Suddenly every occupant of the ladies' cabin was startled from sleep by the sound of great commotion on deck, tramping of feet, and loud and repeated cries of alarm, that thrilled every heart with fear. Anxious faces were bent forward from every berth, and eager questions were passed from mouth to mouth, to which none seemed able to reply. "What is that noise? What can have happened? Has the ship struck? Have we run down some vessel?" And as the sound above continued and increased, rapid movements were made on all sides, as the ladies began hasty preparations for appearing on deck, should there prove to be real cause for alarm.
"Stewardess, stewardess!" called out Mrs. Lowe, as she searched here and there for her mantle, "run up-stairs; ask what is the matter; I'm sure something dreadful has occurred. If ever I travel by steamer again—"
"Mamma, mamma!" cried the terrified Jemima, "How awfully hot it has grown!"
"I feel half stifled," murmured pour Minnie, as, half dizzy with sleep, and trembling with fright, she held out her arms to her mother, who lifted her down from her berth.
The stewardess hurried to the door. The instant that she opened it, to the horror of all in the cabin, in rolled a suffocating volume of smoke, and only too distinctly sounded the voices above—"Fire! Fire!" was the terrible cry.
"Don't let the women come up—they must keep down—we can't have them here on deck!" called out the loud voice of the captain. Several of the ladies attempted to rush up the hatchway, but were roughly ordered back by the sailors.
"You would but hinder us here; go down and pray," cried a tar, all begrimed with smoke.
"Yes, let us pray," re-echoed the voice of Mrs. Mayne, as she sank on her knees in the cabin, her hands clasped, and her arms enfolding her daughter.
In that hour of terror and danger, the varied characters of those in that crowded cabin showed in strange distinctness. Differences of rank and age were quite forgotten—a common fear seemed to level all; while far more marked than before grew the contrast between the foolish virgins and the wise. Poor Jemima stood trembling in the recess, unconsciously trampling under foot the plumed hat which had once been her pride. Mrs. Lowe was almost mad with terror. Wringing her hands, and imploring those to save her whose peril was as great as her own—wildly asking those who knew as little as herself whether there were no hope of deliverance—she stood a fearful picture of one who has lived for the world and self. What were then to her the comforts or pleasures bought at the price of conscience! With what feelings did she then recall warnings despised and duties neglected! Could all her unrighteous gains—gains by petty fraud, by bold Sabbath-breaking—procure her one moment's peace when she feared that, within an hour, she might be standing before an angry God? No; those very gains were as fetters, as dead-weights, to sink her soul down to destruction. "Your gold and silver is cankered, and the rust of them shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. Ye have heaped up treasure for the last days."
Mrs. Mayne was pale but calm. Her best treasure was safe where neither storm nor fire could touch it. She knew that a sudden death is, to the Christian, but a shorter passage home, a quicker entrance into glory. The grace which she had sought for by prayer in time of safety, shone out brightly now in time of danger, and she was able to sustain others by the light which cheered her own trusting soul. Mrs. Mayne prayed aloud, and many in the cabin fervently joined in her prayers.