THE NIGHT OF THE 29th CONTINUED.--It was not yet midnight; the darkness
was most profound, and we could see nothing. But was it probable that we
had stranded on the coast of America?
Very shortly after the ship had thus come to a standstill a clanking of
chains was heard proceeding from her bows.
“That is well,” said Curtis; “Walter and the boatswain have cast both
the anchors. Let us hope they will hold.”
Then, clinging to the netting, he clambered along the starboard side,
on which the ship had heeled, as far as the flames would allow him. He
clung to the holdfasts of the shrouds, and in spite of the heavy
seas that dashed against the vessel he maintained his position for a
considerable time, evidently listening to some sound that had caught
his ear in the midst of the tempest. In about a quarter of an hour he
returned to the poop.
“Heaven be praised!” he said, “the water is coming in, and perhaps may
get the better of the fire.”
“True,” said I, “but what then?”
“That,” he replied, “is a question for by-and-by. We can now only think
of the present.”
Already I fancied that the violence of the flames was somewhat abated,
and that the two opposing elements were in fierce contention. Some plank
in the ship’s side was evidently stove in, admitting free passage for
the waves. But how, when the water had mastered the fire, should we be
able to master the water? Our natural course would be to use the
pumps, but these, in the very midst of the conflagration, were quite
unavailable.
For three long hours, in anxious suspense, we watched and watched, and
waited. Where we were we could not tell. One thing alone was certain:
the tide was ebbing beneath us, and the waves were relaxing in their
violence. Once let the fire be extinguished, and then, perhaps, there
would be room to hope that the next high tide would set us afloat.
Towards half-past four in the morning the curtain of fire and smoke,
which had shut off communication between the two extremities of the
ship, became less dense, and we could faintly distinguish that party
of the crew who had taken refuge in the forecastle; and before long,
although it was impracticable to step upon the deck, the lieutenant and
the boatswain contrived to clamber over the gunwale, along the rails,
and joined Curtis on the poop.
Here they held a consultation, to which I was admitted. They were all
of opinion that nothing could be done until daylight should give us
something of an idea of our actual position. If we then found that we
were near the shore, we would, weather permitting, endeavour to land,
either in the boat or upon a raft. If, on the other hand, no land were
in sight, and the “Chancellor” were ascertained to be stranded on some
isolated reef, all we could do would be to get her afloat, and put her
into condition for reaching the nearest coast. Curtis told us that it
was long since he had been able to take any observation of altitude, but
there was no doubt the north-west wind had driven us far to the south;
and he thought, as he was ignorant of the existence of any reef in this
part of the Atlantic, that it was just possible that we had been driven
on to the coast of some portion of South America.
I reminded him that we were in momentary expectation of an explosion,
and suggested that it would be advisable to abandon the ship and take
refuge on the reef. But he would not hear of such a proceeding, said
that the reef would probably be covered at high tide, and persisted in
the original resolution, that no decided action could be taken before
the daylight appeared.
I immediately reported this decision of the captain to my fellow
passengers. None of them seem to realize the new danger to which the
“Chancellor” may be exposed by being cast upon an unknown reef, hundreds
of miles it may be from land. All are for the time possessed with one
idea, one hope; and that is, that the fire may now be quenched and the
explosion averted.
And certainly their hopes seem in a fair way of being fulfilled. Already
the raging flames that poured forth from the hatches have given place
to dense black smoke, and although occasionally some fiery streaks dart
across the dusky fumes, yet they are instantly extinguished. The waves
are doing what pumps and buckets could never have effected; by their
inundation they are steadily stifling the fire which was as steadily
spreading to the whole bulk of the 1700 bales of cotton.