A terrible scene was presented meanwhile on the deck. Mothers pressed their children to their breasts in despair. Friends embraced and bade each other farewell. Some went down into the cabins that they might die without seeing the sea. One passenger shot himself in the head with a pistol, and fell headlong down the stairs to the cabin, where he expired. Many clung frantically to each other. Women writhed in convulsions. Above all was heard a chorus of sobs, of infantile laments, of strange and piercing voices. And here and there persons stood motionless as statues, in stupor, with eyes dilated and sightless,—faces of corpses and madmen. The two children, Giulietta and Mario, clung to a mast and gazed at the sea with staring eyes, as though senseless.
The sea had calmed a little; but the vessel continued to sink slowly. Only a few minutes remained to them.
“Launch the long-boat!” shouted the captain.
A boat, the last that remained, was thrown into the water, and fourteen sailors and three passengers got into it.
The captain remained on board.
“Come with us!” they shouted to him from below.
“I must die at my post,” replied the captain.
“We shall meet a vessel,” the sailors cried; “we shall be saved! Come down! you are lost!”
“I shall remain.”
“There is room for one more!” shouted the sailors, turning to the other passengers. “A woman!”
A woman advanced, aided by the captain; but on
