Captain Stafford and William Wells, the second mate, were standing by the rail discussing the chances of saving the ship, and speaking of other vessels that had caught fire under similar conditions. One, a large British ship, called the Kenilworth, had been abandoned after being burned entirely out inside. She was afterwards picked up, towed into San Francisco, and sold at auction. An American firm was the purchaser; she was rebuilt, and is sailing the seas to-day under the stars and stripes. Another, less fortunate, was entirely consumed in the South Pacific, her officers and crew escaping to the island of Juan Fernandez.
The two men thought Mrs. Stafford was asleep, but she heard every word, and the relation of these disasters depressed her spirits exceedingly. She struggled with this feeling, for she was not a woman to despair easily, and at length succeeded in forgetting everything in a deep, dreamless sleep.
Dawn put an end to suspense. Through two of the closed hatches a thin cloud of smoke was filtering, proof conclusive that fire had been slowly consuming the cargo for days and days past. Now it was eating its way to the surface The hatches were opened, but dense clouds of hot, suffocating yellow smoke belched forth, driving all back. It was overpowering, and they were covered up again as fast as possible. It was useless to pump more water into the hold, for the removal of the hatches, by creating a draft, would simply fan the fire. Nothing but a miracle could now save the ship.
Orders were given for the crew to bring all the stores and provisions up from below,—all their bedding, sea-chests, and whatever else there was in the fore peak. The smell of gas down there was intolerable, and besides, it was necessary to keep every hatch closed in order to smother the fire as much as possible. When everything had been brought up, the cover was put on and secured, and the seams caulked with oakum.
One of the apprentices did not realize until it was too late, that the crew must live entirely on deck from that time forth; evidently supposing it would be possible to go below again after an interval. When he discovered his mistake the boy asked to be allowed to fetch his sea-chest, but the hatch was secured permanently, and his request had to be refused. He was the only son of a widowed mother, who had fitted him out finely on this, his first voyage, and tears filled his eyes when he thought of all the things she had made for him with so much care.
The calm continued—there was no sign of the longed for wind. Several men were kept aloft all day to scan the horizon for a sail, even the captain ascending the rigging; but not a solitary object was in sight.
The endless procession of yesterday floated by with horrible monotony. The red-eyed blotches of film, the jelly-fish, the orange-colored snakes, the large turtles asleep on the water or paddling slowly about,—it was precisely the same. The previous day the water and its strange inhabitants had possessed a fascinating interest to many of those on the ship; now this same scene of tranquil beauty had become an aggravation. As Mrs. Stafford’s anxious eyes fell on these curious sluggish creatures contentedly floating with the current, she wondered absently whether they derived any pleasure from such a passive and aimless existence. The two pilot-fish still swam by the counter; the invisible shark still lurked beneath the ship; the dolphin alone, was gone.
It was the Sabbath,—usually a day of perfect rest on the Lochleven, for Captain Stafford was a man of strong religious convictions. Every soul on board, from Mrs. Stafford and Howard down to the apprentices, was required to be present at the Sunday morning services. In pleasant weather these exercises were conducted on the main deck, where all hands were accustomed to assemble at six bells (11 o’clock), but to-day was an exception, for the crew was hard at work.
Every deep-water ship, before she reaches port after a long voyage, is thoroughly cleaned and painted from stern to stern. This is a job requiring at least a couple of weeks. The Lochleven had expected to reach San Francisco within a month, and ship-cleaning was nearly completed at the time the fire was discovered. The iron yards and lower masts were freshly painted, the wooden top-masts and top-gallant masts had been scraped, sand-papered and oiled, the rigging tarred down, the life-boats and deck-houses cleaned and painted, and the decks holystoned and oiled up to the top notch.
Now each man in the crew was working as only desperate men can, to heave overboard every inflammable article about the ship. Buckets of tar and paint; cans of benzine and linseed oil; spare spars and planks; empty barrels; old sails; oakum and sennit;—all covered the placid surface of the ocean.