"Fire in the galley!" shouted the lieutenant. "Break down on that pump! Pass up the water! Mr. Jackson, close the main hatch, and every other opening except the door of the galley."
The sailors jumped at the word. The boatswain's mate dived through the smoke with the hose; the buckets began to fly along the lines; the boys at the pump came down manfully; and soon a furious hissing and steaming below told the first lieutenant that the water was pouring into the galley. Harry fumed inwardly because he could not go down and use a bucket with the others. But his place was on deck, where he could see all that was going on, and could be readily found by his officers, in case they had any thing important to report.
"I'm an unlucky fellow," said he, pacing nervously back and forth, and unconsciously making use of Tom Newcombe's favorite expression. "First, I was captured by a crew of pirates, who tried their best to sink me; I came near having my commission revoked because their leader escaped; and now I am set on fire! What could have possessed that fellow to come back here? Where has he been? What has he been doing? Where is he now? What is the prospect, Mr. Jackson?" he added, turning to the second lieutenant, who at that moment came up, all begrimmed with smoke and dirt, and drenched with water.
"It is not very flattering, sir," was the reply. "The wind comes strong down the fore-hatch, and fans the flame."
"Shut the galley, and knock a hole through the door for the hose," said Harry, promptly. "If the fire continues to gain headway, we must cut into the deck to give the buckets a chance. What will become of us if we lose the vessel, Jackson?"
"We're not going to lose her, sir," replied the lieutenant; and Harry was greatly encouraged to hear him speak so confidently. "She will capture Tom Newcombe and his band of freebooters for us yet."
Jackson ran off to obey the orders of his superior, and the first lieutenant stopped the buckets (for, of course they could not be used when the galley door was closed), and waited impatiently for the next report. Up to this time he had been so engrossed with his work, that he could not have told whether he was alone in the harbor or not; but now he was reminded of the fact that there were vessels all around him, and found that the Storm King had suddenly become an object of interest to their crews. A yawl came alongside, and half a dozen men, armed with axes and buckets, sprang over the rail. They were led by an old, gray-headed sea captain, who, the moment he touched the deck, demanded in a voice that could have been heard above the roar of a hurricane: "Who's master of this craft?"
"I am in command, sir," replied the first lieutenant.
"You!" exclaimed the old sailor, looking first at Harry's uniform, and then toward the galley, taking in at one swift glance all the preparations that had been made for putting out the fire. "Well, what have you done, little marline-spike?"
"I've stopped the draft, and am throwing water on the fire as fast as I can."