It is said that atheists are bred in slums, and amidst brick walls and unlovely surroundings. It is also said that there are few sailors but who are believers—that the grandeur of the seas, that the wonder of great star spaces create a kind of spiritual atmosphere which makes it impossible for them to be materialists. Whether that is so I will not argue. This I know: Dick Faversham felt very near the unseen world as he leaned over the deck railings that night and gazed across the turbulent waters.
But this also must be said. The unseen world seemed to him not good, but evil. He felt as though there were dark, sinister forces around him—forces which were inimical to what he conceived to be best in him.
Before midnight he turned in, and no sooner did he lay his head on his pillow than he felt himself falling asleep. How long he slept he did not know. As far as he remembered afterwards, his sleep was dreamless. He only knew that he was awakened by a tremendous noise, and that the ship seemed to be crashing to pieces. Before he realised what had taken place he found himself thrown on the floor, while strange grating noises reached his ears. After that he heard wild shouts and despairing screams. Hastily putting on a coat over his night clothes, he rushed out to see what had happened; but all seemed darkness and confusion.
"What's the matter?" he cried, but received no answer.
Stumblingly he struggled towards the companion-way, where he saw a dark moving object.
"What's happened?" he gasped again.
"God only knows, except the vessel going down!"
"Vessel going down?"
"Yes; struck a mine or something!"
Even as the man spoke the ship seemed to be splitting asunder. Harsh, grating, bewildering noises were heard everywhere, while above the noises of timber and steel were to be faintly heard the cries of frantic women and excited men.