“The jig is up with us, too,” said Mr. Scanlan, gazing wistfully toward the trees on the bank which were rendered plainly visible by the light of the flames. “If I could live my life over again, my first hard work would be to learn to swim. Now, boys, you have never seen anything like this before, but I have, and a word of caution may be of service to you. When you take to the water, as we’ve all got to do now, be sure there is no one near you. A drowning man’s grip is like a vise. Now let us go and see if we can help anybody.”
Bob followed his companions out of the pilot-house, but stopped at the foot of the stairs and stood appalled at the scene presented to his gaze. Up to this time he had moved like one in a dream, and did not seem to realize what was going on around him; but now he was fully alive to the dangers which threatened him, and he was frightened indeed. The deck on which he stood was so hot that he could not bear his hand upon it, and the flames were bursting out from both sides of the doomed steamer, whose frail, fanciful upper works burned like so much paper, and the light they threw out enabled Bob to see a long way up and down the river. The dark, muddy surface of the stream was dotted with men and women who had taken to the water and were floating down with the current on tables, chairs, or whatever else they could lay their hands upon before trusting themselves to the treacherous element. As he gazed, he saw more than one unfortunate slip off his frail support, and after making a vain effort to recover it, throw his hands above his head and sink out of sight. Bob stood and trembled while he looked.
“Come, come, boys!” exclaimed Mr. Black, hurriedly; “this is no time to be idle. The forecastle is crowded with passengers who must be saved.”
These words recalled George to his senses, and they even put a little life into Bob Owens. The latter began to think that he had never known what courage was. Here were these men who could not swim, and who, consequently, were in just as much danger as any person on board the boat, thinking of others instead of themselves. Bob’s first impulse after he became thoroughly waked up, was to look out for number one; but he was restrained by the actions of the pilots. He was no coward—he had proved that to everybody’s satisfaction. He was simply inexperienced, and needed an example to stimulate him and show him what ought to be done. The sequel proved that he was an apt pupil, too.
Bob looked all around for Mr. Scanlan, but could not see him. Mr. Black and George were standing near the starboard wheel-house, looking over the side; and when Bob came up he found that they were watching their partner, who was trying to get one of the steamer’s boiler-deck boats into the water. Some one had evidently been there before him, with the same object in view, for the railing was cut away, and the bow of the yawl was hanging out over the side, so that a strong push was all that was needed to send her into the river. It was fortunate that such was the case, for the fire was so hot, and the smoke so dense and stifling, that no one could stay there two minutes and live. Mr. Scanlan seemed to be courting death by staying there half so long. The flames flew into his face, scorching his hair and whiskers, and now and then thick clouds of smoke would roll over him, completely hiding him from view. He threw the long painter up to Mr. Black, pushed the boat overboard, and, with Bob’s help and George’s, climbed back to the hurricane deck. He ran to the opposite side of the boat to obtain a breath of fresh air, wiped the smoke from his eyes, brushed off the sparks of fire that clung to his clothing, and hurried to the assistance of Mr. Black, who, by walking along the deck, was drawing the boat toward the forecastle, where some of the passengers and crew had retreated out of reach of the flames.
No language can describe what Bob saw when he looked down upon that forecastle. He never forgot it: it troubled his sleep for many a night afterward. Men, women and children were gathered there; some crouching timidly at the foot of the jackstaff, watching the fire, which was rapidly approaching them, and others running frantically about searching for missing relatives or friends, or shrieking with terror, and appealing for the help which never came. Strong men fought for the possession of a plank or chair, and some jumped recklessly into the water, seized upon the first object that came within reach, which was oftentimes a fellow-being struggling desperately for his life, and held on with a death grip until both went out of sight together.
The Burning of the “Sam Kendall.”
Bob took it all in at a glance, and then turned his attention to the yawl, which Mr. Black had by this time drawn up to the forecastle. The frightened men shouted with delight when they saw it. A general rush was made for it, in spite of the remonstrances of Mr. Black, who called frantically for somebody to keep the crowd back, assuring them that, if they would only act like reasonable beings, there was time enough to save every soul on board the boat. But the crowd on the forecastle paid not the slightest attention to him. Probably they never heard his voice at all. They ran in a body toward the yawl, which in a minute more would have been filled so full that she would have sunk beneath her load, had it not been for an unlooked-for incident that happened just then.
The first to reach the boat were a couple of firemen (we are sorry we do not know the names of the cowards, so that we could publish them, for this circumstance really happened), one of whom jerked the painter from Mr. Black’s grasp, while the other put his shoulder against the side, and with one strong push sent the yawl far away from the burning steamer. It was a cruel disappointment to those who were left behind, and the panic among them was greatly increased. As for the pilots, they could scarcely contain themselves. They stamped about the deck and implored and commanded, but all to no purpose. Their words fell upon deaf ears.