes past two.
They lost no time. As soon as she was near
enough, I swung myself in to her, and called
to the men, “With a will, lads! She’s reeling!”
We were not an inch too far out of
the inner vortex of her going down, when, by
the blue-light which John Mullion still burnt
in the bow of the Surf-boat, we saw her
lurch, and plunge to the bottom head-
foremost. The child cried, weeping wildly,
“O the dear Golden Mary! O look at her!
Save her! Save the poor Golden Mary!”
And then the light burnt out, and the black
dome seemed to come down upon us.

I suppose if we had all stood a-top of a
mountain, and seen the whole remainder of
the world sink away from under us, we could
hardly have felt more shocked and solitary