were lying on a very much inclined plane, with our heads downward. I roused Euphemia, and we both got out of bed, when at almost the same moment, we slipped down the floor into ever so much water.
Euphemia was scarcely awake, and she fell down gurgling. It was dark, but I heard her fall, and I jumped over the bedstead to her assistance. I had scarcely raised her up, when I heard a pounding at the front door, or main hatchway, and the boarder shouted:
"Get up! Come out of that! Open the door! The old boat's turning over!"
My heart fell within me, but I clutched Euphemia. I said no word, and she simply screamed. I dragged her over the floor, sometimes in water and sometimes out of it. I got the dining-room door open and set her on the stairs. They were in a topsy-turvy condition, but they were dry. I found a lantern which hung on a nail, with a match-box under it, and I struck a light. Then I scrambled back and brought her some clothes.
All this time the boarder was yelling and pounding at the door. When Euphemia was ready I opened the door and took her out.
"You go dress yourself," said the boarder. "I'll hold her here until you come back."
I left her and found my clothes (which, chair and all, had tumbled against the foot of the bed, and so had not gone into the water), and soon reappeared on deck. The wind was blowing strongly, but it did not now seem to be very cold. The deck reminded me of the gang-plank of a Harlem steamboat at low tide. It was inclined at an angle of more than forty-five degrees, I am sure. There was light enough for us to see about us, but the scene and all the dreadful
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