“I agree with you. Suppose we overhaul her,” said Halcott, “and set her on fire. She’s a danger to commerce, anyhow, and I’ll go myself, I think.”
So the whaler was called away, and in a few minutes the boat was speeding over the water towards the dismantled ship, while the Sea Flower, with her foreyard aback, lay floating idly on the heaving sea.
It was early summer just than, in these regions—that is, December was well advanced, and the crew were looking forward to having a real good time of it when Christmas came.
Alas! little did they know what was before them, or how sad and terrible their Christmas would be.
“Pull easy for a bit, men,” cried Halcott; “she is a floating horror! Easy, starboard! give way, port! We’ll get the weather gauge on her, for she doesn’t smell sweet.”
Not a living creature was there to answer the hail given by Halcott. Abandoned she evidently had been by the survivors of her crew, for the starboard boats still hung from her davits, while the ports were gone, and at this side a rope ladder depended.
The boat-hook caught on; with strange misgivings Halcott scrambled on board followed by two men.
He staggered and almost fell against the bulwark, and no wonder, for the sight that met his eyes was indeed a fearful one.
On the lower deck was a great pile of wood, and near it stood a big can of petroleum. It was evident that the crew had intended firing the ship before leaving her, but had for some reason or other abandoned the idea.
Halcott, however, felt that he had a duty to perform, so he gave orders for the paraffin to be emptied over the pile and over the deck. As soon as this was done lighted matches were thrown down, and hardly had they time to regain the boat and push off, ere columns of dark smoke came spewing up the hatchways, followed high into the air by tongues and streams of fire.