“I didn’t pipe all hands,” he said, with a quiet smile.
However, he picked out twelve of the sturdiest of his fellows, and with these in the cutter—he himself holding the tiller—he was soon alongside the Trefoil.
The pumps had been already manned and the hoses rigged, and two lines of men were ranged along the decks, drawing water in buckets from the starboard and port sides. The smoke was spewing up the forehatch, the decks were wet and slippery, and the men, stripped to the waist with the exception of their guernseys, were working away with such a will that the perspiration stood in beads on their arms, and trickled down their smoke-begrimed faces.
Something like a cheer arose when our heroes and their volunteers sprang on deck, and at once set about preparations for work. McBain beckoned the mate aft, and a consultation was held, at which Rory, Ralph, and Allan were present.
Very much to his surprise, the captain of the Snowbird speedily discovered that the mate of the Trefoil had completely lost his head, as the saying is.
“This is a bad business, sir,” McBain began. “Oh, it is dreadful—it is fearful!” cried the mate; “it is—it is—whatever shall we do?”
“We’ll keep cool to begin with,” said McBain; “nothing is to be gained by hurry or excitement. Tell me this: How did the fire originate?”
The mate gave him a strange glance. “It is not for me to guess even,” he said. “There is one, perhaps, on board who could tell you.”
“Then where did it originate?”
“Ah! that I can tell you,” said the mate. “Among the coals—under the galley in the hold. The fire is confined to that place now; but look you, sir! smashed up among those coals are the bodies of six pigs that we took out with us. For warmth on the voyage out they buried themselves among the coals, and were killed by the roll of the ship. Their bodies are, we know, cut into piecemeal and intimately mixed with the coals. No wonder they burn!”