_In Which the "First Venture" All Ablaze Forward, Is
Headed For the Rocks and Breakers of the Chunks, While
Bill o' Burnt Bay and His Crew Wait for the Explosion of
the Powder in Her Hold. In Which, Also, a Rope Is Put to
Good Use_
"Fire!"
A cloud of smoke broke from the forecastle and was swept off by the
wind. A tongue of red flame flashed upward and expired. Skipper Bill
did not need the cries of terror and warning to inform him. The _First
Venture_ was afire! And she was not only afire; she was off the Chunks
in a gale of wind and snow.
"Aft, here, one o' you!"
When Billy Topsail took the wheel, the skipper plunged into the
forecastle. It was a desperate intention. He was back in a moment,
singed and gasping. But in that interval he had made out that the
forecastle stove, in some violent lurch of the schooner, had broken
loose, and had been bandied about, distributing red coals in every
part. He had made out, moreover, that the situation of the schooner
was infinitely perilous, if not, indeed, quite beyond hope. The
forecastle was all ablaze. In five minutes it would be a furnace.
"We're lost!" Jimmie Grimm cried, staring at the frothy waves running
past.
"Not yet," Archie grimly replied.
They were all of heart and strength and ingenuity; and they worked
with all their might. But the buckets of water, and the great seas,
which Skipper Bill, in desperation, deliberately shipped, made little
impression. It was soon evident that the little _First Venture_ was
doomed. Meantime, the skipper had brought her before the wind, and she
was now flying towards the inhospitable Chunks. The skipper was less
concerned for his schooner than for the lives of his crew. The ship
was already lost; the crew--well, how _could_ the crew survive the
rocks and gigantic breakers of the Chunks?
It was the only hope. No small boat could for a moment live in the sea
that was running. The schooner must be beached on the Chunks. There
was no other refuge. But how beach her? It was a dark night, with the
snow flying thick. Was it possible to sight a black, low-lying rock?
There was nothing for it but to drive with the wind in the hope of
striking. There were many islands; she might strike one. But would it
really be an island, whereon a man might crawl out of reach of the
sea? or would it be a rock swept by the breakers? Chance would
determine that. Skipper Bill was powerless.
But would she make the Chunks before she was ablaze from stem to
stern? Again, the skipper was powerless; he could do no more than give
her all the wind that blew.
So he ordered the reefs shaken out--and waited.
"Tom," said the skipper, presently, to the first hand, "was it you
stowed the cargo?"
"Yes, sir."
There was a pause. Archie Armstrong and Jimmie Grimm, aft near the
wheel, wondered why the skipper had put the question.
"An' where," the skipper asked, quietly, "did you put the powder?"
"For'ard, sir."
"How far for'ard?"
"Fair up against the forecastle bulkhead!"
The appalling significance of this was plain to the crew. The
bulkhead was a thin partition dividing the forecastle from the hold.
"Archie," Skipper Bill drawled, "you better loose the stays'l sheet.
She ought t' do better than this." He paused. "Fair against the
forecastle bulkhead?" he continued. "Tom, you better get the hatch
off, an' see what you're able t' do about gettin' them six kegs o'
powder out. No--bide here!" he added. "Take the wheel again, Billy.
Get that hatch off, some o' you."
It was the skipper himself who dropped into the hold. The cargo was
packed tight. Heavy barrels of flour, puncheons of molasses, casks of
pork and beef, lay between the skipper and the powder. He crawled
forward, wriggling in the narrow space between the freight and the
deck. No fire had as yet entered the hold; but the place was full of
stifling smoke. It was apparent that the removal of the powder would
be the labour of hours; and there were no hours left for labour. The
skipper could stand the smoke no longer. He retreated towards the
hatch. How long it would be before the fire communicated itself to the
cargo--how long it would be before the explosion of six kegs of powder
would scatter the wreck of the _First Venture_ upon the surface of
the sea--no man could tell. But the end was inevitable.
Anxious questions greeted the skipper when again he stood upon the
wind-swept deck.
"Close the hatch," said he.
"No chance, sir?" Archie asked.
"No, b'y."
The forecastle was already closed. There was no gleam of fire anywhere
to be seen. The bitter wind savoured of smoke; nothing else betrayed
the schooner's peril.
"Now, get you all back aft!" was the skipper's command. "Keep her head
as it points."
When the crew had crept away to the place remotest from the danger
point, Bill o' Burnt Bay went forward to keep a lookout for the rocks
and breakers. The burning forecastle was beneath his feet; he could
hear the crackling of the fire; and the smoke, rising now more
voluminously, troubled his nostrils and throat. It was pitch dark
ahead. There was no blacker shadow of land, no white flash of water,
to give him hope. It seemed as though an unbroken expanse of sea lay
before the labouring _First Venture_. But the skipper knew to the
contrary; somewhere in the night into which he stared--somewhere
near, and, momentarily, drawing nearer--lay the Chunks. He wondered if
the _First Venture_ would strike before the explosion occurred. It
must be soon, he knew. The possibility of being off the course did not
trouble him.
Soon the seams of the deck began to open. Smoke poured out in
thickening clouds. Points of light, fast changing to lines of flame,
warned the skipper that he must retreat. It was not, however, until
heat and smoke and the certain prospect of collapse compelled him,
that he joined the crew. He was not a spectacular hero; when common
sense dictated return, he obeyed without delay, and without maudlin
complaint. Without a word he took the wheel from Billy Topsail's
hands, and without a word he kept the schooner on her course. There
was no need of command or advice; men and boys knew their situation
and their duty.
"It can't be long," said the cook.
There was now a glow of red light above the forecastle. The fire was
about to break through. It was not hard to surmise that the collapse
of the bulkhead was imminent.
"No, sir!" the fidgety cook repeated. "It can't be long, now."
It seemed long. Minute after minute passed, each of incredible length,
while the _First Venture_ staggered forward, wildly pitching through
the seas. At last, the flames broke out of the forecastle and
illuminated the deck.
"Not long, now!" the cook whimpered. "It _can't_ be!"
Nor was it. The _First Venture_ struck. She was upon the rocks before
the skipper was well aware that breakers lay ahead. Her bow fell,
struck, was lifted, fell again, and fastened itself. The next wave
flung the schooner broadside. The third completed the turn. She lay
with her head pointing into the wind. Her stern, where the crew stood
waiting for the end, rose and fell on the verge of a great breaker.
Beyond was a broken cliff, rising to unwashed heights, which the snow
had begun to whiten. The bow was lifted clear of the waves; the stern
was awash. A space of white water lay between the schooner and the
shore.
Bill o' Burnt Bay let go his grip on the wheel. There was but one
thing to do. Many a skipper had done it before; but never before had
there been such desperate need of haste. The fire still burned
lustily; and the forecastle was high out of the water.
"If I can't do it," the skipper shouted, "it's the first hand's turn
next."
He had fastened the end of a coil of rope about his waist. Now he
stood swaying on the taffrail. By the light of the fire--uncertain and
dull--he must act. He leaped a moment after the next wave had slipped
under the stern--when, in the current, he should reach the rocks just
after the wave had broken. The crew waited a long time. Many a glance
was cast forward; it seemed to them all, such headway had the fire
made, that the six kegs of powder must explode the very next instant.
No sign came from the skipper; and no sight of him could be caught.
They paid out the rope--and waited. The rope was for a long time loose
in their hands.
"He's landed!" cried Jimmie Grimm.
The rope was hauled taut. Upon the rocks, out of reach of the sea, the
figure of the skipper could be seen.
"One at a time!" Skipper Bill shouted.
And one at a time they went--decently and in order, like true
Newfoundland sailors, Tom Rook, the first hand, the last of all. When
they were all ashore, they scrambled like mad up the cliff; and they
were no more than out of danger when the _First Venture_ was blown to
atoms. There was a flash, a deafening roar--and darkness; broken only
by the spluttering splinters of the little craft.
* * * * *
That night, from Heart's Harbour, the folk observed a ship afire,
running in towards the Chunks. To the report they sent immediately to
St. John's--there happens fortunately to be a government telegraph
station at Heart's Harbour--they added, later, that she had blown up.
But from St. John's the salvage-tug _Hurricane_ was dispatched into
the stormy sea in search of the survivors; and on the second day
following she picked up Skipper Bill o' Burnt Bay and his crew.
Next day they were in St. John's.
"Wisht I'd took your advice about the insurance, sir," broken-hearted
Bill o' Burnt Bay said to Sir Archibald.
Sir Archibald laughed. "I took it for you," said he.
"What?" Skipper Bill exploded.
"I insured the _First Venture_ on my own responsibility," Sir
Archibald replied. "You shall build the _Second Venture_ at Ruddy Cove
next winter."
Archie Armstrong and Bill o' Burnt Bay, with the lads and men of the
lost _First Venture_, went back to Ruddy Cove by rail and the
mail-boat.