e expected to see the
flames burst forth from under our feet. We worked with might and main;
with our axes we cut away the after-bulwarks, so as to launch it
overboard. We had crowbars in our hands. It was barely finished.

"Heave away, my lads, heave away!" shouted the captain. "Now,
gentlemen; now, my men; those told off for the boats, be smart! Get
into them! No crowding, though."

The orders were obeyed, for everybody had learned to confide in the
captain's judgment. We meantime were urging the raft over the side.
"Quick! quick!" was the cry. With reason, too. The flames burst forth
close to our heels. With mighty efforts, by means of our crowbars, we
prized on the raft, it being balanced over the sea, yet the flames
almost caught it. One effort more. It plunged into the water. A rope
brought it up. Almost before it again rose to the surface we were
compelled by the devouring element behind us to leap on to it. The deck
gave way with a crash as we left it, and two more poor fellows sank back
into the flames. The painter was cut, and as the ship drove slowly away
from us, another loud explosion was heard, and fore and aft she was
wrapped in flames, which rose writhing and twisting up to her topgallant
masts.

"And there's an end of the fine old _Montezuma_. Well, she was a happy
ship!" exclaimed a seaman near me, passing his hand across his brow.
"You know, Weatherhelm, I've sailed in her since I was a boy, and I have
learned to look upon her pretty much as if she was my mother." I never
heard warmer praise bestowed on a merchantman.

Thus was I once more floating on a raft in the middle of the Atlantic.
"I thought it would be so," I muttered to myself. "My oath, my oath?"

While watching the conflagration of the ship, we had had no time to
think of our own condition. The boats had pulled off to some distance
from the burning ship, and we were left without oars, or sails, or
provisions. Night, too, was coming on. The dreadful idea occurred to
some of us, that those in the boats with their eyes dazzled by the glare
of the burning ship might not see the raft. The captain, by the urgent
request of the people, had gone in the long-boat. Mr Merton had
remained with us. We shouted--but in vain--the boats were too far off
to allow our voices to be heard. The night came on, but still we could
see the burning wreck, and we felt sure that while that beacon was in
sight, the boats would not give u