"No—not afraid," she said steadily. "If only father would be quiet; we can't do any good by shouting."
"Life-belts!" bellowed Daniel Meggison. "Oh—my God!—are there no life-belts on this rotten old hulk? Life-belts!"
The yacht was settling down slowly but steadily; there was nothing for it but to take to the boats. Some provisions were put in—the men hurrying hither and thither, answering cheerfully to the orders given them, and standing in their places without disorder. The only confusion was among the passengers; when their boat was at last ready, Daniel and his son scuffled together feebly for a moment or two, even with blows, in an attempt to get into the boat first.
Now, just how it happened that in the confusion that boat went off with the passengers only in it—the Stockers and the Ewart-Cranes, the Meggisons and Quarle, and Tant and Gilbert—will never be known. At the last moment Gilbert called out to know if Pringle was there; and the cheery voice of the man answered him; and Pringle, following the voice, stepped into his place.
"Nice smooth sea, sir," said Pringle, as he took an oar.
The other boats were being manned; to the last, as they pulled away, they heard the steady voice of the captain calling orders. Gilbert and Pringle and Simon Quarle pulled steadily; the women were huddled in the stern, and one of them at least was whimpering. Gradually the night seemed to close in above them and about them; gradually it seemed that they were left more and more alone on the gently heaving sea. At last—minutes after, as it seemed—there was a sound of rending and tearing upon rocks—and then a splash of waters; then all was still.
"She's gone," said Gilbert, drawing a long breath.
They pulled slowly, waiting for the dawn; no one seemed inclined to speak. Daniel Meggison slumbered a little, murmuring in his sleep; Mrs. Julia Stocker also appeared to sleep, pillowing her head upon Mr. Stocker, who seemed to strive to make her as comfortable as he could. She murmured more than once of Clapham.
Gilbert strove to pierce the darkness to catch a glimpse of Bessie. He thought he knew where she sat—upright and slim and steady; he wondered of what she was thinking, out there in the darkness—remembered with a pang how far she was from that quiet Arcadia Street in which he had found her. Then gradually, from sheer exhaustion, he nodded a little himself, even while he kept his oar moving rhythmically. And the dawn grew at last in the sky, and shed its grey light upon them—that strange little company in an open boat upon the sea.
That little company woke gradually to the full meaning of their situation. Mrs. Stocker, shuddering, was absolutely certain that she "looked a fright"; Mr. Edward Stocker passed a sort of damp compliment to her concerning her appearance. Mrs. Ewart-Crane had withdrawn herself a little, with her daughter, from the commoner company; Enid might have been observed holding the hand of Jordan Tant. Daniel Meggison, for his part, more than once put the lives of them all in peril by standing up in the boat, holding on to the person nearest him, and declaring that he distinctly saw land; after such an exhibition he was usually hauled down unceremoniously by the coat-tails by his son.