# Left to Themselves/Chapter 8

Published by Hunt & Eaton, in New York.
CHAPTER VIII.
IN NIGHT AND MIST.
WHEN a couple of savage dogs or a brace of quarrelsome cats stand defying one another a bucket of cold water or a lighted fire-cracker generally gives them a perfectly new subject to think about. The argument is pretty sure to be postponed.
Something like this result came to pass when Philip and the man Belmont felt the Old Province shivering beneath them, after that terrific jar. It was followed, shout upon shout, by what each felt sure must be the beginning of alarm and of unexpected peril.
One instant the boy and the man remained motionless, silent, with startled faces.
"What was that? The boiler can't have burst!" exclaimed Belmont. His nerves could hardly have been in a state to endure much. He sprang to the left entrance of the saloon and disappeared. Philip turned to the right, forgetting Belmont and all his schemes and ​threats. He was anxious to reach Gerald's state-room and to find out what had happened. Before he had gained the middle of the cabin doors were opening. Loud exclamations came from one side and the other. He caught glimpses of semi-arrayed occupants either scrambling into their clothes or hastily appearing and looking out in terror, now this way, now that. The explosion, or whatever it was, had sounded unmistakably from the forward part and below the deck of the steamer, judging from the peculiar thickness of the sound and the dull violence of the shock. By two and three a crowd was already centering forward.
He unlocked the state-room door with trembling fingers. Gerald was sitting up on the edge of the lower berth, looking about him with an alarmed air, but plainly not at all sure that any thing in particular had waked him.
"Say—Philip," he questioned, rubbing one of his eyes rather sleepily, "did you hear any thing just now? It's awfully funny. But I waked up—with such a start, and now I can't tell what on earth could have frightened me."
"You must have heard what we all heard," answered Philip, striving to speak composedly, ​while his alert ear caught vague sounds from without that were not re-assuring. "There was an odd noise, an explosion of some sort, forward a minute ago. I was just going to see what made it, I'll bring you word."
"An explosion? What could it have been? You don't think it's any thing about the boat? Are we running yet?"
"No; we were going very slowly, because of the fog, when it came. Hark! the whistle had stopped; now it goes on again. It hardly seems like any thing wrong with the steam. Very likely it was only a gas-tank, or something of that sort. I'll hurry back."
"Let me go with you," exclaimed the younger boy, dragging his shoes out from under the berth.
"I don't know whether you'd better," Philip returned, in sudden perplexity. Belmont came again into his mind. He was unwilling to have Gerald quit such a fortress, little as he liked leaving the boy alone. "I'll tell you what—if you don't mind I'd rather run out alone first for a moment. Then, if it's any thing interesting, you know, or worth while, you can go forward with me. If it isn't you'll ​have been saved the chance of taking cold and getting mixed up in the stir. What do you say?" He was very impatient to understand the accident, and spoke loudly, so that Gerald should not hear pattering footsteps and loud voices in the saloon, where the frightened passengers were collecting.
"All right," assented Gerald. "I'll wait."
"Lock the door after me. Don't open it to any one till I come back. It isn't safe, for particular reasons. Don't mind the noises outside; there's always some excitement where there are ladies, you know. Suppose you stuff those things into the bag again. We might have to change our quarters. I wont be long."
Philip hurried out. The saloon was half-lighted, as it had been. Already there was great confusion among passengers and servants. He caught sight at once of the steward and a couple of officials. He ran up to them only to hear them repeating sharply, "No, ladies and gentlemen! we don't know any thing yet, except that it was something down-stairs in the freight. They're making examinations forward. Please keep cool, gentlemen! there's no danger! ​No, sir, don't know any thing yet. Haven't heard there's any thing serious the matter. Don't go up that way, sir—nobody's allowed outside. Be composed, ladies! if there's any thing wrong you'll be told of it presently"—and so on. But Philip hurried past them, convinced that they were nervous enough themselves, to get facts from nearer head-quarters.
But when he arrived, breathless, at the upper end of the saloon, he discovered why other people, too, were not able to get at facts from head-quarters, and that matters were not in a state yet to set any body's mind at rest. Only one light was burning. Thirty or forty passengers were huddled there, wedged together in an anxious group in front of one of the outer doors and of the stair-way leading to the regions below. They were kept from going down by some officers ranged determinedly before them. "Keep back, gentlemen!" came the sharp orders. "No persons allowed forward of below. Nothing dangerous discovered yet. We'll find out what's the disturbance directly. They're working hard below now. No, sir; you can't go down, I say! Please keep back, gentlemen! No, sir; I can't tell you!"
​By mounting on a chair at the rear Philip found he could get a sight over the heads of those before him to the deck. There was rushing and shouting there, but up the staircase came the thud of crows and axes and something like the dashing of buckets of water. Could there be a fire below, or above, on the Old Province? The idea made him pale. But lanterns flashing back and forth in the gray mist made the only light yet visible. There was no smell of smoke. Still, up the stairs came louder than ever the breaking open of boxes and a jargon of distant activity. It was as if the freight had to be shifted. He waited a few seconds longer, but there was no more to be learned yet; that was clear. It was better to get back to the state-room and try to keep Gerald quiet in the uncertainty. Perhaps it was no serious occurrence, after all.
He jumped from his perch and turned his heel on the excited company and the flickering lights and shadows. He could answer no questions that met even him, on all sides. Evidently there was suspense—mystery. Louder and louder roared the steam from the pipes; and the shouts from below and the thumping ​and rolling kept on. The steamer was motionless, except for her rocking in the chopping sea.
Gerald opened the door, holding both traveling-bags in one hand. "What is it?" he began as Philip drew the bolt and took one of the bags. "Is there any danger? They're making a great fuss outside. What has happened?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't seem to find out yet. They will tell us soon though."
"I heard somebody say that a keg of powder exploded in the hold and blew up a lot of freight. May be it was that?"
"Yes, very likely. They're overturning things pretty generally down-stairs."
"But it's not the steam?"
"No, it's not the steam. We'll have to wait till the ship's people can explain what it is. Most likely nothing much."
"Aren't the passengers frightened?"
"Some are, I think, and some not. There's no need of being so till we're hurt. One or two ladies fainted, and so on."
"Are you afraid yourself?"
"Not till I know what we've got to be afraid of."
​"O, well, if you're not I'm not. But it's very queer."
"Yes, it's very queer. How did you get along with the bags?"
"O, all right. Every thing's packed up again just as it was. Hadn't we better lock the room and go outside, where we can know sooner what's going on?"
Philip liked their lonely waiting there as little as Gerald did. It seemed best, for a few minutes, at least. So he answered, "To tell the truth, I'd rather we shouldn't go out just yet. We shall know here about matters just as soon, for I'll be ready to run out when I hear any thing. I've a particular reason."
"All right," assented Gerald, uneasily, but returning the smile. "What a good thing it was that we've neither of us undressed, isn't it, in case we have to move?"
"Yes, rather. It will save time. Still, there don't seem to be any thing to hurry us if we should have to move."
"Don't you think we ran into some other boat?"
"No, that wasn't the trouble. It was something on board. It sounded like a ​cannon. I wish they'd hurry up and tell us all about it."
"Where were you?"
"Out on the after-deck."
"What were you doing there?"
"I—I had an errand," responded Philip.
With this Gerald mercifully intermitted his catechism. He put himself back in his berth. Philip's quick ear caught a new sound—the pumps were started. Surely that was a hint of very certain and evil omen.
"Wait! I'll be back directly," he said, hurrying into the passage-way. There was a great stir in the saloon. "Yes, it's true!" he heard somebody exclaim. "Don't you hear the pumps?" "Who says so?" called out another. A man hurrying past him was inquiring, "How big is it? Why don't they tell us that?" There could be no mistake. Part of the trouble was a leak.
"Don't be alarmed, ladies and gentlemen," said the mate; he was coming quickly down from the group forward, followed by a dozen clamorous passengers. "We've found a leak in the hold. A barrel of explosive stuff went off, but they're getting the best of it, all right. The ​engineers are working. The shock's disabled the machinery a little. It'll soon be fixed. Don't be frightened."
It was a comfort to get at some part of the mystery. But the faces around the cabin were as anxious as ever. The idea of mischief to the machinery was not a soothing addition. How inexplicable the whole accident was!
Philip hied him back to Gerald. Then fora time no more information could be got. There was a leak? Yes, there was a leak, but every body could be easy. They "were getting it under control all right." The little groups at the staircases, still held in check by the captain's orders, waited anxiously. The pumps kept up steadily their clanging sound that had not stopped once; and to Philip and Gerald the pumps seemed to be going faster than ever by the time half an hour had gone by. Once when Touchtone stepped out for any more news he overheard an officer running by say something about "below the water-line," and add to the head steward, "Tell Peters to get out what I said—quick!"
As he sat in the state-room, glad that he had succeeded yet in keeping Gerald so unexcited, ​Belmont came to his mind, "Most likely he's in that crowd forward," he thought. "One comfort! However bad a scare it is, I fancy it's upset him and his schemes in making us trouble."
But just then began a rush in the cabin and loud words and outcries. People came running down the saloon, and there was trampling of feet up the brass steps of the staircases, and hasty orders. Gerald, terrified, leaped from his berth and ran trembling out into the passage. There the two lads stood together, wild-eyed. They heard the captain speaking and drawing nearer with each word: "Ladies and gentlemen, you are aware that an explosion down in the hold has broken a hole in the bow. We thought we could manage it; we cannot. The steamer must sink inside of an hour. Be quiet, I tell you—and keep calm! There is plenty of time. We must take to the boats in as good order and as quickly as possible. We cannot beach the ship, the engines are crippled. Please prepare yourselves and come aft."
A great cry went up from those who heard. The worst was known! Arm tightly clasped in arm, the two lads tried to grasp this news that made their hearts leap to their throats. Could ​it be true? But following the captain's words and the sounds of panic that rose with them came the boom—boom—of the signal-gun, the tolling of the bell, the louder scream of the whistle, and the flash of rockets and Bengal lights—not likely to be of much use in that dense fog,
Yes, it was true! So swiftly, so mysteriously had they passed from safety to—what? To the need of hurrying from what had been a gallant, strong ship, now become a mere sinking mass of iron and wood; to making their way to the shore, in open boats, over an angry sea, in night and mist; in a word, to meeting together—Gerald with no friend near save Philip, and Philip with none save little Gerald, who clung to him for protection, every thing—the chances of life or death. May none of us who read this history ever have to exclaim, with a prospect of the awful thing staring us in the face, "From sudden death, good Lord, deliver us!" Some of us hear it read, Sunday after Sunday, heedlessly enough. It came into Philip's thoughts now with all its appeal—"From sudden death!"