“Good gracious me!” cried out Mrs Gilmour, “what on earth is that?”
Nobody, however, for the moment, attended to her: nobody, indeed, even heard the question; for the scene of quiet enjoyment which the deck had presented the moment before was changed to one of utter confusion, the shrieks of frightened women and hoarse cries of some of the men mingling with the screams of children and the noise of escaping steam, roaring up the funnel.
Captain Dresser had hastened forwards to the forecastle of the ill-fated vessel to see with his own eyes what had happened as soon as the steamer struck, being immediately followed by Dick and Bob, who left Nellie clinging to her aunt in great consternation.
As for the skipper of the poor steamer, he seemed to have lost his head completely, for he was shouting out orders one moment from the bridge and contradicting them the next: while the crew were rushing about the decks aimlessly, one going here and another there, without apparent end or purpose, every one looking bewildered from the want of proper leadership.
“Keep calm, ladies!” the skipper sang out at intervals between his orders to the seamen and firemen, whom the incessant sounding of the engine-room gong had brought up from below. “Keep cool; there’s no danger, I tell you!”
He himself, however, appeared so perturbed, that his assurances increased, instead of lessened, the panic amongst the passengers, who huddled together in groups like startled sheep; and Nell clasped her aunt’s hand tightly, the two awaiting in great anxiety Captain Dresser’s return from his inspection of the vessel forwards.
They were not long kept in suspense.
After a brief interview, which seemed an eternity, the old sailor re-appeared aft.
His face looked very grave.
“I’m sorry for the old Bembridge Belle” he said in a low tone to Mrs Gilmour, so as not to be overheard by the other passengers standing near. “The poor thing has a large hole knocked through her fore compartment, and is filling with water fast!”