Chapter 15

CHAPTER XV.

THE NIGHT OF THE 29th CONTINUED.--It was not yet midnight; the
darkness was most profound, and we could see nothing. But was it
probable that we had stranded on the coast of America?

Very shortly after the ship had thus come to a standstill a
clanking of chains was heard proceeding from her bows.

"That is well," said Curtis; "Walter and the boatswain have cast
both the anchors. Let us hope they will hold."

Then, clinging to the netting, he clambered along the starboard
side, on which the ship had heeled, as far as the flames would
allow him. He clung to the holdfasts of the shrouds, and in
spite of the heavy seas that dashed against the vessel he
maintained his position for a considerable time, evidently
listening to some sound that had caught his ear in the midst of
the tempest. In about a quarter of an hour he returned to the
poop.

"Heaven be praised!" he said, "the water is coming in, and
perhaps may get the better of the fire."

"True," said I, "but what then?"

"That," he replied, "is a question for by-and-by. We can now
only think of the present."

Already I fancied that the violence of the flames was somewhat
abated, and that the two opposing elements were in fierce
contention. Some plank in the ship's side was evidently stove
in, admitting free passage for the waves. But how, when the
water had mastered the fire, should we be able to master the
water? Our natural course would be to use the pumps, but these,
in the very midst of the conflagration, were quite unavailable.

For three long hours, in anxious suspense, we watched and
watched, and waited. Where we were we could not tell. One thing
alone was certain: the tide was ebbing beneath us, and the waves
were relaxing in their violence. Once let the fire be
extinguished, and then, perhaps, there would be room to hope that
the next high tide would set us afloat.

Towards half-past four in the morning the curtain of fire and
smoke, which had shut off communication between the two
extremities of the ship, became less dense, and we could faintly
distinguish that party of the crew who had taken refuge in the
forecastle; and before long, although it was impracticable to
step upon the deck, the lieutenant and the boatswain contrived to
clamber over the gunwale, along the rails, and joined Curtis on
the poop.

Here they held a consultation, to which I was admitted. They
were all of opinion that nothing could be done until daylight
should give us something of an idea of our actual position. If
we then found that we were near the shore, we would, weather
permitting, endeavour to land, either in the boat or upon a raft.
If, on the other hand, no land were in