At the end of the engine-room was a long passage. “That is where the coal is kept,” said the engineer, carelessly; “and on the other side the stokers sleep.”
Jack shuddered. The dormitory at the academy, the garret-room at the Rondics, were palaces in comparison.
The engineer pushed open a small door. Imagine a long cave, reddened by the reflection of a dozen furnaces in full blast; men, almost naked, were stirring the fire, the sweat pouring from their faces.
“Here is your man,” said Blanchet to the head workman.
“All right, sir,” said the other without turning round.
“Farewell,” said Rondic. “Take care of yourself, my boy!” and he was gone.
Jack was soon set to work; his task was to carry the cinders from the furnace to the deck, and there throw them into the sea. It was very hard work: the baskets were heavy, the ladders narrow, and the change from the pure air above to the stifling atmosphere below absolutely suffocating. On the third trip Jack felt his legs giving way under him. He found it impossible to even lift his basket, and sank into a corner half fainting. One of the stokers, seeing his condition, brought him a large flask of brandy.
“Thank you; I never drink anything,” said Jack.
The other laughed. “You will drink here,” he answered.
“Never,” murmured Jack; and lifting the heavy basket, more by an effort of will than by muscular force, he ascended the ladder.