TRAPPED BY FLAMES.
Night fell and found them still in the same plight. The fog had shut in
closer if anything. Since the last time they had caught the diminishing
sound of the _Seneca's_ siren, they had heard no sound from any vessel.
Others besides Tubby were hungry on board the _Good Hope_ that night.
Then, too, the thought of the tragedy that had been consummated on board
the derelict, and the gloom-inspiring presence of the silent figure in
the forward deck house, were not calculated to inspire cheerful
thoughts.
One thing they did have, and that was light. For in the course of their
investigation of the old hulk they had stumbled across several old
candle lanterns, the candles in which were still capable of burning. One
of these lanterns was lashed to the stump of the forward mast, but the
other was hung up in the cabin below. For it was in this latter place
that the little party of castaways gathered and tried, by telling
stories and cracking jokes, to keep their spirits in the ascendent.
But their efforts were not very successful. As the Scotch say, "It's ill
jesting on an empty stomach," and that is the malady from which they all
were suffering. Thirst did not as yet trouble them much, but they knew
that if they were not speedily picked up by some vessel, that would also
be added to their ordeal.
So the night passed away, with the castaways watching in turn for some
ray of hope of the fog lifting. It was soon after midnight, and in Rob's
watch, that a startling thing happened--something that brought his heart
into his mouths, and set his every nerve on vibrant edge.
The boy was sitting up forward, pondering the strangeness of the day's
happenings, when suddenly, right ahead of him, as it seemed, the fog was
split by the hoarse shriek of a steamer's whistle.
Rob's scalp tightened from alarm as he leaped for the lantern.
"Look out!" he shouted at the top of his voice; "look out!"
But for reply there only came back out of the dense smother ahead
another raucous call of the big steam whistle.
"Gracious! We'll be run down! We'll be sunk!" cried the boy, half wild
with alarm.
He shouted to his companions to come on deck; but before they could
obey, a huge, black bulk loomed up right above the derelict. Rob shouted
at the top of his voice. It seemed as if the _Good Hope_ would be cut in
two and that the steamer was also doomed to disaster if she struck.
Through the blackness flashed a green side-light, and then came the
rushing by of the great hull, with its rows of illuminated portholes.
Rob stood stock still. He was fairly rooted to the spot with panic. But
the big steamer raced by in the blackness and fog without anyone on
board her ever dreaming that she had been in such close proximity to the
drifting derelict.
As her stern lights flashed for an instant and then were shut out in the
fog, Rob's companions came rushing on deck.
"What is it? What has happened?" demanded the ensign, readily perceiving
that something very serious had occurred.
Rob, still shaky from his experience, related, as briefly as possible,
just what had caused his cry of alarm.
"Well, those liners take desperate chances," commented the officer; "had
they struck us, not only we, but they, would have been seriously
injured."
"Gee! I wish you could have found time to ask 'em to throw us some
sandwiches," said Tubby, rubbing his stomach; "I'm as empty as a dry
gourd."
"I reckon we could all do with something to eat," chorused the other
young "Eagles".
The ensign bade them cheer up.
"By daylight we may have a wind, and then, with the fog gone, it won't
take long for some vessel to pick us up."
He spoke with a cheerfulness he was actually far from feeling. In fact,
his boyish listeners were not inclined to look hopefully on the
situation. By this time every one of them would have given almost all he
possessed for a big pitcher of cool ice water.
"I will take the remainder of your watch, Rob," said the ensign, with a
glance at his watch. "You only had a few minutes to serve anyway, and
the next round of duty is mine."
"Very well," said Rob; "to tell the truth, a nap would feel pretty good.
I hope things will have cleared by the time I wake up."
The boys went below, leaving the officer on the fog-circled deck. The
mist gleamed on everything, the rays of the candle-lamp making them
glisten as if water had been newly poured on them. Far off the hoarse
hooting of the ship that had so nearly run them down was to be heard.
"Narrow escape, that! Narrower than I quite care to admit, even to
myself," mused the young officer. "I wonder if those lads realize how
bad a fix we are in. I must confess I don't like the look of things at
all."
He fell to pacing the deck, and then decided to have a cigar. For this
purpose he produced a perfecto from his pocket and lighted it. Then he
fell to pacing the deck once more, thinking deeply. His cigar finished,
he tossed it aside. Possibly it was his worry over their predicament
that made him absent-minded in this regard, but instead of observing the
rule of the sea to cast all such things overboard, he threw it to the
deck. A lurch of the _Good Hope_ caused the glowing butt of the cigar
to go rolling across the deck and to drop into the hold below.
It was some time later that Paul Perkins came on deck to take his turn
at the night vigil.
As he came forward he was startled to see what appeared to be a ghostly
figure, slightly darker than the fog, slip from the forward hold and
glide across the deck toward the ensign, who was pacing up and down.
Much startled, Paul called out aloud, and at the same instant a peculiar
acrid odor came to his nostrils.
"Something's burning!" he cried.
Simultaneously he had come up to the side of the hatch and saw that
smoke was pouring from it. What he had taken for a ghostly figure was a
whirl of smoke.
"Fire! Something's on fire below!" cried the boy, dashing forward.
The ensign reached the edge of the hold as quickly. Together they peered
over into the great open space below. Both involuntarily recoiled with
a cry of horror and alarm at what they saw.
The _Good Hope's_ hold was a mass of flames! To gaze into them was like
looking into a red hot furnace.
Adrift in a blinding fog, on a burning ship, and without boats, was a
predicament the like of which their adventurous lives had never before
encountered!
The cigar so carelessly cast aside by the ensign had fallen upon a pile
of sacking, grease-soaked and inflammable, lying in the former whaler's
hold. Like all whale ships the timbers of the _Good Hope_ were literally
soaked with grease, the result of whale oil and blubber. Such timbers
burn like matchwood.
Small wonder that, brave man as he was, and schooled against emotional
display in the stern school of the Navy, the ensign should yet cry out:
"If help does not arrive, we are doomed to die like rats!"