The floor, when he reached it, seemed to be lifting itself and breaking to pieces; then, in a twinkling, the whole after-part of the hull broke asunder, and, as if it had all the time been lying in wait, the sea, hissing and foaming, leaped in, and all became darkness and surging water to Ben-Hur.
It cannot be said that the young Jew helped himself in this stress.

Besides his usual strength, he had the indefinite extra force which nature keeps in reserve for just such perils to life; yet the darkness, and the whirl and roar of water, stupefied him.
Even the holding his breath was involuntary.
The influx of the flood tossed him like a log forward into the cabin, where he would have drowned but for the refluence of the sinking motion.

As it was, fathoms under the surface the hollow mass vomited him forth, and he arose along with the loosed debris.
In the act of rising, he clutched something, and held to it.

The time he was under seemed an age longer than it really was; at last he gained the top; with a great gasp he filled his lungs afresh, and, tossing the water from his hair and eyes, climbed higher upon the plank he held, and looked about him.
Death had pursued him closely under the waves; he found it waiting for him when he was risen--waiting multiform.
Smoke lay upon the sea like a semitransparent fog, through which here and there shone cores of intense brilliance.

A quick intelligence told him that they were ships on fire.