The words were not out of his mouth before the second post was brought in, and there were two letters from New Zealand! What would they not have been yesterday? Harry would have burned his own, but the long closely-written sheets were eagerly seized, as, affording the best hope of understanding his adventures, as it had been written at intervals from Auckland, and the papers, passing from one to the other, formed the text for interrogations on further details, though much more was gleaned incidentally in tete-a-tetes, by Margaret, Norman, or his father, and no one person ever heard the whole connectedly from Harry himself.
“What was the first you knew of the fire, Harry?” asked Dr. May, looking up from the letter.
“Owen shaking me awake; and I thought it was a hoax,” said Harry. “But it was true enough, and when we got on deck, there were clouds of smoke coming up the main hatch-way.”
Margaret’s eyes were upon him, and her lips formed the question, “And he?”
“He met us, and told us to be steady—but there was little need for that! Every man there was as cool and collected as if it had been no more than the cook’s stove—and we should have scorned to be otherwise! He put his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Keep by me,’ and I did.”
“Then there was never much hope of extinguishing the fire?”
“No; if you looked down below the forecastle it was like a furnace, and though the pumps were at work, it was only to gain time while the boats were lowered. The first lieutenant told off the men, and they went down the side without one word, only shaking hands with those that were left.”
“Oh, Harry! what were you thinking of?” cried Blanche.
“Of the powder,” said Harry.
Ethel thought there was more in that answer than met the ear, and that Harry, at least, had thought of the powder to-night at church.