Chapter 13 - Page 2

imperilled; but by crowding on
sail the "Chancellor" in the full north-east wind continued to
make her way with undiminished speed.

It is now a fortnight since the fire was first discovered, and
the proper working of the ship has gradually become a more and
more difficult matter. Even with thick shoes any attempt to walk
upon deck up to the forecastle was soon impracticable, and the
poop, simply because its door is elevated somewhat above the
level of the hold, is now the only available standing-place.
Water began to lose its effect upon the scorched and shrivelling
planks; the resin oozed out from the knots in the wood, the seams
burst open, and the tar, melted by the heat, followed the
rollings of the vessel, and formed fantastic patterns about the
deck.

Then to complete our perplexity, the wind shifted suddenly round
to the north-west, whence it blew a perfect hurricane. To no
purpose did Curtis do everything in his power to bring the ship
ahull; every effort was vain; the "Chancellor" could not bear her
trysail, so there was nothing to be done but to let her go with
the wind, and drift further and further from the land for which
we are longing so eagerly.

To-day, the 29th, the tempest seemed to reach its height; the
waves appeared to us mountains high, and dashed the spray most
violently across the deck. A boat could not live for a moment in
such a sea.

Our situation is terrible. We all wait in silence, some few on
the forecastle, the great proportion of us on the poop. As for
the picrate, for the time we have quite forgotten its existence;
indeed it might almost seem as though its explosion would come as
a relief, for no catastrophe, however terrible, could far exceed
the torture of our suspense.

While he had still the remaining chance, Curtis rescued from the
store-room such few provisions as the heat of the compartment
allowed him to obtain; and a lot of cases of salt meat and
biscuits, a cask of brandy, some barrels of fresh water, together
with some sails and wraps, a compass and other instruments are
now lying packed in a mass all ready for prompt removal to the
boats whenever we shall be obliged to leave the ship.

About eight o'clock in the evening, a noise is heard, distinct
even above the raging of the hurricane. The panels of the deck
are upheaved, and volumes of black smoke issue upwards as if from
a safety-valve. An universal consternation seizes one and all:
we must leave the volcano which is about to burst beneath our
feet. The crew run to Curtis for orders. He hesitates; looks
first at the huge and threatening waves; looks then at the boats.
The long-boat is there, suspended right along the centre of the
deck; but it is