During all this time, though I had not noticed the two jars (being one
of the very few who did not), I was conscious in my bunk that something
serious had happened. As a ship's officer went by the cabin, I heard
him say: "I'm going to see if the wireless won't work." I have learned
since that the Master wanted to send the "S. O. S." out over the sea,
and say that he would try to keep his ship afloat until daybreak.
Inasmuch as he could not give our position this was but a last chance.
I was not so sick that I could not comprehend that much in a flash.
But the wireless was entirely out of commission. When the top of the
mast went on Saturday night, the antennae had gone overboard with it.
The latter had been roughly secured again to the mainmast, but the
wind had driven the rain through the cabin and short-circuited the
sending apparatus. About this time a man came into the passageway and
began stripping the slats from a life preserver rack. He said there was
danger of the wireless house on the top deck being swept away, and that
he was going to take the men some life preservers.
There was much passing to and fro. Putting on raincoat over pajamas,
I went out to look things over. In the saloon I found some fifteen or
twenty persons grouped about the table, in all manner of attire. All
were seated, talking in conversational tones. None had life preservers,
though the word had been passed along to put them on and many in other
parts of the ship had done so.
On the floor was stretched an officer with a bloody bandage on his
left eye. When the two big waves struck he had been in the social
hall. The sudden list of the ship had catapulted him across the hall
toward the open door. He would have gone over the rail, but managed
to fetch up against a seat and land unconscious. This is only one of
numerous similar incidents. Going down the hall on my side of the
ship--starboard--I met perhaps eight or ten officers and no women.
Things were flying loose and it was dangerous to be up. There was no
sign of panic. Conversation was general and light. Presently a small
group struck up Harry Lauder's "I Love a Lassie, a Bonnie Hieland
Lassie."
I had learned the real situation by this time, and was convinced that
it was our last hour. Since then I have found that that belief was
universal among all except a few who were ignorant of conditions. So
I went back to my cabin to await events or orders, which promised to
be immediate. I sat on the end of ----'s couch, wet with perspiration
through weakness, sickness, and fear, too, I guess. She asked me if
there was any danger, and I answered, "Yes, some danger, of course."
She made no reply and seemed satisfied. Then I reached slyly under the
bed for my revolver and cartridge belt. I had in mind the usual sea
tale of stampede under such conditions and wanted to be ready. There
was never an indication of necessity for it, however, I am bound to
say. I did not reach for my life preserver, for fear of raising in
her a feeling of panic. The little boy still slept. And so we waited.
Nothing happened, and shortly afterward, as before related, by the
sound of the wind and the feel of the sea I knew we had pulled away
from the land into the open sea and would have at least a temporary
respite.