With pumps and with buckets the water was now poured down the communication thus effected with the hold, and surely men never worked harder for dear life itself than did the crew of the Trefoil and the Snowbird volunteers, to save that burning ship. The danger was very urgent, for if the water were not constantly kept pouring down in volumes the heat must soon melt the end of the ventilator, and the fire gain access to the ’tween decks.
At first volumes of sparks flew upwards, and it was feared this might fire the sails. Hands were told off, therefore, to clew them. Then came volumes of dense smoke only, and this for a whole hour without abatement; but gradually the smoke grew less and the steam more.
Gradually the ’tween decks cleared of smoke; and ere long steam alone, and but little of that, came up the ventilator. Then they knew the fire was mastered, that the danger was past.
McBain parted that evening from the mate, now master of the Trefoil, with the promise that the Snowbird would keep near his barque for a day or two at least, until the chance of the fire once more breaking out was no longer to be dreaded. Although the sun sets every night, even at midsummer time, in the latitude in which the yacht was now sailing, there is very little darkness, only just a few hours of what might be called a deepened twilight, then day again.
The breeze had freshened. Just before turning in for good, our heroes noticed they were approaching a stream of somewhat heavy ice. They were but little alarmed at this, however; they were used to the sight of ice by this time, and could sleep through the din of “boring” through fields of it.
“I’m glad the wind keeps strong, Stevenson,” McBain said, previously to going below. “Keep her stem-on to the big pieces, and don’t bump her amidships, if possible. Call me if anything unusual occurs.”
It was precisely three bells in the middle watch when the mate entered Captain McBain’s room.
“Well, Stevenson,” said McBain, sitting up in bed, for he was a light sleeper; “we’re clear of the ice, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir,” said Stevenson. “We’re in open water. We’re dodging, sir. I’ve hauled the foreyard aback, to wait for the Trefoil.”
“She’s in sight, then, of course?” asked McBain.