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90 the great Antarctic waves rose and rolled over the decks that Biscay waves could not wet.

In the second cabin the cushions and carpets saved the lives of many, yet all, when not killed outright, were bruised and battered with the concussion.

And while they lay stunned or dazed, a loud explosion roused up those who could be roused.

"Good God, my nitro-glycerine!" cried the doctor appalled, as he staggered to his feet, the blood streaming from a gash in his cheek-bone.

But it was not his chemicals that had exploded, it was the heated boilers that had burst with the rush of cold water upon them, and now the engines were indeed stopped, and for ever. In spite of her modern improvements and separate air divisions, the Rockhampton was settling down to her last berth, and filling rapidly. They had reached Comprado Island two days before the calculations of the confident Anatole.

It was well that the boilers had burst and the engines ceased working when they did, otherwise not one plate would have been left riveted to another in a few more seconds of time, nor one body left complete enough to contain a soul. Each time the great waves receded from those snow-curtained cliffs, they dragged the struggling wreck back a few fathoms, in spite of her powerful screw urging her to the rocks, and when they once again added their own mighty force and rush to her speed the concussions were fearful and death-dealing, not the best tempered steel or iron plates could stand against the united efforts of waves, winds and steam.

Well also for those still left alive, to whom a few moments of time were of more value than tons of gold, that the doctor's nitro-glycerine and other chemical explosives were securely packed, and with extra