CHAPTER IV.
ALONE ON THE LIFE RAFT.
Anything less buoyant than a modern life raft, consisting of two steel cylinders stoutly braced and connected by a wooden platform, would have been drawn under by the deadly clutch of that swirling vortex.

No open boat could have lived in it for a minute; and even the raft, spinning round and round with dizzy velocity, was sucked downward until it was actually below the level of the surrounding water.

But, sturdily resisting the down-dragging force, its wonderful buoyancy finally triumphed, and as its rotary motion became less rapid, Cabot sat up and gazed about him with the air of one who has been stunned.
He was dazed by the awfulness of the catastrophe that had so suddenly overwhelmed the "Lavinia," and could form no idea of its nature.

Had there been a collision?
If so, it must have been with the iceberg, for nothing else had been in sight when he went below.

Yet it was incredible that such a thing could have happened in broad daylight.
The afternoon had been clear and bright; of that he was certain, though his surroundings were now shrouded by an impenetrable veil of fog.
Through this he could see nothing, and from it came no sound save the moan of winds sweeping across a limitless void of waters.
What had become of his recent companions?
Had they gone down with the ship, and was he sole survivor of the tragedy?
At this thought the lad sprang to his feet, and shouted, calling his friends by name, and begging them not to leave him; but the only answer came in shape of mocking echoes hurled sharply back from close at hand.