The oars were got out, and they rowed round the bow
of the great ship wallowing in her death-throes, their first idea being
to make for the shore, which was not three miles away.
This brought them to the starboard side, where they saw a hideous scene.
Hundreds of people seemed to be fighting for room, with the result that
some of the boats were overturned, precipitating their occupants into
the water. Others hung by the prow or the stern, the ropes having jammed
in the davits in the frantic haste and confusion, while from them human
beings dropped one by one. Round others not yet launched a hellish
struggle was in progress, the struggle of men, women, and children
battling for their lives, in which the strong, mad with terror, showed
no mercy to the weak.
From that mass of humanity, most of them about to perish, went up a
babel of sounds which in its sum shaped itself to one prolonged scream,
such as might proceed from a Titan in his agony. All this beneath a
brooding, moonlit sky, and on a sea as smooth as glass. Upon the ship,
which now lay upon her side, the siren still sent up its yells for
succour, and some brave man continued to fire rockets, which rushed
heavenwards and burst in showers of stars.
Robert remembered that the last rocket he had seen was fired at an
evening _fete_ for the amusement of the audience.
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