“What a catastrophe!” The words came from Professor Jeffer. He was almost out of breath from running. “I hope they can save her!”
“Wonder what is burning?” queried Andy. He, too, felt his heart sink within him.
“Can of benzine exploded,” answered a man standing near. “The painters had it, and one of ’em dropped a lighted match on the can.”
“He ought to be blown up with it,” fumed Chet. “Who ever heard of such carelessness!”
There was the tooting of a whistle, and a fire engine came dashing down the street, followed by a hose cart and a hook and ladder company. In the meantime, Captain Williamson had sounded the alarm on the ship, and set some men to work at a hand pump, for the engineer had no steam in the boilers.
“Can we do anything, Captain?” asked Andy, as he ran up the gangplank.
“I don’t know,” was the short answer. “Might help at the pump, or help carry buckets of water. If we had the engine going we’d soon get a good stream on that blaze, but we didn’t look for anything like this.”
Andy and Chet tried to get to the pump, but found that already manned. Then they got buckets and ropes, and commenced to haul up water over the side, and a number of other boys and men did likewise. Some sailors took the full buckets and threw the water down the hatchway, where they thought it would do the most good. Then the fire engine on the dock got into action, and a steady stream was directed down into the interior of the steamer.
But the conflagration had gained considerable headway, and some cans of paints and oils added ready fuel to the blaze. The smoke grew thicker and thicker, and presently a tongue of flame shot skyward.
“She’s doomed sure!” groaned Chet. “Oh, was there ever such luck!”