He could see dimly the shape
of a ship's prow, and the broken end of a bowsprit was not yet wholly
disentangled from the rent in the side of the steamer. The two vessels,
locked together like a pair of sea-monsters that had perished in the
death grapple of a desperate encounter, tossed up and down on the long
swell, swayed by the wind which seemed to be increasing in fury every
moment.
On the floor of the saloon just before him, Fenton saw a wounded man,
ghastly with blood, and moaning terribly. Half-dressed people hovered
about him in utter bewilderment, while others continually hurried up
simply to hasten away again in frantic confusion. The wounded man was
in his night clothes, and a half-dressed old woman, her gray hair
straggling about her face, seemed to be attempting to stanch the blood
which was flowing freely. She was evidently a stranger, since from time
to time she appealed to those around to take her place, and let her go
and look after her own folk, but the kindly old creature plainly could
not bring herself, even in that hour of peril, to desert one hurt and
helpless.
On every side were the evidences of panic. Stateroom doors were open,
people in all stages of disarray were hurrying wildly along, or
clinging frantically to each other. The hysterical sobs of women,
piercing cries from the thin voices of children, deep-toned curses and
wild ejaculations from men sounded on every hand.
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