Under the Great Bear | Page 8

and rending. At the same time the ship seemed to be lifted
bodily. Then she fell back, apparently striking on her side, and for
several minutes rolled with sickening lurches, as though in the trough
of a heavy sea.
In the meantime Cabot was struggling furiously to open his stateroom
door; but it had so jammed in its casing that his utmost efforts failed to
move it. The steel deck beams overhead were twisted like willow
wands, the iron side of the ship was crumpled as though it were a sheet
of paper, and with every downward lurch a torrent of icy water poured
in about the air port, which, though still closed, had been wrenched out
of position. With a horrid dread the prisoner realised that unless quickly
released he must drown where he was, and, unable to open the door, he
began to kick at it with the hope of smashing one of its panels.
[Illustration: He began to kick at it with the hope of smashing one of its
panels.]
With his first effort in this direction there came another muffled roar
like that of an explosion, and he felt the ship quiver as though it were
being rent in twain. At the same moment his door flew open of its own
accord, and he was nearly suffocated by an inrush of steam. Springing
forward, and blindly groping his way through this, the bewildered lad
finally reached the stairs he had so recently descended. In another
minute he had gained the deck, where he stood gasping for breath and
vainly trying to discover what terrible thing had happened.
Not a human being was to be seen, and the forward part of the ship was
concealed beneath a dense cloud of steam and smoke that hung over it
like a pall. Cabot fancied he could distinguish shouting in that direction,
and attempted to gain the point from which it seemed to come; but
found the way barred by a yawning opening in the deck, from which

poured smoke and flame as though it were the crater of a volcano. Then
he ran back, and at length found himself on top of the after house,
cutting with his pocket knife at the lashings of a life raft; for he realised
that the ship was sinking so rapidly that she might plunge to the bottom
at any moment.
Five minutes later he lay prone on the buoyant raft, clutching the sides
of its wooden platform, while it spun like a storm-driven leaf in the
vortex marking the spot where the ill-fated. "Lavinia" had sunk.
CHAPTER IV.
ALONE ON THE LIFE RAFT.
Anything less buoyant than a modern life raft, consisting of two steel
cylinders stoutly braced and connected by a wooden platform, would
have been drawn under by the deadly clutch of that swirling vortex. No
open boat could have lived in it for a minute; and even the raft,
spinning round and round with dizzy velocity, was sucked downward
until it was actually below the level of the surrounding water. But,
sturdily resisting the down-dragging force, its wonderful buoyancy
finally triumphed, and as its rotary motion became less rapid, Cabot sat
up and gazed about him with the air of one who has been stunned.
He was dazed by the awfulness of the catastrophe that had so suddenly
overwhelmed the "Lavinia," and could form no idea of its nature. Had
there been a collision? If so, it must have been with the iceberg, for
nothing else had been in sight when he went below. Yet it was
incredible that such a thing could have happened in broad daylight. The
afternoon had been clear and bright; of that he was certain, though his
surroundings were now shrouded by an impenetrable veil of fog.
Through this he could see nothing, and from it came no sound save the
moan of winds sweeping across a limitless void of waters.
What had become of his recent companions? Had they gone down with
the ship, and was he sole survivor of the tragedy? At this thought the
lad sprang to his feet, and shouted, calling his friends by name, and
begging them not to leave him; but the only answer came in shape of

mocking echoes hurled sharply back from close at hand. Looking in
that direction, he dimly discerned a vast outline of darker substance
than the enveloping mist. From it came also a sound of falling waters,
and against it the sea was beating angrily. At the same time he was
conscious of a deadly chill in the air, and came to a sudden
comprehension that the iceberg, to which he attributed all his present
distress, was still close at hand.
Its mere presence brought a new terror; for he knew that unless the