“Steer to one side!” yelled Blake.
“I’m trying to!” echoed the manager, but it was easily seen that he was not going to be able to do this in time. A moment later the Clytie poked her bow against the barge, with great force.
Fortunately, however, a bale of cotton, hanging partly overboard, took the brunt of the blow, so no damage was done.
“Back water!” cried Joe. “We’ll be on fire in another minute!”
It certainly seemed so, for though they had struck the barge at a place where, for the time being, there were no flames, the fire was rapidly enveloping the whole cargo.
Mr. Ringold pulled the reversing lever, throwing in the gears, but the craft remained with her bow still against the cotton barge. The force of the current back of the Clytie was too much for her to overcome. She was gradually being swung around sideways to the barge.
The flames were getting hotter. They roared and crackled, and vied with the thunder and lightning in adding to the scene of terror.
“Send her ahead!” suddenly cried Blake. “That’s our only chance!”
“What for?” demanded his chum.
“We may be able to shove the barge off the bar, or away from the snag, or whatever is holding her. Then she’ll drift away from us. It’s our only chance!”