The excitement of the spectators grew, for a new and terrible source of danger had revealed itself. The chains by which the old ship was moored were beginning to give way. If that happened, she might drift, a mass of flame, against any one of the warships lying in her path.
"I say, Paul, this business may get father into a mess," Harry whispered.
Paul had forgotten, for the time, Mr. Moncrief's connection with the Government dockyard. Harry's words reminded him. A dread fear took possession of him. Perhaps the fire had all been designed—perhaps it was the work of an incendiary, and that incendiary Mr. Moncrief's enemy—Zuker. So long as the fire was limited to the old wooden ship it would not much matter, but if it once got from its moorings, it was impossible to say where the mischief would end.
"Oh, you needn't worry about your father, Harry," Paul answered, putting on his most cheerful voice and manner. "No one could blame him for a ship catching fire."
"I don't know so much about that. Pater's held responsible for almost everything. It's a great shame, that's what it is."
Paul thought the same, but did not venture to express an opinion. A buzz of excitement from the crowd broke in upon his meditations.
Looking in the direction in which all eyes were turned, he saw that a gunboat was steaming along the river. It was making for the flaming hulk.
"What's it going to do?" cried Harry, clutching Paul's arm excitedly. "It'll be right into the burning ship."
Paul was too intent on watching the man[oe]uvres of the gunboat to answer.
Suddenly, when it had got to within one hundred yards of the burning ship, it stopped and opened fire, just as though it had entered into action. Its target was the old ship—a mass of flame from bow to stern. The first shell, missing its mark, went hissing into the river. Jets of water shot upward into the air and fell in a sparkling cascade.