De Long gazed at me somberly.
“Except Danenhower, who’s blind, every man and officer’s working now. But Newcomb and Collins are only collecting records in case we abandon ship. Will they do?”
I laughed bitterly.
“Newcomb isn’t worth a damn for real work, captain; and from what I’ve heard from Collins, you could shoot him before he’d turn to as a seaman! Besides, two are not enough anyway. It’ll take six good men at least, to keep ahead of that water, and then they may not do it. But give me Cole and half of that relief gang at the pumps there and I’ll try.”
“That’ll reduce us here to six men a shift on the pump handles,” muttered the captain, dubiously eyeing the crew at the pump. “But we’ve got to get steam! All right, Melville, take them. But for God’s sake, hurry it up!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” I turned abruptly to our Irish bosun, who was nearby supervising the pumping. “Jack, pick four men out of the gang here, any four, and come aft with me. Shake a leg, now!” I started for the after door in the deckhouse.
Cole grabbed Starr, a Russian and physically the strongest seaman in our crew, off the starboard pump handle; took Manson, a burly Swede, off the port handle to even things up, and beckoned to Ah Sam and Tong Sing from the relief gang.
“C’mon, me byes; lay aft wid yez!” Cole marshalled his little detail out of the compartment and slammed the deckhouse door behind them almost before the twelve startled men left at the pump could realize that they now had the work of all sixteen to carry on.
Close outside the deckhouse stood the barrel which received the fresh water condensed in our distiller. That barrel was just what I needed; distilling for the present was the least of my worries.
“Jack,” I explained briefly, “the fireroom’s flooding on us. We got to keep that water down till I get fires started. Sling that barrel in a bridle, rig it on a whip to the davit over the machinery hatch, and start hoisting water out of the fireroom, four bells and a jingle! She’s all yours now, Jack! Get going!”