Vandover turned from him in disgust.
Then he looked around and above him, drawing a long breath, saying aloud to himself: "It looks as though it were the end--well!" All at once Vandover knew that the water had reached the boilers; there came a noise of hissing: deafening, stunning; white billows of steam poured up over the deck.
It was no longer the _Mazatlan_, no longer a thing of wood and iron, but some strange huge living creature that was dying there under his feet, some enormous brute that was plunging and writhing in its last agony, its belly ripped open by a hidden enemy that struck from beneath, its entrails torn out, its life-breath going from it in great gasps of steam.

Suddenly its bellow collapsed; the great bulk was sinking lower; the enemy was in its very vitals.

The great hoarse roar dwindled to a long death rattle, then to a guttural rasp; all at once it ceased; the brute was dead--the _Mazatlan_ was a wreck.
Almost at the moment, he heard an order shouted twice from the bridge, where he could see the shadowy figures of the captain and officers moving about through the clouds of steam and smoke and mist.

Immediately there followed the shrill piping of the boatswain's whistle; one of the officers, the first engineer, and some half dozen of the crew came dashing through the crowd, and there was a great shout of "The boats! The boats!" The crowd broke up, rushing here and there about the ship, reforming again in smaller bands by the boats and life-rafts.

Vandover followed the first engineer, running forward toward one of the boats in the bow.
"Come on!" he shouted to the little Salvationist lassie, pausing a moment to help her with her heavy canvas-covered bundle.