There was one breathless, eloquent moment, in which all were seen gazing at the grand spectacle in mute awe,—and then a voice rose, clear, distinct, and commanding, above the sullen sound of the torrent of fire, which was roaring among the avenues of the ship.
“Call all hands to extinguish fire! Gentlemen, to your stations. Be cool, men; and be silent!”
There was a calmness and an authority in the tones of the young commander, that curbed the impetuous feelings of the startled crew. Accustomed to obedience, and trained to order, each man broke out of his trance, and eagerly commenced the discharge of his allotted duty. At that instant, an erect and unmoved form stood on the combings of the main hatch. A hand was raised in the air, and the call, which came from the deep chest, was like that of one used to speak in the tempest.
“Where are my brigantines?” it said—“Come away there, my sea-dogs; wet the light sails, and follow!”
A group of grave and submissive mariners gathered about the ‘Skimmer of the Seas,’ at the sound of his voice. Glancing an eye over them, as if to scan their quality and number, he smiled, with a look in which high daring and practised self-command was blended with a constitutional gaîté de cœur.
“One deck, or two!”—he added; “what avails a plank, more or less, in an explosion?—Follow!”
The free-trader and his people disappeared in the interior of the ship. An interval of great and resolute exertion succeeded. Blankets, sails, and everything which offered, and which promised to be of use, were wetted and cast upon the flames. The engine was brought to bear, and the ship was deluged with water. But the confined space, with the heat and smoke, rendered it impossible to penetrate to those parts of the vessel where the conflagration raged. The ardor of the men abated as hope lessened, and after half an hour of fruitless exertion, Ludlow saw, with pain, that his assistants began to yield to the inextinguishable principle of nature. The appearance of the Skimmer on deck, followed by all his people, destroyed hope, and every effort ceased as suddenly as it had commenced.
“Think of your wounded;” whispered the free-trader, with a steadiness no danger could disturb. “We stand on a raging volcano!”
“I have ordered the gunner to drown the magazine.”
“He was too late. The hold of the ship is a fiery furnace. I heard him fall among the store-rooms, and it surpassed the power of man to give the wretch succor. The grenade has fallen near some combustibles, and, painful as it is to part with a ship so loved Ludlow, thou wilt meet the loss like a man! Think of thy wounded; my boats are still hanging at the stern.”