She lasted, but dawn showed a desperate state of affairs. The Queen had swung round, until her submerged bow pointed to windward and her high stern, catching the gale, plunged dully northward. The seas, rushing up from the southeast, broke on the shelving deck like rollers on a beach, and sent the salt spume writhing up the planks and into the deck state-rooms. The engine and all the forward part of the ship were drowned, but the great dining-saloon and the staircase leading to the social hall above were still comparatively dry. In the latter and on the deck just outside of it the passengers were huddled. The captain had disappeared, licked away by the first tongue of sea that had followed the collision. With the earliest streak of light the first officer decided to take to the boats. Only three remained, and these had already been fitted out with provisions. As the crew and passengers filed into the first, Officer Jackson, who had several times come on deck, only to wander restlessly below again, once more plunged down into the darkness. Rapidly yet cautiously he lowered himself down the sloping passageway, clutching at the jambs of empty state-rooms to keep himself from sliding down against the bulkhead, on the other side of which the sea muttered angrily. At last he gained the door he sought, and clung to it while he fitted a key into the lock. The electric lights had gone out when the engine stopped, and not a thing could be seen in the blackness, but a stir within told that the room was tenanted. Some one was there, staring toward the door. Jackson lost no time. “Here you!” he blustered, in a voice into which there crept a quiver in spite of him. “Last call! The ship’s sinking and they’re taking to the boats. You gotter decide mighty quick if you’re going to come. Just gimme your parole and I’ll turn you loose to fight for your life.” A voice answered promptly: “I’ll give no parole. I’d a deal sooner drown here than hang on shore. You can do just as you please about releasing me. It’s a matter of indifference to me.” The officer tried to protest. “I don’t want your death on my shoulders, Mr. Howard,” he muttered. “Don’t put me to it.” Howard laughed sardonically. “What the devil do I care about your shoulders?” he demanded. “Turn me loose, quick, or get out. Your company isn’t exhilarating, my good Jackson.” Both men had raised their voices so as to be heard above the boom of the storm. As Howard ceased, there came an impact heavier than before, followed by faint, despairing shrieks. With an oath, Jackson felt his way to the voice and bent over the berth in which his prisoner was lying. “Curse you!” he snarled. “For two cents I’d take you at your word and let you drown. But I can’t. Here!” The clink of a key and the rattle of metal told that the handcuffs fell away. “You’re loose now,” continued the officer. “But, by Heaven, if you try to escape, I’ll see that you don’t miss the death you say is welcome. Come on.”