By this time the whole after-part of the vessel was shrouded in smoke that had been oozing out from the door and windows of the cabin, and which, in consequence of the stillness of the night, was not carried away. Slowly it ascended into the air, and so straight upwards that the edge of the cloud had not yet approached the main-deck—although the whole of the mizen-mast was enveloped by the thick smoke and invisible to its very peak. Most of the quarter-deck covered, and the cabin was now completely hidden from view by the vapoury volume that clustered above and around it. As yet there was no flames to be seen, but the hissing, crackling sound coming up from below, at intervals fell upon the ear, and told that the fierce element was still raging there, and would soon exhibit itself in all its red and terrific splendour.
No one waited to watch its progress. No longer did any one think of attempting to extinguish, or even to check the fierce destroyer. All hopes of saving the vessel were given up; the Pandora must be abandoned; and now was heard that heart-thrilling summons to the sailor—that last despairing cry—
“To the boats! to the boats!”
Chapter Fifty.
There were three boats belonging to the barque Pandora. They were the “long-boat,” the “pinnace,” and the “captain’s gig.” These would have been enough to have carried the whole crew—indeed the long-boat herself would have contained all hands, or nearly.
Thirty was reckoned her full complement, though, in a case of distress, forty persons might have found room in her, and she would have floated with that number, though not in a rough sea. She had been a good boat in her time, but was now old and worn, and there was a rotten plank or two among her timbers. She was not the boat originally made for the Pandora. This had been lost in a gale; and the one now aboard was an old weather and water-worn veteran, hurriedly obtained for the voyage. The pinnace would have carried some fifteen men, had she been fit to go into the water, which she was not. She had met with an accident while in the river, and had not yet been repaired. She was not slung at that moment, but lying in the scuppers along the main-deck, where the carpenter had for days past been repairing her. The repairs, however, were not completed, and the boat could not go to sea. The long-boat and gig then must take the whole crew; and it was agreed that twenty eight should get into the former, while the remaining twelve could be stowed in the gig.
Of course this agreement was made by a kind of rambling general consent—for there was no deliberation about anything, the whole crew being now half-mad with haste and excitement.
A large number of the men had rushed at once towards the long-boat, and there I followed them. They soon swarmed up to the bulwarks, and set to work to poise the davits outward, and get the rigging in order for lowering the boats. I did not see Brace among them; and, fancying he might have gone with a party towards the gig, I started aft to find him—as it was my intention to go in whatever boat carried him. The gig was suspended at the stern, just under the taffrail; and to reach this point I had to pass through the smoke that enveloped the cabin. But although the atmosphere seemed perfectly stagnant, the cloud of smoke leant a little towards the larboard side, and on the opposite, or starboard side, the way was partially clear. I had observed one or more persons glide through towards the stern, and I followed them.