e was crawling towards the
opening when blackness hit her like a blow between the eyes. The arc
lamp had gone out, the dynamos had ceased running.

On the stroke of the darkness the _Gaston de Paris_ heeled slightly
deeper, flinging her to her knees, and as she hung, clutching the
woodwork, she heard her name.

It was the Prince's voice. She answered, and at once on her answer a
hand seized her cruelly as a vice. It caught her by the shoulder. She
felt herself dragged along, buffeted, lifted, cast down--then nothing
more.

CHAPTER V

VOICES IN THE NIGHT

The boat tackle of the _Gaston de Paris_ was the latest patent
arrangement for lowering boats in a hurry; every boat was provisioned,
and the water casks left nothing to be desired, there were frequent
inspections and boat drills. Yet when the _Gaston de Paris_ foundered
only three souls were saved.

The starboard boats, owing to the list, could not be lowered at all;
every boat had its canvas cover on, which did not expedite matters. The
patent tackle developed defects in practise, and, to crown all, the men
panicked owing to the sudden darkness that fell on them like a clap on
the extinction of the electric light. The port quarter-boat into which
the girl had been flung had two men in her and was lowered away by
Prince Selm, the doctor and the first officer; panic had herded the rest
of the hands towards the pinnace and forward boats, and the pinnace,
over-crowded, was stoved by the sea as soon as she was water-bourne. The
other boats never left their davits, they went with the ship when the
decks opened and the boilers saluted the night with a column of coloured
steam and a clap of thunder that resounded for miles.

The whole tragedy from impact to explosion lasted only seven minutes.

The two men in the boat with the girl had shoved off like demons and
taken to the oars as soon as the falls were released. If they had not,
being so short-handed for the size of the boat, they would have been
stoved; as it was they were nearly wrecked by a balk of timber from the
explosion. It missed them by a short two fathoms, drenching them with
spray, and then the night shut down pierced by voices, voices of men
swimming and crying for help.

The rowers did not know each other. The bow oar shouted to the stern.
"Is that you Larsen?"

"No, Bompard, and you?"

"La Touche--Row--God! Listen, there's a chap ahead."

The cries ahead ceased, and the boat bumped on