Here she shot through the narrow cut-off, and there left her
foaming surge in the centre of the broad expanse.
On board all was still, save the puffing blasts of steam, which, at each
stroke of the pistons, echoed through the woods and over the plains. The
cabin lights had long been extinguished, and, from a distance, nothing
could be seen of her but the huge blazing furnaces, and the red signal
lantern, which was suspended over the boiler deck. The firemen, just
roused from their dream of comfort, no more passed round the coarse
jest, no more whistled "Boatman, dance," but, like automata, threw the
fuel into the roaring furnaces. Occasionally, the startling note of the
great bell roused the deck-watch from his slumber, and he sang over
again the monotonous song that told the pilot how far his keel was from
the sands below. Again the bell pealed a heavy stroke, which indicated
that the steamer was in free water, and the leadsman settled himself for
another nap.
The passengers, save those whom we have before noted, were deep in the
arms of Morpheus, rejoicing, no doubt, in their dreams, over the many
tedious hours they thus annihilated.
Pages:
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214