He realized with sickening certainty that his boat and everyone on it was lost.

Leaving Child and Johnson, Manchester ran outside and called to the deckhands to operate the fire engine and break out the water buckets.

The deckhands appeared frightened and confused. They attempted to put the fire engine into operation but they couldn't seem to find the buckets. At that moment smoke poured into the wheelhouse. Child and steersman Johnson were forced out on the deck, choking and coughing from the deadly fumes.

Second Mate David Crowley rushed to the center of the boat and found flames leaping from several bales of cotton. At that point, the fire had yet to spread to the boat's woodwork. He organized the deckhands and the dining-saloon waiters into a bucket brigade and began throwing water on the growing holocaust. Short on buckets, they spilled the Merchants Bank's silver coins from their wooden crates onto the deck and hurriedly began filling the boxes with water and passing them on to the men nearest the flames. Their efforts made no headway as the flames spread with incredible speed. If cool heads had prevailed early on, the fire might have been contained. Now it became a moment born in hell.

Any hope of saving the boat had evaporated.

The blaze quickly forced Chief Engineer Courtland Hemstead and his men from the engine room before they were able to shut down the engines. Immune to the fire, the big steam cylinder kept the paddle wheels turning, making it impossible to launch the boats.

The Lexington surged on through the dark waters as if driven by some unearthly force.

The strength of the flames soon overwhelmed the firefighters.

They retreated past the towering walking beam to the paddle-wheel guards.

Since it was too late to make their escape, the crew on the forecastle deck were trapped by a wall of fire reaching up to the top of the smokestack.

To Captain Chester Hillard, who helped strip away the canvas covering the lifeboats, "The Lexington is a gone case."

Crowley stood by Captain Child and asked, "Sir, what is to be done?"

Child looked around at the fear etched on the passengers' faces and calmly replied, "Gentlemen, take to the boats." Then he walked aft to direct the launching of the lifeboats.

l' Twenty minutes before there were informal pleasantry and relaxed gaiety in the main cabin. Now the entire scene was one of horror.

Utter confusion and terror swept the passengers. Calm gave way to the inevitable contagion of panic. As one, they made a frantic rush for the lifeboats, brushed aside the crew, who were attempting to ready them for launching, and took possession. Caught up in mindless panic, the passengers flooded into the boats as if they were lemmings; overwhelmed by mass frenzy, they unknowingly destroyed themselves.

Dangerously overfilling the boats, the passengers dropped them into the black water that was still swirling past, agitated by the thrashing paddle wheels. The boats, along with their helpless occupants, were immediately swamped and swept into the night.