In the meantime, the captain of the steamer, aided by his men, was doing all in his power to subdue the flames. But oil when on fire is a hard thing to fight. The blaze was close to the engine room, and presently both the engineer and the firemen were driven from their posts. Then the steamer became unmanageable and drifted on the mud shoal, as already mentioned.
“We’ll have to get out the small boats,” cried the captain. But even as he spoke he knew that the small boats were of no avail, for they had not been used since the Thistle had been put into commission, three years before, and they were dried out, and would fill with water as soon as unshipped. Life preservers were to be had, and a few of the girls were thoughtful enough to supply themselves with these.
“Crowd her, Stanley!” cried Dick, as the launch headed straight for the burning steamer.
“I’ll give her all she will stand,” responded the owner of the launch, and he turned the lever down another notch. The revolutions of the flywheel increased, and the water was churned up in a white foam at the stern.
“Look out, back there, that you aren’t swamped!” yelled Stanley to Tom and Sam.
“We’ll look out!” was Sam’s answer. “Only hurry up, that’s all!”
As the launch and the rowboat it was towing neared the burning steamer the college students gazed eagerly at the forms on the forward deck of the Thistle. Nearly all of the seminary girls were still screaming, and some were waving their arms wildly.
“Help! help! help!” was the cry wafted over the water.
“We are coming!” yelled Dick. “Don’t jump overboard unless you are good swimmers!”
“Dick! Dick!” screamed Dora. “Oh, Dick!”