They were throwing ropes down to us
in dozens, I must say. I and the captain fastened one of them under Mrs.
Anthony's arms: I remember she had a sort of dim smile on her face."
"Haul up carefully," I shouted to the people on the steamer's deck.
"You've got a woman on that line."
The captain saw her landed up there safe. And then we made a rush round
our decks to see no one was left behind. As we got back the captain
says: "Here she's gone at last, Powell; the dear old thing! Run down at
sea."
"Indeed she is gone," I said. "But it might have been worse. Shin up
this rope, sir, for God's sake. I will steady it for you."
"What are you thinking about," he says angrily. "It isn't my turn. Up
with you."
These were the last words he ever spoke on earth I suppose. I knew he
meant to be the last to leave his ship, so I swarmed up as quick as I
could, and those damned lunatics up there grab at me from above, lug me
in, drag me along aft through the row and the riot of the silliest
excitement I ever did see. Somebody hails from the bridge, "Have you got
them all on board?" and a dozen silly asses start yelling all together,
"All saved! All saved," and then that accursed Irishman on the bridge,
with me roaring No! No! till I thought my head would burst, rings his
engines astern.
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