“Do you think that they will succeed in extinguishing the fire, George?” asked Grace Hartley, as she clung to her lover’s arm and gazed with wide-open eyes of anxiety at the progress of the conflagration.
“No,” answered Gurney unhesitatingly; “to be quite candid with you, dear, I do not. Whatever may be the cargo that the schooner carries, it is evidently of a highly combustible character, and now seems to be fairly ignited. The fire gains ground even as we stand and gaze; and if the crew could not conquer it at the outset, they are not likely to do so now. What think you, Mr Troubridge?”
“I quite agree with you,” I answered. “That schooner—”
“Then,” interrupted Grace passionately, with an impatient stamp of her foot on the deck, “if you really think that, what are we all standing here idly for? Why are we not doing something to help those poor fellows who are in danger of perishing in the flames?”
“Because, my dear, there is no need, as yet, at all events,” answered Gurney. “You see,” he continued, “they are clearing away their own boat; and if they can only contrive to get her into the water before she is irretrievably damaged they will be all right. They have but to cross that narrow space of water to reach us and safety. But as for us, we can do nothing. It would need two of us to take one of our quarter boats alongside that schooner in time to be of any service to those people; and with the weather as it is at this moment it would be the height of madness for us to make the attempt. For, suppose that this thunderstorm were to end in a heavy squall of wind—as it may at any moment—catching the boat, with Saunders and me in her, halfway or thereabout between the two vessels, what would be the result? Why, that we should be equally unable to reach the schooner or return to the Mercury. We should all part company; and the chances are that none of us would ever again meet in this world! No, no, I suppose we should all be willing to risk a great deal to help our fellow-creatures in extremity; but we must not lightly undertake an adventure that may be fatal to us, while of very problematical advantage to the others. Ah! see, there is the answer to your appeal, Gracie! They have cleared away the longboat, and now they are hoisting her out, none too soon either; for if my eyes do not deceive me, one gang have to sluice her with water to prevent her taking fire while the others are getting her over the side.”
It was even as Gurney had said; the flames had spread with such astounding rapidity that the schooner’s crew only saved the boat by the very skin of their teeth. But presently she splashed safely into the water alongside, and as she did so the schooner’s people seemed to pour over that vessel’s low rail in a body, scarcely giving themselves time to unhook the tackles before they flung out their oars and shoved off. Indeed, there was very urgent need for haste; for not only was the entire after part of the schooner ablaze by this time—the flames shooting straight up in the breathless air as high as the little vessel’s main truck—but within the last minute or so there had occurred that abrupt cessation which, in the case of tropical thunderstorms, is so frequently the precursor of a sudden and brief but exceedingly violent squall of wind. And if that threatened squall should burst its bonds and come shrieking and howling in fury across the surface of the sea, scourging it into a mad turmoil of foaming, leaping water and blinding spindrift, while the burnt-out crew of the schooner were making their passage across to the Mercury, it might be very bad for them; for even should they be fortunate enough to avoid capsizal, it might be exceedingly difficult, if not altogether impossible, for the ship, smitten and bowed down by the might of the tempest, to pause and pick them up.
Of course, as we fully expected, the boat headed straight for the Mercury; and the only question now was whether she would reach us before the brooding tempest broke loose and involved us all in its clutches. I glanced anxiously round the horizon, and was not reassured by what I saw; for the aspect of the heavens had rapidly grown so threatening that it looked as though the outburst must inevitably come within the next minute or two, while, strive as they might, the strangers could not get alongside us in less than ten minutes at the least. And we could do absolutely nothing to help them, for at this moment there was not the faintest perceptible movement of the atmosphere, and both craft lay as motionless as logs in a timber pond. I looked aloft at the vane at our masthead; it might have been made of cast iron for all the movement that it betrayed; I wetted my finger and held it up, turning it this way and that in the hope of detecting a draught, however slight; but there was nothing. A glance at the blazing hull of the schooner showed that the flames were shooting heavenward as straight as the flame of a candle burning in a vault. No, there was nothing to be done except to get a number of rope’s-ends ready to fling into the boat the moment that she came alongside, should she succeed in doing so; and this we did, flinging the coils of braces and what not off the pins to the deck in readiness to cast at the moment when perhaps a second more or less might make all the difference between life and death to some fourteen or fifteen of our fellow-creatures.
That the occupants of the boat were as fully alive as ourselves to the critical nature of the situation was clear from the desperate energy with which they toiled at the six oars they had thrown out, the stout ash blades bending almost to breaking point at each stroke and sending a long trail of tiny froth-flecked swirls seething and driving astern, as the men sprang and bent their backs to their work, while the water buzzed and foamed under the craft’s bluff bows. They were racing for their lives, and knew it! Fathom by fathom the heavy boat surged ahead over the oil-smooth surface of the black water, with the scowling sky writhing overhead, as though the spirit of the storm were struggling to burst its bonds and leap upon them. They were already so near at hand that we could hear their cries as they shouted encouragement to each other, when a sudden puff of air from the north-west swept over the ship, causing the topsails and staysail to momentarily fill, with a report like a musket-shot, with a quick jar and creaking of trusses, parrals, and block sheaves, before the canvas again collapsed to the masts with a rustling sound that to our overstrained senses seemed preternaturally loud.
“It is coming now; look there, over the starboard quarter!” shouted Gurney, pointing; and, putting his hands to his mouth, he yelled to those in the approaching boat: “Pull, men; pull for your lives, or you’ll miss us yet!”
I looked in the direction indicated, and, sure enough, it was as Gurney had said. The sky in that quarter was black as night, and beneath it was the long line of white foam that marked the progress of the approaching squall. It was racing down upon us with incredible speed, and, near as the boat was, it was evident that the squall must strike us before she could get alongside. And, once in the grip of that raving fury of wind, no earthly power could save those unfortunates, who were now fighting like maniacs to reach the ark of safety that floated so near—yet not near enough! Something must be done, some risk must be taken to help them. That we should, without effort of any sort, suffer ourselves to be cruelly snatched away far beyond the reach of those desperately struggling men, leaving them to miserably perish, was unthinkable!