The Survivors of the Chancellor

Chapter 13

"Why not bore the deck?" I said to Curtis. "Why not admit the

water by tons into the hold? What could be the harm? The fire

would be quenched; and what would be easier than to pump the

water out again?"

"I have already told you, Mr. Kazallon," said Curtis, "that the

very moment we admit the air, the flames will rush forth to the

very top of the masts. No; we must have courage and patience; we

must wait. There is nothing whatever to be done, except to close

every aperture."

The fire continued to progress even more rapidly than we had

hitherto suspected. The heat gradually drove the passengers

nearly all, on deck, and the two stern cabins, lighted, as I

said, by their windows in the aft-board were the only quarters

below that were inhabitable. Of these Mrs. Kear occupied one,

and Curtis reserved the other for Ruby, who, a raving maniac, had

to be kept rigidly under restraint. I went down occasionally to

see him, but invariably found him in a state of abject terror,

uttering horrible shrieks, as though possessed with the idea that

he was being scorched by the most excruciating heat.

Once or twice, too, I looked in upon the ex-captain. He was

always calm and spoke quite rationally upon any subject except

his own profession; but in connexion with that he prated away the

merest nonsense. He suffered greatly, but steadily declined all

my offers of attention, and pertinaciously refused to leave his

cabin.

To-day, an acrid, nauseating smoke made its way through the

panellings that partition off the quarters of the crew. At once

Curtis ordered the partition to be enveloped in wet tarpaulin,

but the fumes penetrated even this, and filled the whole

neighbourhood of the ship's bows with a reeking vapour that was

positively stifling. As we listened, too, we could hear a dull

rumbling sound, but we were as mystified as ever to comprehend

where the air could have entered that was evidently fanning the

flames. Only too certainly, it was now becoming a question not

of days nor even of hours before we must be prepared for the

final catastrophe. The sea was still running high, and escape by

the boats was plainly impossible. Fortunately, as I have said,

the main-mast and the mizen are of iron; otherwise the heat at

their base would long ago have brought them down and our chances

of safety would have been much imperilled; but by crowding on

sail the "Chancellor" in the full north-east wind continued to

make her way with undiminished speed.

It is now a fortnight since the fire was first discovered, and

the proper working of the ship has gradually become a more and

more difficult matter. Even with thick shoes any attempt to walk

upon deck up to the forecastle was soon impracticable, and the

poop, simply because its door is elevated somewhat above the

level of the hold, is now the only available standing-place.

Water began to lose its effect upon the scorched and shrivelling

planks; the resin oozed out from the knots in the wood, the seams

burst open, and the tar, melted by the heat, followed the

rollings of the vessel, and formed fantastic patterns about the

deck.

Then to complete our perplexity, the wind shifted suddenly round

to the north-west, whence it blew a perfect hurricane. To no

purpose did Curtis do everything in his power to bring the ship

ahull; every effort was vain; the "Chancellor" could not bear her

trysail, so there was nothing to be done but to let her go with

the wind, and drift further and further from the land for which

we are longing so eagerly.

To-day, the 29th, the tempest seemed to reach its height; the

waves appeared to us mountains high, and dashed the spray most

violently across the deck. A boat could not live for a moment in

such a sea.

Our situation is terrible. We all wait in silence, some few on

the forecastle, the great proportion of us on the poop. As for

the picrate, for the time we have quite forgotten its existence;

indeed it might almost seem as though its explosion would come as

a relief, for no catastrophe, however terrible, could far exceed

the torture of our suspense.

While he had still the remaining chance, Curtis rescued from the

store-room such few provisions as the heat of the compartment

allowed him to obtain; and a lot of cases of salt meat and

biscuits, a cask of brandy, some barrels of fresh water, together

with some sails and wraps, a compass and other instruments are

now lying packed in a mass all ready for prompt removal to the

boats whenever we shall be obliged to leave the ship.

About eight o'clock in the evening, a noise is heard, distinct

even above the raging of the hurricane. The panels of the deck

are upheaved, and volumes of black smoke issue upwards as if from

a safety-valve. An universal consternation seizes one and all:

we must leave the volcano which is about to burst beneath our

feet. The crew run to Curtis for orders. He hesitates; looks

first at the huge and threatening waves; looks then at the boats.

The long-boat is there, suspended right along the centre of the

deck; but it is impossible to approach it now; the yawl, however,

hoisted on the starboard side, and the whale-boat suspended aft,

are still available. The sailors make frantically for the yawl.

"Stop, stop," shouts Curtis; "do you mean to cut off our last and

only chance of safety? Would you launch a boat in such a sea as

this?"

A few of them, with Owen at their head, give no heed to what he

says. Rushing to the poop, and seizing a cutlass, Curtis shouts

again,--

"Touch the tackling of the davit, one of you; only touch it, and

I'll cleave your skull."

Awed by his determined manner, the men retire, some clambering

into the shrouds, whilst others mount to the very top of the

masts.

At eleven o'clock, several loud reports are heard, caused by the

bursting asunder of the partitions of the hold. Clouds of smoke

issue from the front, followed by a long tongue of lambent flame

that seems to encircle the mizen-mast. The fire now reaches to

the cabin occupied by Mrs. Kear, who, shrieking wildly, is

brought on deck by Miss Herbey. A moment more, and Silas Huntly

makes his appearance, his face all blackened with the grimy

smoke; he bows to Curtis, as he passes, and then proceeds in the

calmest manner to mount the aft-shrouds, and installs himself at

the very top of the mizen.

The sight of Huntly recalls to my recollection the prisoner still

below, and my first impulse is to rush to the staircase and do

what I can to set him free. But the maniac has already eluded

his confinement, and with singed hair and his clothes already

alight, rushes upon deck. Like a salamander he passes across the

burning deck with unscathed feet, and glides through the stifling

smoke with unchoked breath. Not a sound escapes his lips.

Another loud report; the long-boat is shivered into fragments;

the middle panel bursts the tarpaulin that covered it, and a

stream of fire, free at length from the restraint that had held

it, rises half-mast high.

"The picrate! the picrate!" shrieks the madman; "we shall all

be blown up! the picrate will blow us all up."

And in an instant, before we can get near him, he has hurled

himself, through the open hatchway, down into the fiery furnace

below.