He was an inspiration to Vandover, who began to be ashamed of having yielded to the first selfish instinct of preservation.
Just as the boatswain's mate was offering his flask to the woman whom Vandover had heard calling for "August," the _Mazatlan_ lurched heavily once or twice, and then slowly listed to the port side, going over farther and farther every instant.

Vandover heard a renewed rumbling and smashing noise far beneath him, and in some way knew that the cargo was shifting.

Instead of righting herself, the ship began to heave over more and more.

The whole sea on the port side seemed to rise up to meet the rail; under Vandover's feet the incline of the deck grew steeper and steeper.

All at once his excitement came back upon him with the sharpness of a blow, and he caught at the brass grating of a skylight exclaiming: "By God! We're going _over_." The women screamed with terror; one heard the men shouting, "Look out! hold on! catch hold there!" An old man, wearing only a gray flannel shirt, lost his footing; he fell, and rolled over and over down the deck stupidly, inertly, without making the slightest effort to save himself, without uttering the least cry; he brought up suddenly against the rail, with a great jar, the shock of his soft, withered body against the hard wood sounding like the sodden impact of a bundle of damp clothes.