People were donning
life-preservers, some putting on two or three in their eagerness and
fear; and here and there fighting for the possession of an extra one in
a mad fury. The whole saloon was filled with a wild and terrifying
tumult. It was a frenzied scene of fear and awful bewilderment.
However great his mental pluck, Fenton was physically a coward, and he
knew it. The New England climate and life have given to most of her
children, of any degree of cultivation, a nervous organization too
acutely sensitive to pain for them to be physically brave; but to this
disposition the New England training, the inherited manliness of sturdy
ancestors, has added a splendid moral energy to overcome this weakness.
In the first terrible shock of fear which followed his discovery that
the steamer had been run down, Fenton's body trembled with terror. He
felt a wild and dizzy impulse to rush somewhere madly; but in a moment
his will reasserted itself. He was intensely frightened, but he beat
down his fear with the lash of self-scorn, as he would have whipped a
hound that refused to do his bidding. He steadied himself for a moment
against the doorway with tense muscles, setting his teeth together. He
drew a deep breath, turned back into his stateroom, and put on a cork
jacket. He was cool enough. Before he buckled it he transferred his
wallet and papers from the pocket of his coat to that on the inside of
his waistcoat.
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