The second mate had charge of the other boat, and together we shot away from the ship, putting a hundred yards between us before pausing to wait for the captain's boat from the other side. But it did not appear at once. Instead, we heard loud shouts, and the name "Grace" in Morton's tremulous voice.
"Miss Morton is here," I sang out, but, if heard, I was not answered.
Then the shouts ceased, and Morton's figure appeared on the opposite rail.
"Grace!" he called. "Grace, where are you?"
"I'm here, George," she answered. "I'm safe. Save yourself."
"Here!" I bellowed. "Here with me! Get back into your boat."
But instead he jumped down on deck, out of our sight. We pulled back toward the ship, and waited, a fair swimming distance away. Then, as a box of matches bursts into fame, so did that huge ship. The main-hatch covers flew into air, tangible and visible; and as they fell, the black pillar of smoke increased in size and solidity, while each oaken rail became a line of fire, and even the masts, dried by the heat of weeks, turned to fiery red columns in a few minutes.
But the top of the cabin was still immune from the flames. And up the after steps by the side of the companion climbed Morton. He ran to the skylight, turned around, went part way back, and then retraced his steps, calling again for his sister.
"Jump overboard!" I shouted. "Jump, for your life!"
He did not jump. With his hands to his nostrils he shuffled forward toward the monkey-rail that overlooked the main deck, halting at moments, only to shuffle again. He turned around once and took a few steps backward, then wheeled suddenly and resumed his shuffling advance. I called again and again for him to jump, and Grace joined me in pleading screams, while I heard the captain calling from the other side. But to no avail; the god that he worshiped was calling the louder. He staggered now, reached the rail, and with arms extended as though in supplication, plunged into the inferno beneath.