M. de Morin had a seat in the cutter which went to the relief of the
burning ship, a simple set of justice, seeing that a fire was on the
tapis and that he had just shown such skill in the management of the
pump.
The flames spread with astonishing rapidity, running from end to end
of the ship, and along the mast and ropes. They were not, however, of
the reddish hue usually seen in such conflagrations, but might easily
have been taken for Bengal-lights, or fireworks, their bluish rays
tingeing the waters of the Nile and the neighbouring shore.
M. de Morin and the Egyptian sailors in vain attempted to solve this
problem, but later on all was explained. It seems that the negroes,
left to themselves on the boat, liberated by magic as it were, free
from both duty and surveillance, had made up their minds to celebrate
their triumph, to manifest their independence, and to testify their
rejoicing. At first they were content with singing and shouting, and
other discordant sounds, but very speedily they began to dance, and
stamp about, and betake themselves to all those extraordinary
contortions common in their own countries on _fête_ days. These
gymnastic exercises gave them an appetite and also an idea that they
had a perfect right to dispose of the provisions left on board the
boat, and no longer reclaimable by their former masters. Then they
turned their attention to the casks of brandy they had hankered after
for so long a time, and, having discovered them, they at once, with
that carelessness and love of waste so innate in their race, broke
them open so that they might, as they thought, drink all the more
quickly. The brandy ran in streams along the deck, and in its way met
with a smouldering match. The result was, that in an instant the deck
of the vessel became a huge bowl of punch, and the blue flames, which
had so astonished M. de Morin, leaped up on all sides.
But, for all that, the negroes were none the less exposed to fearful
danger. Many of them, in order to escape from the flames which seemed
to pursue them, had already gone over the side and were clinging to
the gunwale, others had swarmed up the mast, or were hanging to the
yard, and these living clusters, suspended in mid air, and lighted up
by the flames, produced a most singular effect. The women and
children were rushing about in the liquid fire, uttering the most
heart-rending shrieks.
The appearance of the flames soon changed from blue to red. The fire
was not contented with running madly from one point to another, and
licking the objects in its course without giving them a bite. It
began to penetrate to the vital parts of the boat, and attacked the
canvas, rope, planks and the thousand and one things scattered about
the deck. Red tongues of flame darted skywards, lighting up all
around, and being reflected back by the stream.
All the "Khedive's" boats had been lowered, and now surrounded the
burning vessel, but without daring to approach too closely for fear
of being crushed by the fall of the mast, or scorched by the sparks
which were emitted in showers from the midst of the conflagration.
How were they to succour the poor creatures, deaf to all advice or
command, and terrified to such an extent that they did not even think
of throwing themselves into the Nile and taking refuge on board the
other boats? The danger was increasing every moment, not to the
slaves alone, but also to the whole flotilla, the flames being
carried by the wind along the entire line. The order was just about
to be given to cut the ropes which connected the burning boat with
the others, when the idea occurred to M. Périères to make use of
these ropes as a hanging bridge, to put the negroes in communication
with the remainder of the flotilla, assuming that if he could only
induce one or two to make use of this route, the remainder would
certainly follow their leaders like a flock of frightened sheep after
the bell-wether.
An example was, however, necessary, and M. Périères did not hesitate
for a moment. Having prevailed upon his boat's crew to row him as
near as possible to the burning vessel, he seized a rope, crept along
to the fore part of the ship, as yet untouched by the fire,
endeavoured to attract the attention of some of the negroes, and,
hanging by his hands on to one of the ropes, he made his way bit by
bit to the flotilla.
As he had expected, he was speedily followed by a few, at first, of
the slaves, then the numbers increased, and at last every one was
anxious to follow the example set. The sturdy ones reached the goal,
and the weak fell into the river, where they were picked up without
delay by the boats of the steamer.
There still remained a score of women and children, who either had
not strength enough to reach the rope, or were too much alarmed, or
too intoxicated to do anything but watch their companions depart one
after another, without a thought of following them, or an effort to
cling to them. The flames would soon reach these poor creatures, and,
more terrible danger still, the powder barrels, inundated some hours
previously, but now dry, might at any moment be attacked by the fire
and deal death and destruction on all.
This time it was M. de Morin who devoted himself to the work of
rescue. As his friend had done, he too got on board the burning
vessel, seized upon each woman and child in turn, and, in spite of
their shrieks and all their efforts to cling to him, he threw them
overboard one after another, either to the sailors in the boats, who
held out their arms to catch them, or into the river, whence they
were dragged out before the current had time to carry them away.
This wholesale deliverance accomplished, M. de Morin was making ready
to get away as fast as he could by diving into the river, when he
thought he heard a cry from the after part of the ship. He turned and
gazed anxiously towards the spot.
There, by the light of the conflagration, appeared a child of from
seven to eight years of age, who had taken refuge in the wheel-house,
and, from the midst of the flames surrounding him on every side, was
tearfully holding out his little arms to M. de Morin.
He hesitated for a second, for they cried out from the boats—
"Do not venture—it is certain death! The fire is spreading towards
the powder, and the ship will blow up, we must get away."
And, indeed, the boats were already being pulled away.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "you leave me my my fate! Be it so! I will not
abandon this poor little soul."
And then, creeping at one time along the vessel's side, at another
catching hold of a rope, or a shroud, sometimes making his way along
the deck itself, he went aft through the flames despite every
obstacle, braving every danger.
At length he reached the wheel-house, mounted it, seized the child in
his arms, and with him plunged into the river, without even calling
on the boats to come to his assistance.
One of them saw him and got up to him just as the current was
whirling him towards a snag, under which he would have been sucked by
the stream, a bruised and bleeding mass.
Some moments afterwards, as the cutter was close by with the
flotilla, a loud report was heard. The wretched slave-ship was
engulfed in the Nile.
Madame de Guéran, standing on the poop of the "Khedive," had been a
trembling, agitated, spectator of all these scenes, and when MM.
Périères and de Morin came on board, she rushed to them, grasped them
by the hands, and utterly overcome, burst into tears.