The Log of a Privateersman

by Harry Collingwood

“I have said all this with a double purpose: first, to prepare you for rather serious news; and, second, to quiet and steady you for the work which lies before us. And, first, as to the news. I fear that the lightning has done us rather more damage than we have hitherto had reason to suppose. In a word, men, I fear that it has set the cargo on fire—steady, lads, steady; I only say I fear that such is the case; I am by no means certain of it. But it is necessary that the matter should be investigated forthwith; I am, therefore, about to have the fore-hatch lifted and the cargo examined. Mr Priest, you, with your watch, will take off the hatches and rouse the cargo up on deck; and you, Mr Simcoe, with the starboard watch, will muster the buckets again, rig the pumps, and lead along the hose ready to play upon the fire, should such be discovered. Away, all of you, to your duty.”

It may possibly be thought by the reader that the above was rather a long speech for a man to make at a time when he believed the ship to be on fire under his feet, and when moments were consequently precious; but, after all, the delay amounted to only some three minutes, and those three minutes were well spent, for the skipper’s speech had the effect of steadying the men, subduing any tendency to panic among them, and rendering them amenable to that strict discipline which is of such inestimable value and importance in the presence of great emergencies. They went away to their work in as quiet and orderly a manner as though they had been dismissed below.

The wedges were quickly knocked out, the battens removed, the tarpaulin stripped off, the hatches lifted, and the upper tier of cargo disclosed, with the result that almost immediately a thin wreath of pale-brown smoke began to stream up from between the bales and cases.

“No mistake about that, sir,” observed the chief mate to the skipper, pointing to the curling smoke wreaths; “there’s fire somewhere down there. Now, lads, let’s get down to it, and make short work of it. You, Jim, and Simpson, get to work, and break out that bale and as much else as you can get at, and rouse it out on deck. Chips! ... Where’s the carpenter?”

“Here I are, Mr Priest,” answered the carpenter, emerging from the forecastle hatchway after having stowed away his mawl again in the most methodical manner.

“That’s right,” observed the mate. “Now, Chips, our foremast having gone, we want a derrick or a pair of sheers over this hatchway to help us in breaking out the cargo. Find a spar, or something that will serve our purpose, and let the bo’sun rig up what we want. Well done, men; now, out with that crate; jump down into that hole, one or two of you, and lend the others a hand.”

The work went forward rapidly and steadily, and in a very short time there was a goodly display of cargo on the deck about the fore-hatch. The smoke, however, which at first had streamed up in a mere thread-like wreath, was now pouring out of the hatch in a cloud so dense that the men working at the cargo were obliged to be relieved every three or four minutes to avoid suffocation. The business was beginning to assume a very serious aspect. And now, too, the storm having passed off, the passengers had ventured out on deck once more, and, observing the lights and the bustle forward, had gradually approached the fore end of the ship to see what was going on. The skipper, however, at once ordered them aft again, and, following them into the cuddy, explained just how matters stood, remaining with them until their excitement had subsided and he had got them pretty well in hand.

Hitherto no water had been used, Captain Chesney being anxious to get as much of the cargo as possible—which was mostly of a valuable character—out on deck uninjured; but the rapidly increasing density and volume of the smoke showed that the question of damaging the cargo had now become a secondary one. The safety of the ship herself was imperilled, and the head pump was accordingly manned, the hose coupled up, and the second mate pointed it down the hatchway, while the third mate superintended the operations of a party of men who had been set to draw water and pass along a chain of buckets by hand. But when water had been pouring continuously down the hatchway for fully a quarter of an hour, and the smoke continued to stream up from below in ever-increasing volume, unmingled with any indication of steam, it became apparent that the seat of the fire was at some distance, for the water had evidently not yet reached the flames. Nevertheless, the men worked steadily on; but whereas at the commencement of their labours they had sung out their “Yo-ho’s” and “Heave-ho’s”, and other encouraging exclamations, after the manner of sailors engaged in arduous labour, they now toiled on in grim silence.

At length a feathery jet of white vapour began to mingle with the thick column of smoke surging up the hatchway, and was immediately greeted with a shout of triumph by the mate, followed by a few crisp ejaculations of encouragement to the men, who apparently accepted the same in good faith. Nevertheless, I could see by Priest’s face that, although he might have deceived the men, he had not deceived himself, and that he knew, as well as I did, that the appearance of steam was an indication, not that the water had reached the fire, but that the fire had spread sufficiently to reach the water, a very different and much more serious matter.

Suddenly the smoke thickened into a dense black cloud of a pungent, waxy odour, and immediately afterwards bright tongues of flame came darting up between the bales and packages upon which the men in the hold were working. There was a loud, hissing sound, as the water that was being poured down the hatchway became converted into steam, and then, with a quick, unexpected roar of fire, the flames shot up in such fierce volume that the men were driven precipitately up on deck.