I don't like to dwell on that morning; the experience was new to me, and I can't forget it; I can't rid myself of the sound of those shrieks when the ship went down. She struggled like a human creature under a sudden blow--rocked, tottered, quivered, and then collapsed.
The little boats made five trips and brought ashore almost all the passengers and crew--all but one woman, and a little child.
I was one of the many who received the chilled and frightened victims of the storm, and indeed, as soon as we were able to dispose of the more delicate and needy ones, we turned our thought to the brave crews of the little boats, for their exertions had been almost superhuman, and they were well-nigh exhausted.
I bent over Randolph Chance, and begged him to take a little brandy some one had brought.
"Give it to the women," he said feebly.
"They are all cared for; I'm going to look out for you now, Mr. Chance."
"I wouldn't feel so done up," he said, "if it weren't for that woman. She begged me to save her, and she had a little child in her arms," and his voice broke.
"You mustn't think of her," I said, "you did all you could."
"Yes, I did my best to reach her, but before I could get there, she went down. I can never forget her face. Oh, at such a time a fellow can't help wishing he were just a little quicker, and just a little stronger."
He had risen from the beach where he had flung himself or fallen, on leaving the boat, but he fell again. I could plainly see that the exhaustion from which he suffered was due as much to mental distress as to physical effort, and I thought no less of him for that.
He was finally prevailed upon to get into the wagon which had brought the life-saving crew, and which was now loaded down with the other boatmen, and many of the passengers from the wreck, and so he was taken home. And I walked back alone, with a queer little feeling somewhere in the region of my heart.
Man, after all, is a harp, I said to myself; a good player--the right woman can draw forth wonderful music, but the wrong woman will call out nothing but discords.
Materials don't count for everything; there's a deal in the cooking.
I was on my way home, when I met two of my neighbors hurrying toward the scene--Mr. and Mrs. Daemon.