Chapter Forty Two.
Ours appeared to be a herculean task, for the fire had been burning many hours now, as after a little examination Mr Brymer decided that it would be best to attack it from the starboard side, where a bold man could approach the worst part and pour in water from buckets if the hose from the pump could not be brought to bear.
As I looked down into the blackened hold, surrounded by the jagged planks of the deck, which had been splintered and torn in the most wonderful way, the place looked to me like what I had always imagined a volcano to be. This was very small, of course; but there was the glowing centre, from which arose a column of smoke towering and curling up for some distance, and then spreading out like a tree.
The glow of the smouldering fire could be seen, but with the sun now shining brilliantly its appearance was anything but terrible, the greater light completely dimming the lesser; but as I stepped out on to the beam from which the planks had been torn by the explosion, I was made fully aware of the danger being great, for a peculiar dizziness suddenly seized me, and I was caught by the collar and dragged back to the strip of ragged deck on the starboard side.
“None o’ them games, Mr Dale, sir,” said a gruff voice in my ear, as I clung to the bulwark, and a cold perspiration gathered on my forehead.
“Anything the matter?” cried Mr Brymer.
“Not much, sir,” growled the sailor; “on’y Mr Dale, here, trying to dive down into the hold to look for the fire.”
“Why, Dale!” cried Mr Brymer, hurrying up from where he had been forward examining the hose left by the mutineers after their feeble attempt to extinguish the fire, “did the fumes attack you?”
“Yes,” I said faintly, as I pressed my hands over my forehead; “I suppose it was that.”
“Some’at queer burning below, sir,” growled Bob Hampton.