things were going. The Captain came to me and said, "Would I go down to the second and third-class passengers, and do what I could to quiet them, as they were all in a great state of terror."
I went down the narrow ladder to the third-class deck, and caught sight of a scene I shall never forget. In the dim light cast by swinging lanterns, some hundreds of men and women, in every attitude of fear and despair, and in all sorts of clothes, just as they left their bunks. Clinging to the side rails of the ladder, half way down, stood a big fellow, whom I recognized as one of the worst men in the ship, a drunken braggadocio, gibbering like a lunatic: "Save me! Save me! we're going to the bottom!" "Let me pass," I said, and again and again I asked him; he made no answer, blocked up the way, and would not move. I lost my temper. "You coward, let me pass!" He wouldn't budge, distraught with fear; so I let out, and knocked him off the steps and went amongst the crowd below.
I do not know how to describe the scene: men and women kneeling, standing, leaning against the cabin doors, uttering words of prayer and cries of fear. "Oh, what shall we do? Is there any hope?" Some quite quiet, holding their children in their arms, crouching on the ground; some staring with vacant eyes, other pacing backwards and forwards, some in a dead faint. Many clustered round me, kneeling, openly confessing their sins, quite regardless of any listeners. By degrees the panic began to lessen as I was able to assure them that, for the present, the worst was over, and then by common consent all knelt, whilst I read and prayed.
Then I promised to go on deck, and come from
