All was ready. The signal was given. A door beneath the royal party
opened, and the lover of the princess walked into the arena. Tall,
beautiful, fair, his appearance was greeted with a low hum of
admiration and anxiety. Half the audience had not known so grand a
youth had lived among them. No wonder the princess loved him! What a
terrible thing for him to be there!

As the youth advanced into the arena, he turned, as the custom was,
to bow to the king: but he did not think at all of that royal
personage; his eyes were fixed upon the princess, who sat to the
right of her father. Had it not been for the moiety of barbarism in
her nature it is probable that lady would not have been there; but
her intense and fervid soul would not allow her to be absent on an
occasion in which she was so terribly interested. From the moment
that the decree had gone forth that her lover should decide his fate
in the king's arena, she had thought of nothing, night or day, but
this great event and the various subjects connected with it.
Possessed of more power, influence, and force of character than any
one who had ever before been interested in such a case, she had done
what no other person had done--she had possessed herself of the
secret of the doors. She knew in which of the two rooms that lay
behind those doors stood the cage of the tiger, with its open front,
and in which waited the lady. Through these thick doors, heavily
curtained with skins on the inside, it was impossible that any noise
or suggestion should come from within to the person who should
approach to raise the latch of one of them; but gold, and the power
of a woman's will, had brought the secret to the princess.

And not only did she know in which room stood the lady ready to
emerge, all blushing and radiant, should her door be opened, but she
knew who the lady was. It was one of the fairest and loveliest of
the damsels of the court who had been selected as the reward of the
accused youth, should he be proved innocent of the crime of aspiring
to one so far above him; and the princess hated her. Often had she
seen, or imagined that she had seen, this fair creature throwing
glances of admiration upon the person of her lover, and sometimes
she thought these glances were perceived and even returned. Now and
then she had seen them talking together; it was but for a moment or
two, but much can be said in a brief space; it may have been on most
unimportant topics, but how could she know that? The girl was
lovely, but she had dared to raise her eyes to the loved one of the
princess; and, with all the intensity of the savage blood
transmitted to her through long lines of wholly barbaric ancestors,
she hated the woman who blushed and trembled behind that silent
door.

When her lover turned and looked at her, and his eye met hers as she
sat there paler and whiter than any one in the vast ocean of anxious
faces about her, he saw, by that power of quick perception which is
given to those whose souls are one, that she knew behind which door
crouched the tiger, and behind which stood the lady. He had expected
her to know it. He understood her nature, and his soul was assured
that she would never rest until she had made plain to herself this
thing, hidden to all other lookers-on, even to the king. The only
hope for the youth in which there was any element of certainty was
based upon the success of the princess in discovering this mystery;
and the moment he looked upon her, he saw she had succeeded, as in
his soul he knew she would succeed.

Then it was that his quick and anxious glance asked the question,
"Which?" It was as plain to her as if he shouted it from where he
stood. There was not an instant to be lost. The question was asked
in a flash; it must be answered in another.

Her right arm lay on the cushioned parapet before her. She raised
her hand, and made a slight, quick movement toward the right. No one
but her lover saw her. Every eye but his was fixed on the man in the
arena.

He turned, and with a firm and rapid step he walked across the empty
space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, every eye
was fixed immovably upon that man. Without the slightest hesitation,
he went to the door on the right, and opened it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now, the point of the story is this: Did the tiger come out of that
door, or did the lady?

The more we reflect upon this question the harder it is to answer.
It involves a study of the human heart which leads us through
devious mazes of passion, out of which it is difficult to find our
way. Think of it, fair reader, not as if the decision of the
question depended upon yourself, but upon that hot-blooded,
semibarbaric princess, her soul at a white heat beneath the combined
fires of despair and jealousy. She had lost him, but who should have
him?

How often, in her waking hours and in her dreams, had she started in
wild horror and covered her face with her hands as she thought of
her lover opening the door on the other side of which waited the
cruel fangs of the tiger!

But how much oftener had she seen him at the other door! How in her
grievous reveries had she gnashed her teeth and torn her hair when
she saw his start of rapturous delight as he opened the door of the
lady! How her soul had burned in agony when she had seen him rush to
meet that woman, with her flushing cheek and sparkling eye of
triumph; when she had seen him lead her forth, his whole frame
kindled with the joy of recovered life; when she had heard the glad
shouts from the multitude, and the wild ringing of the happy bells;
when she had seen the priest, with his joyous followers, advance to
the couple, and make them man and wife before her very eyes; and
when she had seen them walk away together upon their path of
flowers, followed by the tremendous shouts of the hilarious
multitude, in which her one despairing shriek was lost and drowned!

Would it not be better for him to die at once, and go to wait for
her in the blessed regions of semibarbaric futurity?

And yet, that awful tiger, those shrieks, that blood!

Her decision had been indicated in an instant, but it had been made
after days and nights of anguished deliberation. She had known she
would be asked, she had decided what she would answer, and, without
the slightest hesitation, she had moved her hand to the right.

The question of her decision is one not to be lightly considered,
and it is not for me to presume to set myself up as the one person
able to answer it. And so I leave it with all of you: Which came out
of the opened door--the lady, or the tiger?




THE REMARKABLE WRECK OF THE "THOMAS HYKE"


It was half-past one by the clock in the office of the Registrar of
Woes. The room was empty, for it was Wednesday, and the Registrar
always went home early on Wednesday afternoons. He had made that
arrangement when he accepted the office. He was willing to serve his
fellow-citizens in any suitable position to which he might be
called, but he had private interests which could not be neglected.
He belonged to his country, but there was a house in the country
which belonged to him; and there were a great many things
appertaining to that house which needed attention, especially in
pleasant summer weather. It is true he was often absent on
afternoons which did not fall on the Wednesday, but the fact of his
having appointed a particular time for the furtherance of his
outside interests so emphasized their importance that his associates
in the office had no difficulty in understanding that affairs of
such moment could not always be attended to in a single afternoon of
the week.

But although the large room devoted to the especial use of the
Registrar was unoccupied, there were other rooms connected with it
which were not in that condition. With the suite of offices to the
left we have nothing to do, but will confine our attention to a
moderate-sized room to the right of the Registrar's office, and
connected by a door, now closed, with that large and handsomely
furnished chamber. This was the office of the Clerk of Shipwrecks,
and it was at present occupied by five persons. One of these was the
clerk himself, a man of goodly appearance, somewhere between
twenty-five and forty-five years of age, and of a demeanor such as
might be supposed to belong to one who had occupied a high position
in state affairs, but who, by the cabals of his enemies, had been
forced to resign the great operations of statesmanship which he had
been directing, and who now stood, with a quite resigned air,
pointing out to the populace the futile and disastrous efforts of
the incompetent one who was endeavoring to fill his place. The Clerk
of Shipwrecks had never fallen from such a position, having never
occupied one, but he had acquired the demeanor referred to without
going through the preliminary exercises.

Another occupant was a very young man, the personal clerk of the
Registrar of Woes, who always closed all the doors of the office of
that functionary on Wednesday afternoons, and at other times when
outside interests demanded his principal's absence, after which he
betook himself to the room of his friend the Shipwreck Clerk.

Then there was a middle-aged man named Mathers, also a friend of the
clerk, and who was one of the eight who had made application for a
subposition in this department, which was now filled by a man who
was expected to resign when a friend of his, a gentleman of
influence in an interior county, should succeed in procuring the
nomination as congressional Representative of his district of an
influential politician, whose election was considered assured in
case certain expected action on the part of the administration
should bring his party into power. The person now occupying the
subposition hoped then to get something better, and Mathers,
consequently, was very willing, while waiting for the place, to
visit the offices of the department and acquaint himself with its
duties.

A fourth person was J. George Watts, a juryman by profession, who
had brought with him his brother-in-law, a stranger in the city.

The Shipwreck Clerk had taken off his good coat, which he had worn
to luncheon, and had replaced it by a lighter garment of linen, much
bespattered with ink; and he now produced a cigar-box, containing
six cigars.

"Gents," said he, "here is the fag end of a box of cigars. It's not
like having the pick of a box, but they are all I have left."

Mr. Mathers, J. George Watts, and the brother-in-law each took a
cigar with that careless yet deferential manner which always
distinguishes the treatee from the treator; and then the box was
protruded in an offhand way toward Harry Covare, the personal clerk
of the Registrar; but this young man declined, saying that he
preferred cigarettes, a package of which he drew from his pocket. He
had very often seen that cigar-box with a Havana brand, which he
himself had brought from the other room after the Registrar had
emptied it, passed around with six cigars, no more nor less, and he
was wise enough to know that the Shipwreck Clerk did not expect to
supply him with smoking-material. If that gentleman had offered to
the friends who generally dropped in on him on Wednesday afternoon
the paper bag of cigars sold at five cents each when bought singly,
but half a dozen for a quarter of a dollar, they would have been
quite as thankfully received; but it better pleased his deprecative
soul to put them in an empty cigar-box, and thus throw around them
the halo of the presumption that ninety-four of their imported
companions had been smoked.

The Shipwreck Clerk, having lighted a cigar for himself, sat down in
his revolving chair, turned his back to his desk, and threw himself
into an easy cross-legged attitude, which showed that he was
perfectly at home in that office. Harry Covare mounted a high stool,
while the visitors seated themselves in three wooden arm-chairs. But
few words had been said, and each man had scarcely tossed his first
tobacco-ashes on the floor, when some one wearing heavy boots was
heard opening an outside door and entering the Registrar's room.
Harry Covare jumped down from his stool, laid his half-smoked
cigarette thereon, and bounced into the next room, closing the door
after him. In about a minute he returned, and the Shipwreck Clerk
looked at him inquiringly.

"An old cock in a pea-jacket," said Mr. Covare, taking up his
cigarette and mounting his stool. "I told him the Registrar would be
here in the morning. He said he had something to report about a
shipwreck, and I told him the Registrar would be here in the
morning. Had to tell him that three times, and then he went."

"School don't keep Wednesday afternoons," said Mr. J. George Watts,
with a knowing smile.

"No, sir," said the Shipwreck Clerk, emphatically, changing the
crossing of his legs. "A man can't keep grinding on day in and out
without breaking down. Outsiders may say what they please about it,
but it can't be done. We've got to let up sometimes. People who do
the work need the rest just as much as those who do the looking on."

"And more too, I should say," observed Mr. Mathers.

"Our little let-up on Wednesday afternoons," modestly observed Harry
Covare, "is like death--it is sure to come; while the let-ups we get
other days are more like the diseases which prevail in certain
areas--you can't be sure whether you're going to get them or not."

The Shipwreck Clerk smiled benignantly at this remark, and the rest
laughed. Mr. Mathers had heard it before, but he would not impair
the pleasantness of his relations with a future colleague by hinting
that he remembered it.

"He gets such ideas from his beastly statistics," said the Shipwreck
Clerk.

"Which come pretty heavy on him sometimes, I expect," observed Mr.
Mathers.

"They needn't," said the Shipwreck Clerk, "if things were managed
here as they ought to be. If John J. Laylor"--meaning thereby the
Registrar--"was the right kind of a man you'd see things very
different here from what they are now. There'd be a larger force."

"That's so," said Mr. Mathers.

"And not only that, but there'd be better buildings and more
accommodations. Were any of you ever up to Anster? Well, take a run
up there some day, and see what sort of buildings the department has
there. William Q. Green is a very different man from John J. Laylor.
You don't see him sitting in his chair and picking his teeth the
whole winter, while the Representative from his district never says
a word about his department from one end of a session of Congress to
the other. Now if I had charge of things here, I'd make such changes
that you wouldn't know the place. I'd throw two rooms off here, and
a corridor and entrance-door at that end of the building. I'd close
up this door"--pointing toward the Registrar's room--"and if John J.
Laylor wanted to come in here he might go round to the end door like
other people."

The thought struck Harry Covare that in that case there would be no
John J. Laylor, but he would not interrupt.

"And what is more," continued the Shipwreck Clerk, "I'd close up
this whole department at twelve o'clock on Saturdays. The way things
are managed now, a man has no time to attend to his own private
business. Suppose I think of buying a piece of land, and want to go
out and look at it, or suppose any one of you gentlemen were here
and thought of buying a piece of land and wanted to go out and look
at it, what are you going to do about it? You don't want to go on
Sunday, and when are you going to go?"

Not one of the other gentlemen had ever thought of buying a piece of
land, nor had they any reason to suppose that they ever would
purchase an inch of soil unless they bought it in a flower-pot; but
they all agreed that the way things were managed now there was no
time for a man to attend to his own business.

"But you can't expect John J. Laylor to do anything," said the
Shipwreck Clerk.

However, there was one thing which that gentleman always expected
John J. Laylor to do. When the clerk was surrounded by a number of
persons in hours of business, and when he had succeeded in
impressing them with the importance of his functions and the
necessity of paying deferential attention to himself if they wished
their business attended to, John J. Laylor would be sure to walk
into the office and address the Shipwreck Clerk in such a manner as
to let the people present know that he was a clerk and nothing else,
and that he, the Registrar, was the head of that department. These
humiliations the Shipwreck Clerk never forgot.

There was a little pause here, and then Mr. Mathers remarked:

"I should think you'd be awfully bored with the long stories of
shipwrecks that the people come and tell you."

He hoped to change the conversation, because, although he wished to
remain on good terms with the subordinate officers, it was not
desirable that he should be led to say much against John J. Laylor.

"No, sir," said the Shipwreck Clerk, "I am not bored. I did not come
here to be bored, and as long as I have charge of this office I
don't intend to be. The long-winded old salts who come here to
report their wrecks never spin out their prosy yarns to me. The
first thing I do is to let them know just what I want of them; and
not an inch beyond that does a man of them go, at least while I am
managing the business. There are times when John J. Laylor comes in,
and puts in his oar, and wants to hear the whole story; which is
pure stuff and nonsense, for John J. Laylor doesn't know anything
more about a shipwreck than he does about--"

"The endemies in the Lake George area," suggested Harry Covare.

"Yes; or any other part of his business," said the Shipwreck Clerk;
"and when he takes it into his head to interfere, all business stops
till some second mate of a coal-schooner has told his whole story
from his sighting land on the morning of one day to his getting
ashore on it on the afternoon of the next. Now I don't put up with
any such nonsense. There's no man living that can tell me anything
about shipwrecks. I've never been to sea myself, but that's not
necessary; and if I had gone, it's not likely I'd been wrecked. But
I've read about every kind of shipwreck that ever happened. When I
first came here I took care to post myself upon these matters,
because I knew it would save trouble. I have read 'Robinson Crusoe,'
'The Wreck of the "Grosvenor,"' 'The Sinking of the "Royal George,"'
and wrecks by water-spouts, tidal waves, and every other thing which
would knock a ship into a cocked hat, and I've classified every sort
of wreck under its proper head; and when I've found out to what
class a wreck belongs, I know all about it. Now, when a man comes
here to report a wreck, the first thing he has to do is just to shut
down on his story, and to stand up square and answer a few questions
that I put to him. In two minutes I know just what kind of shipwreck
he's had; and then, when he gives me the name of his vessel, and one
or two other points, he may go. I know all about that wreck, and I
make a much better report of the business than he could have done if
he'd stood here talking three days and three nights. The amount of
money that's been saved to our taxpayers by the way I've
systematized the business of this office is not to be calculated in
figures."

The brother-in-law of J. George Watts knocked the ashes from the
remnant of his cigar, looked contemplatively at the coal for a
moment, and then remarked:

"I think you said there's no kind of shipwreck you don't know
about?"

"That's what I said," replied the Shipwreck Clerk.

"I think," said the other, "I could tell you of a shipwreck, in
which I was concerned, that wouldn't go into any of your classes."

The Shipwreck Clerk threw away the end of his cigar, put both his
hands into his trousers pockets, stretched out his legs, and looked
steadfastly at the man who had made this unwarrantable remark. Then
a pitying smile stole over his countenance, and he said: "Well, sir,
I'd like to hear your account of it; and before you get a quarter
through I can stop you just where you are, and go ahead and tell the
rest of the story myself."

"That's so," said Harry Covare. "You'll see him do it just as sure
pop as a spread rail bounces the engine."

"Well, then," said the brother-in-law of J. George Watts, "I'll tell
it." And he began:

       *       *       *       *       *

"It was just two years ago the 1st of this month that I sailed for
South America in the 'Thomas Hyke.'"

At this point the Shipwreck Clerk turned and opened a large book at
the letter T.

"That wreck wasn't reported here," said the other, "and you won't
find it in your book."

"At Anster, perhaps?" said the Shipwreck Clerk, closing the volume
and turning round again.

"Can't say about that," replied the other. "I've never been to
Anster, and haven't looked over their books."

"Well, you needn't want to," said the clerk. "They've got good
accommodations at Anster, and the Registrar has some ideas of the
duties of his post, but they have no such system of wreck reports as
we have here."

"Very like," said the brother-in-law. And he went on with his story.
"The 'Thomas Hyke' was a small iron steamer of six hundred tons, and
she sailed from Ulford for Valparaiso with a cargo principally of
pig-iron."

"Pig-iron for Valparaiso?" remarked the Shipwreck Clerk. And then he
knitted his brows thoughtfully, and said, "Go on."

"She was a new vessel," continued the narrator, "and built with
water-tight compartments; rather uncommon for a vessel of her class,
but so she was. I am not a sailor, and don't know anything about
ships. I went as passenger, and there was another one named William
Anderson, and his son Sam, a boy about fifteen years old. We were
all going to Valparaiso on business. I don't remember just how many
days we were out, nor do I know just where we were, but it was
somewhere off the coast of South America, when, one dark night--with
a fog besides, for aught I know, for I was asleep--we ran into a
steamer coming north. How we managed to do this, with room enough on
both sides for all the ships in the world to pass, I don't know; but
so it was. When I got on deck the other vessel had gone on, and we
never saw anything more of her. Whether she sunk or got home is
something I can't tell. But we pretty soon found that the 'Thomas
Hyke' had some of the plates in her bow badly smashed, and she took
in water like a thirsty dog. The captain had the forward water-tight
bulkhead shut tight, and the pumps set to work, but it was no use.
That forward compartment just filled up with water, and the 'Thomas
Hyke' settled down with her bow clean under. Her deck was slanting
forward like the side of a hill, and the propeller was lifted up so
that it wouldn't have worked even if the engine had been kept going.
The captain had the masts cut away, thinking this might bring her up
some, but it didn't help much. There was a pretty heavy sea on, and
the waves came rolling up the slant of the deck like the surf on the
sea-shore. The captain gave orders to have all the hatches battened
down so that water couldn't get in, and the only way by which
anybody could go below was by the cabin door, which was far aft.
This work of stopping up all openings in the deck was a dangerous
business, for the decks sloped right down into the water, and if
anybody had slipped, away he'd have gone into the ocean, with
nothing to stop him; but the men made a line fast to themselves, and
worked away with a good will, and soon got the deck and the house
over the engine as tight as a bottle. The smoke-stack, which was
well forward, had been broken down by a spar when the masts had been
cut, and as the waves washed into the hole that it left, the captain
had this plugged up with old sails, well fastened down. It was a
dreadful thing to see the ship a-lying with her bows clean under
water and her stern sticking up. If it hadn't been for her
water-tight compartments that were left uninjured, she would have
gone down to the bottom as slick as a whistle. On the afternoon of
the day after the collision the wind fell, and the sea soon became
pretty smooth. The captain was quite sure that there would be no
trouble about keeping afloat until some ship came along and took us
off. Our flag was flying, upside down, from a pole in the stern; and
if anybody saw a ship making such a guy of herself as the 'Thomas
Hyke' was then doing, they'd be sure to come to see what was the
matter with her, even if she had no flag of distress flying. We
tried to make ourselves as comfortable as we could, but this wasn't
easy with everything on such a dreadful slant. But that night we
heard a rumbling and grinding noise down in the hold, and the slant
seemed to get worse. Pretty soon the captain roused all hands and
told us that the cargo of pig-iron was shifting and sliding down to
the bow, and that it wouldn't be long before it would break through
all the bulkheads, and then we'd fill and go to the bottom like a
shot. He said we must all take to the boats and get away as quick as
we could. It was an easy matter launching the boats. They didn't
lower them outside from the davits, but they just let 'em down on
deck and slid 'em along forward into the water, and then held 'em
there with a rope till everything was ready to start. They launched
three boats, put plenty of provisions and water in 'em, and then
everybody began to get aboard. But William Anderson and me and his
son Sam couldn't make up our minds to get into those boats and row
out on the dark, wide ocean. They were the biggest boats we had, but
still they were little things enough. The ship seemed to us to be a
good deal safer, and more likely to be seen when day broke, than
those three boats, which might be blown off, if the wind rose,
nobody knew where. It seemed to us that the cargo had done all the
shifting it intended to, for the noise below had stopped; and,
altogether, we agreed that we'd rather stick to the ship than go off
in those boats. The captain he tried to make us go, but we wouldn't
do it; and he told us if we chose to stay behind and be drowned it
was our affair and he couldn't help it; and then he said there was a
small boat aft, and we'd better launch her, and have her ready in
case things should get worse and we should make up our minds to
leave the vessel. He and the rest then rowed off so as not to be
caught in the vortex if the steamer went down, and we three stayed
aboard. We launched the small boat in the way we'd seen the others
launched, being careful to have ropes tied to us while we were doing
it; and we put things aboard that we thought we should want. Then we
went into the cabin and waited for morning. It was a queer kind of a
cabin, with a floor inclined like the roof of a house; but we sat
down in the corners, and were glad to be there. The swinging lamp
was burning, and it was a good deal more cheerful in there than it
was outside. But, about daybreak, the grinding and rumbling down
below began again, and the bow of the 'Thomas Hyke' kept going down
more and more; and it wasn't long before the forward bulkhead of the
cabin, which was what you might call its front wall when everything
was all right, was under our feet, as level as a floor, and the lamp
was lying close against the ceiling that it was hanging from. You
may be sure that we thought it was time to get out of that. There
were benches with arms to them fastened to the floor, and by these
we climbed up to the foot of the cabin stairs, which, being turned
bottom upward, we went down in order to get out. When we reached the
cabin door we saw part of the deck below us, standing up like the
side of a house that is built in the water, as they say the houses
in Venice are. We had made our boat fast to the cabin door by a long
line, and now we saw her floating quietly on the water, which was
very smooth and about twenty feet below us. We drew her up as close
under us as we could, and then we let the boy Sam down by a rope,
and after some kicking and swinging he got into her; and then he
took the oars and kept her right under us while we scrambled down by
the ropes which we had used in getting her ready. As soon as we were
in the boat we cut her rope and pulled away as hard as we could; and
when we got to what we thought was a safe distance we stopped to
look at the 'Thomas Hyke.' You never saw such a ship in all your
born days. Two thirds of the hull was sunk in the water, and she was
standing straight up and down with the stern in the air, her rudder
up as high as the topsail ought to be, and the screw propeller
looking like the wheel on the top of one of these windmills that
they have in the country for pumping up water. Her cargo had shifted
so far forward that it had turned her right upon end, but she
couldn't sink, owing to the air in the compartments that the water
hadn't got into; and on the top of the whole thing was the distress
flag flying from the pole which stuck out over the stern. It was
broad daylight, but not a thing did we see of the other boats. We'd
supposed that they wouldn't row very far, but would lay off at a
safe distance until daylight; but they must have been scared and
rowed farther than they intended. Well, sir, we stayed in that boat
all day and watched the 'Thomas Hyke'; but she just kept as she was
and didn't seem to sink an inch. There was no use of rowing away,
for we had no place to row to; and besides, we thought that passing
ships would be much more likely to see that stern sticking high in
the air than our little boat. We had enough to eat, and at night two
of us slept while the other watched, dividing off the time and
taking turns to this. In the morning there was the 'Thomas Hyke'
standing stern up just as before. There was a long swell on the
ocean now, and she'd rise and lean over a little on each wave, but
she'd come up again just as straight as before. That night passed as
the last one had, and in the morning we found we'd drifted a good
deal farther from the 'Thomas Hyke'; but she was floating just as
she had been, like a big buoy that's moored over a sandbar. We
couldn't see a sign of the boats, and we about gave them up. We had
our breakfast, which was a pretty poor meal, being nothing but
hardtack and what was left of a piece of boiled beef. After we'd sat
for a while doing nothing, but feeling mighty uncomfortable, William
Anderson said, 'Look here, do you know that I think we would be
three fools to keep on shivering all night, and living on hardtack
in the daytime, when there's plenty on that vessel for us to eat and
to keep us warm. If she's floated that way for two days and two
nights, there's no knowing how much longer she'll float, and we
might as well go on board and get the things we want as not.' 'All
right,' said I, for I was tired doing nothing; and Sam was as
willing as anybody. So we rowed up to the steamer, and stopped close
to the deck, which, as I said before, was standing straight up out
of the water like the wall of a house. The cabin door, which was the
only opening into her, was about twenty feet above us, and the ropes
which we had tied to the rails of the stairs inside were still
hanging down. Sam was an active youngster, and he managed to climb
up one of these ropes; but when he got to the door he drew it up and
tied knots in it about a foot apart, and then he let it down to us,
for neither William Anderson nor me could go up a rope hand over
hand without knots or something to hold on to. As it was, we had a
lot of bother getting up, but we did it at last; and then we walked
up the stairs, treading on the front part of each step instead of
the top of it, as we would have done if the stairs had been in their
proper position. When we got to the floor of the cabin, which was
now perpendicular like a wall, we had to clamber down by means of
the furniture, which was screwed fast, until we reached the
bulkhead, which was now the floor of the cabin. Close to this
bulkhead was a small room which was the steward's pantry, and here
we found lots of things to eat, but all jumbled up in a way that
made us laugh. The boxes of biscuits and the tin cans and a lot of
bottles in wicker covers were piled up on one end of the room, and
everything in the lockers and drawers was jumbled together. William
Anderson and me set to work to get out what we thought we'd want,
and we told Sam to climb up into some of the state-rooms--of which
there were four on each side of the cabin--and get some blankets to
keep us warm, as well as a few sheets, which we thought we could rig
up for an awning to the boat; for the days were just as hot as the
nights were cool. When we'd collected what we wanted, William
Anderson and me climbed into our own rooms, thinking we'd each pack
a valise with what we most wanted to save of our clothes and things;
and while we were doing this Sam called out to us that it was
raining. He was sitting at the cabin door looking out. I first
thought to tell him to shut the door so's to keep the rain from
coming in; but when I thought how things really were, I laughed at
the idea. There was a sort of little house built over the entrance
to the cabin, and in one end of it was the door; and in the way the
ship now was the open doorway was underneath the little house, and
of course no rain could come in. Pretty soon we heard the rain
pouring down, beating on the stern of the vessel like hail. We got
to the stairs and looked out. The rain was falling in perfect
sheets, in a way you never see except round about the tropics. 'It's
a good thing we're inside,' said William Anderson, 'for if we'd been
out in this rain we'd been drowned in the boat.' I agreed with him,
and we made up our minds to stay where we were until the rain was
over. Well, it rained about four hours; and when it stopped, and we
looked out, we saw our little boat nearly full of water, and sunk so
deep that if one of us had stepped on her she'd have gone down,
sure. 'Here's a pretty kittle of fish,' said William Anderson;
'there's nothing for us to do now but to stay where we are.' I
believe in his heart he was glad of that, for if ever a man was
tired of a little boat, William Anderson was tired of that one we'd
been in for two days and two nights. At any rate, there was no use
talking about it, and we set to work to make ourselves comfortable.
We got some mattresses and pillows out of the state-rooms, and when
it began to get dark we lighted the lamp--which we had filled with
sweet-oil from a flask in the pantry, not finding any other
kind--and we hung it from the railing of the stairs. We had a good
night's rest, and the only thing that disturbed me was William
Anderson lifting up his head every time he turned over and saying
how much better this was than that blasted little boat. The next
morning we had a good breakfast, even making some tea with a
spirit-lamp we found, using brandy instead of alcohol. William
Anderson and I wanted to get into the captain's room--which was near
the stern and pretty high up--so as to see if there was anything
there that we ought to get ready to save when a vessel should come
along and pick us up; but we were not good at climbing, like Sam,
and we didn't see how we could get up there. Sam said he was sure he
had once seen a ladder in the compartment just forward of the
bulkhead, and as William was very anxious to get up to the captain's
room, we let the boy go and look for it. There was a sliding door in
the bulkhead under our feet, and we opened this far enough to let
Sam get through; and he scrambled down like a monkey into the next
compartment, which was light enough, although the lower half of it,
which was next to the engine-room, was under the water-line. Sam
actually found a ladder with hooks at one end of it, and while he
was handing it up to us--which was very hard to do, for he had to
climb up on all sorts of things--he let it topple over, and the end
with the iron hooks fell against the round glass of one of the
port-holes. The glass was very thick and strong, but the ladder came
down very heavy and shivered it. As bad luck would have it, this
window was below the water-line, and the water came rushing in in a
big spout. We chucked blankets down to Sam for him to stop up the
hole, but 'twas of no use; for it was hard for him to get at the
window, and when he did the water came in with such force that he
couldn't get a blanket into the hole. We were afraid he'd be drowned
down there, and told him to come out as quick as he could. He put up
the ladder again, and hooked it on to the door in the bulkhead, and
we held it while he climbed up. Looking down through the doorway, we
saw, by the way the water was pouring in at the opening, that it
wouldn't be long before that compartment was filled up; so we shoved
the door to and made it all tight, and then said William Anderson,
'The ship'll sink deeper and deeper as that fills up, and the water
may get up to the cabin door, and we must go and make that as tight
as we can.' Sam had pulled the ladder up after him, and this we
found of great use in getting to the foot of the cabin stairs. We
shut the cabin door, and locked and bolted it; and as it fitted
pretty tight, we didn't think it would let in much water if the ship
sunk that far. But over the top of the cabin stairs were a couple of
folding doors, which shut down horizontally when the ship was in its
proper position, and which were only used in very bad, cold weather.
These we pulled to and fastened tight, thus having a double
protection against the water. Well, we didn't get this done any too
soon, for the water did come up to the cabin door, and a little
trickled in from the outside door and through the cracks in the
inner one. But we went to work and stopped these up with strips from
the sheets, which we crammed well in with our pocket-knives. Then we
sat down on the steps and waited to see what would happen next. The
doors of all the state-rooms were open, and we could see through the
thick plate-glass windows in them, which were all shut tight, that
the ship was sinking more and more as the water came in. Sam climbed
up into one of the after state-rooms, and said the outside water was
nearly up to the stern; and pretty soon we looked up to the two
portholes in the stern, and saw that they were covered with water;
and as more and more water could be seen there, and as the light
came through less easily, we knew that we were sinking under the
surface of the ocean. 'It's a mighty good thing,' said William
Anderson, 'that no water can get in here.' William had a hopeful
kind of mind, and always looked on the bright side of things; but I
must say that I was dreadfully scared when I looked through those
stern windows and saw water instead of sky. It began to get duskier
and duskier as we sank lower and lower; but still we could see
pretty well, for it's astonishing how much light comes down through
water. After a little while we noticed that the light remained about
the same; and then William Anderson he sings out, 'Hooray, we've
stopped sinking!' 'What difference does that make?' says I. 'We must
be thirty or forty feet under water, and more yet, for aught I
know.' 'Yes, that may be,' said he; 'but it is clear that all the
water has got into that compartment that can get in, and we have
sunk just as far down as we are going.' 'But that don't help
matters,' said I; 'thirty or forty feet under water is just as bad
as a thousand as to drowning a man.' 'Drowning!' said William; 'how
are you going to be drowned? No water can get in here.' 'Nor no air,
either,' said I; 'and people are drowned for want of air, as I take
it.' 'It would be a queer sort of thing,' said William, 'to be
drowned in the ocean and yet stay as dry as a chip. But it's no use
being worried about air. We've got air enough here to last us for
ever so long. This stern compartment is the biggest in the ship, and
it's got lots of air in it. Just think of that hold! It must be
nearly full of air. The stern compartment of the hold has got
nothing in it but sewing-machines. I saw 'em loading her. The
pig-iron was mostly amidships, or at least forward of this
compartment. Now, there's no kind of a cargo that'll accommodate as
much air as sewing-machines. They're packed in wooden frames, not
boxes, and don't fill up half the room they take. There's air all
through and around 'em. It's a very comforting thing to think the
hold isn't filled up solid with bales of cotton or wheat in bulk.'
It might be comforting, but I couldn't get much good out of it. And
now Sam, who'd been scrambling all over the cabin to see how things
were going on, sung out that the water was leaking in a little again
at the cabin door and around some of the iron frames of the windows.
'It's a lucky thing,' said William Anderson, 'that we didn't sink
any deeper, or the pressure of the water would have burst in those
heavy glasses. And what we've got to do now is to stop up all the
cracks. The more we work the livelier we'll feel.' We tore off more
strips of sheets and went all round, stopping up cracks wherever we
found them. 'It's fortunate,' said William Anderson, 'that Sam found
that ladder, for we would have had hard work getting to the windows
of the stern state-rooms without it; but by resting it on the bottom
step of the stairs, which now happens to be the top one, we can get
to any part of the cabin.' I couldn't help thinking that if Sam
hadn't found the ladder it would have been a good deal better for
us; but I didn't want to damp William's spirits, and I said nothing.

"And now I beg your pardon, sir," said the narrator, addressing the
Shipwreck Clerk, "but I forgot that you said you'd finish this story
yourself. Perhaps you'd like to take it up just here?"

The Shipwreck Clerk seemed surprised, and had apparently forgotten
his previous offer. "Oh no," said he, "tell your own story. This is
not a matter of business."

"Very well, then," said the brother-in-law of J. George Watts, "I'll
go on. We made everything as tight as we could, and then we got our
supper, having forgotten all about dinner, and being very hungry. We
didn't make any tea and we didn't light the lamp, for we knew that
would use up air; but we made a better meal than three people sunk
out of sight in the ocean had a right to expect. 'What troubles me
most,' said William Anderson, as he turned in, 'is the fact that if
we are forty feet under water our flagpole must be covered up. Now,
if the flag was sticking out, upside down, a ship sailing by would
see it and would know there was something wrong.' 'If that's all
that troubles you,' said I, 'I guess you'll sleep easy. And if a
ship was to see the flag, I wonder how they'd know we were down
here, and how they'd get us out if they did!' 'Oh, they'd manage
it,' said William Anderson; 'trust those sea-captains for that.' And
then he went to sleep. The next morning the air began to get mighty
disagreeable in the part of the cabin where we were, and then
William Anderson he says, 'What we've got to do is to climb up into
the stern state-rooms, where the air is purer. We can come down here
to get our meals, and then go up again to breathe comfortable.' 'And
what are we going to do when the air up there gets foul?' says I to
William, who seemed to be making arrangements for spending the
summer in our present quarters. 'Oh, that'll be all right,' said he.
'It don't do to be extravagant with air any more than with anything
else. When we've used up all there is in this cabin, we can bore
holes through the floor into the hold and let in air from there. If
we're economical, there'll be enough to last for dear knows how
long.' We passed the night each in a state-room, sleeping on the end
wall instead of the berth, and it wasn't till the afternoon of the
next day that the air of the cabin got so bad we thought we'd have
some fresh; so we went down on the bulkhead, and with an auger that
we found in the pantry we bored three holes, about a yard apart, in
the cabin floor, which was now one of the walls of the room, just as
the bulkhead was the floor, and the stern end, where the two round
windows were, was the ceiling or roof. We each took a hole, and I
tell you it was pleasant to breathe the air which came in from the
hold. 'Isn't this jolly?' said William Anderson. 'And we ought to be
mighty glad that that hold wasn't loaded with codfish or soap. But
there's nothing that smells better than new sewing-machines that
haven't ever been used, and this air is pleasant enough for
anybody.' By William's advice we made three plugs, by which we
stopped up the holes when we thought we'd had air enough for the
present. 'And now,' says he, 'we needn't climb up into those awkward
state-rooms any more. We can just stay down here and be comfortable,
and let in air when we want it.' 'And how long do you suppose that
air in the hold is going to last?' said I. 'Oh, ever so long,' said
he, 'using it so economically as we do; and when it stops coming out
lively through these little holes, as I suppose it will after a
while, we can saw a big hole in this flooring and go into the hold
and do our breathing, if we want to.' That evening we did saw a hole
about a foot square, so as to have plenty of air while we were
asleep; but we didn't go into the hold, it being pretty well filled
up with machines; though the next day Sam and I sometimes stuck our
heads in for a good sniff of air, though William Anderson was
opposed to this, being of the opinion that we ought to put ourselves
on short rations of breathing so as to make the supply of air hold
out as long as possible. 'But what's the good,' said I to William,
'of trying to make the air hold out if we've got to be suffocated in
this place after all?' 'What's the good?' says he. 'Haven't you
enough biscuits and canned meats and plenty of other things to eat,
and a barrel of water in that room opposite the pantry, not to speak
of wine and brandy if you want to cheer yourself up a bit, and
haven't we good mattresses to sleep on, and why shouldn't we try to
live and be comfortable as long as we can?' 'What I want,' said I,
'is to get out of this box. The idea of being shut up in here down
under the water is more than I can stand. I'd rather take my chances
going up to the surface and swimming about till I found a piece of
the wreck, or something to float on.' 'You needn't think of anything
of that sort,' said William, 'for if we were to open a door or a
window to get out, the water'd rush in and drive us back and fill up
this place in no time; and then the whole concern would go to the
bottom. And what would you do if you did get to the top of the
water? It's not likely you'd find anything there to get on, and if
you did you wouldn't live very long floating about with nothing to
eat. No, sir,' says he, 'what we've got to do is to be content with
the comforts we have around us, and something will turn up to get us
out of this; you see if it don't.' There was no use talking against
William Anderson, and I didn't say any more about getting out. As
for Sam, he spent his time at the windows of the state-rooms
a-looking out. We could see a good way into the water--farther than
you would think--and we sometimes saw fishes, especially porpoises,
swimming about, most likely trying to find out what a ship was doing
hanging bows down under the water. What troubled Sam was that a
swordfish might come along and jab his sword through one of the
windows. In that case it would be all up, or rather down, with us.
Every now and then he'd sing out, 'Here comes one!' And then, just
as I'd give a jump, he'd say, 'No, it isn't; it's a porpoise.' I
thought from the first, and I think now, that it would have been a
great deal better for us if that boy hadn't been along. That night
there was a good deal of motion to the ship, and she swung about and
rose up and down more than she had done since we'd been left in her.
'There must be a big sea running on top,' said William Anderson,
'and if we were up there we'd be tossed about dreadful. Now the
motion down here is just as easy as a cradle; and, what's more, we
can't be sunk very deep, for if we were there wouldn't be any motion
at all.' About noon the next day we felt a sudden tremble and shake
run through the whole ship, and far down under us we heard a
rumbling and grinding that nearly scared me out of my wits. I first
thought we'd struck bottom; but William he said that couldn't be,
for it was just as light in the cabin as it had been, and if we'd
gone down it would have grown much darker, of course. The rumbling
stopped after a little while, and then it seemed to grow lighter
instead of darker; and Sam, who was looking up at the stern windows
over our heads, he sung out, 'Sky!' And, sure enough, we could see
the blue sky, as clear as daylight, through those windows! And then
the ship she turned herself on the slant, pretty much as she had
been when her forward compartment first took in water, and we found
ourselves standing on the cabin floor instead of the bulkhead. I was
near one of the open state-rooms, and as I looked in there was the
sunlight coming through the wet glass in the window, and more
cheerful than anything I ever saw before in this world. William
Anderson he just made one jump, and, unscrewing one of the
state-room windows, he jerked it open. We had thought the air inside
was good enough to last some time longer; but when that window was
open and the fresh air came rushing in, it was a different sort of
thing, I can tell you. William put his head out and looked up and
down and all around. 'She's nearly all out of water,' he shouted,
'and we can open the cabin door!' Then we all three rushed at those
stairs, which were nearly right side up now, and we had the cabin
doors open in no time. When we looked out we saw that the ship was
truly floating pretty much as she had been when the captain and crew
left her, though we all agreed that her deck didn't slant as much
forward as it did then. 'Do you know what's happened?' sung out
William Anderson, after he'd stood still for a minute to look around
and think. 'That bobbing up and down that the vessel got last night
shook up and settled down the pig-iron inside of her, and the iron
plates in the bow, that were smashed and loosened by the collision,
have given way under the weight, and the whole cargo of pig-iron has
burst through and gone to the bottom. Then, of course, up we came.
Didn't I tell you something would happen to make us all right?'