All the stores that could, with apparent safety, be got out were landed; the boats were returning to the ship. Claude had calculated that hours must elapse before the vessel blew up, or that she might sink without an explosion.
Orders had just been issued for the men to stand by to embark in the boats with regularity and quietness, when suddenly the after-part of the ship was blown up with fearful violence; masts, spars, deck, rigging, and bulwarks flew skywards, in a fountain of crimson flame.
The sea was covered with the wreckage, and the Icebear began rapidly to sink stern foremost.
“Give way, men,” shouted Dr Barrett. “Give way with a will to the rescue.”
Let the curtain drop over the terrible scene. Suffice it to say that everything that man can do, or heroes accomplish, was done and dared by those in the boats to save their friends and messmates from drowning, and from worse—from being devoured by sharks; but out of all that crew of men, who, only a few short hours before, had been peacefully slumbering, and dreaming, perchance, of home and happiness, only thirty answered to their names that morning in the shore-house.
Some of these, too, were badly wounded, and nearly all exhausted.
Poor Lloyd was among the drowned, so was Warren, the second mate, and both Pipes and Chips had gone to their account.
Big Byarnie had been sent ashore with one of the first boats. He was a giant to work, and did about three men’s duty in unloading. He had taken the sea-birds with him.
Fingal had, dog-like, stayed with his master, and swam all the way to the shore with him after the explosion. Boy Bounce came floating on shore stride-legs on a spar, propelling himself with half an oar, which he had managed to pick up somehow or other.
There was so much life and enthusiasm about Paddy O’Connell, that it is almost needless to say he got ashore.