They had the boat over the side again in an incredibly short time. As he was rigging the fall to hoist her to her old place on the center-house, Medbury hesitated, and then hurried aft.
"Shall I lash the boat on deck, sir?" he asked, adding significantly: "We may need it."
"No, sir," replied the captain; "hoist it to its place. I don't make preparations to abandon my ship till I've done something to save her. Besides, I want the boat in the safest place if I've got to use it, after all. But I'm not thinking of that yet."
It was not long before the wind was coming out of the northeast in quicker and stronger puffs, and, under every thread of canvas, they began to forge ahead to the dismal clank of the pumps. There was no question of breaking out the cargo, and trying to patch the leak from the inside. It was to be a rush for port, to the music of the pump-brakes.
Medbury and Drew were standing by the port rail at four bells when Captain March came on deck from a study of his chart. He glanced aloft, looked to windward, then at his binnacle.
"Ease the sheets a little, Mr. Medbury," he said, "and keep her off half a point." He gave the course, then added: "Change the men at the pumps every hour; we'll all have to take a hand at it before it's over. The wind's freshening fast, and that's our chance. We've got to carry everything to-night. Call me in an hour."
He was going down the companionway when Medbury called to him.
"That vessel was burned, sir," he said. He held up his hands, blackened with the charred wood.
"You don't say!" exclaimed the captain. "How did that cat happen to escape?"
"Somehow she got forward, and the fire spread aft. It was the only spot untouched—the forecastle-deck."