he Engineers.

CHAPTER XIV.

That was a woeful night on the fog-shrouded Pacific. In less than ten
minutes from the moment of the crash the Idaho's stern was lifted high,
then down she dove for her final berth, untold fathoms underneath--her
steadfast captain standing to his post till the last soul left the
doomed and deserted wreck. It was God's mercy that limited the passenger
list to a mere dozen in the first cabin and less than twenty in the
second. The boat, with all the women, was pushed off from the side, the
first officer taking charge. Through the fog they could dimly see the
others lowered, then manned and laden. Discipline had been restored.
Water and bread and blankets had been hastily passed to the longboat.
The purser had found time to dive into his safe, and to load up with
some, at least, of the valuable contents. There was even a faint cheer
when the steamer took the final plunge. Huddled together, many of the
women were weeping, all were pale with dread, but Loring and the ship's
officer bade them be of good cheer. Even if they were not found by the
Santiago they were but a few miles from shore. The sea, though rolling
heavily, was not dangerous. They were sure of making land by morning.
But there were women who could not be comforted. Their husbands or
brothers were in the two smaller boats, perhaps paddling about in the
darkness in vain search for the steamer that cut them down. For awhile
there were answering shouts across the heaving waters. Then for half an
hour the boat with the second officer, crammed with male passengers and
members of the crew, kept close alongside--too close, for some of the
former scrambled into the bigger craft and others tried to follow; so
close that its young commander could mutter to his mate: "The captain's
boat is even fuller than mine. Can't you take off half a dozen?"

But the first officer shook his head: "If the worst comes, they've got
life preservers and can swim," said he. "These women would be helpless
except for what we can do for 'em."

For a time they shouted in hopes of being heard aboard the Santiago, but
only those who have tried it know that it is a matter of merest luck
when a steamer rounding to in a fog succeeds in finding or even coming
anywhere near the spot where she was in collision not ten minutes
before. The Santiago's captain swore stoutly that, though badly damaged
and compelled to put back to San Francisco, for three mortal hours