Poor Ruby, indeed, is lost and gone, but his last words were
productive of serious consequences. The sailors caught his cry
of "Picrate, picrate!" and being thus for the first time made
aware of the true nature of their peril, they resolved at every
hazard to accomplish their escape. Beside themselves with
terror, they either did not or would not, see that no boat could
brave the tremendous waves that were raging around, and
accordingly they made a frantic rush towards the yawl. Curtis
again made a vigorous endeavour to prevent them, but this time
all in vain; Owen urged them on, and already the tackling was
loosened, so that the boat was swung over to the ship's side, For
a moment it hung suspended in mid-air, and then, with a final
effort from the sailors, it was quickly lowered into the sea.
But scarcely had it touched the water, when it was caught by an
enormous wave which, recoiling with resistless violence, dashed
it to atoms against the "Chancellor's" side.
The men stood aghast; they were dumbfoundered. Long-boat and
yawl both gone, there was nothing now remaining to us but a small
whale-boat. Not a word was spoken; not a sound was heard but the
hoarse whistling of the wind, and the mournful roaring of the
flames. From the centre of the ship, which was hollowed out like
a furnace, there issued a column of sooty vapour that ascended to
the sky. All the passengers, and several of the crew, took
refuge in the aft-quarters of the poop.
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