With the clearing away of the sulphur fumes it was now possible to enter the poop cabins. Men at the pumps forced copious quantities of water through the hoses on the deck above the seat of the fire. Others armed with buckets sluiced the poop deck.
"Ought we to flood the steerage flat, sir?" asked Strachan.
"No," decided the Old Man. "Our best plan is to smother it out. If we had steam available it would be a different matter; but we haven't. Once we lift the hatch the flames will be beyond our control."
For the present no more could be done in that direction beyond keeping the deck flooded. The cadets were told off to clear the poop cabins and transfer the officers' effects to their own cuddy.
"Who says we don't see life?" remarked Bernard, as he staggered for'ard under the weight of a tin bath loaded with a medley of gear from Strachan's cabin.
"A little too much," rejoined Geoff, burdened with a pile of bedding. "Where's the lot going? Are the officers going to turn us out of our bunks?"
"You'll be jolly lucky, my lad, to have a bunk to be turned out of," interrupted Fairclough grimly.
"Is the fire gaining, then?" asked Bernard.
"Goodness knows," replied the Senior Cadet. "I heard the Chief tell the Old Man that he wouldn't be surprised to see the mizzenmast go over the side at any moment."
Having deposited their loads, the chums made their way aft for more. As they did so, they looked anxiously at the mast in question. There appeared to be nothing amiss with it. Shrouds, stays, and back-stays were intact. All the running rigging was as it should be.
"Guess Fairclough's pulling our legs," suggested Geoff.
They made their way into the steamy atmosphere under the poop-deck, treading over canvas hose-pipes that were discharging copious quantities of water upon the unpleasantly warm deck. Men were placing planks over the saturated canvas and laying gratings on top of the planks.
This was ominous. Underneath the deck a consuming fire smouldered. At any moment the beams might collapse, hurling the fire-fighters into the source of the conflagration; hence the precaution of providing a platform for the men playing the hoses upon the deck.
Hour after hour sped. Still the fire showed no sign of breaking through. It might eat its way through the ship's quarters; it might break through the deck. Or it might demolish the transverse bulk-head of the after-hold and attack the cargo there. But until it did Captain Corbold decided to make no attempt to admit air into the steerage flat.
Meanwhile the Golden Vanity, kept on her course by the cumbersome jury-rudder, reeled off the miles that lay between her and her appointed port of call. At half-hourly intervals the men at the pumps were relieved by others. Even the cadets took turns at the arduous task. It served to break the monotony and suspense. Everyone, more or less, was on tenterhooks, for although everything was done that could be done to safeguard the ship there was the constant fear of the inferno breaking its as yet unconquered barriers.
Senior Cadet Fairclough's forebodings concerning the mizzenmast were by no means ill-founded. The state of that "stick" was worrying the Old Man considerably. For all he knew the fire might be eating away the base of the mast. Once that became an accomplished fact neither shrouds nor stays would support it. The mizzenmast would go crashing over the side, ripping up the deck as if it were a titanic lever and thus leave a huge gap to release the pent-up fire.
Fire on board a steel-built steamship was bad enough. Many a skipper had brought his vessel into port with the metal deck almost red-hot. But in the case of the Golden Vanity the combustible nature of her construction rendered it practically impossible for the ship to be saved once the flames obtained a firm hold. Once the Golden Vanity made Nassau, tugs with fire-fighting plant would quickly and effectively deal with the business.
So the Old Man held on for Nassau.
There was one factor in his favour. The wind was fair. With the quartering breeze the task of steering the crippled vessel by means of her jury-rudder was fairly easy. Should the wind "head her" she stood as much chance of making Nassau as a mediocre swimmer has of swimming the Channel.
CHAPTER XXIII. The Universal Fire Quencher
"Sail on the port bow!"
Day had just broken. The Golden Vanity was now seventy miles from Nassau. She had not sighted a solitary craft since two days preceding the hurricane.
About three miles ahead was a vessel lying athwart the Golden Vanity's track or nearly so. She had only just been sighted and then only when it grew light. She had shown no navigation lights during the hours of darkness.
Every available glass was brought to bear upon the stranger. In the minds of some of the crew there grew a hope that perhaps the Old Man would accept a "pluck" into port; but when the other vessel was brought within range of binoculars and telescopes that idea faded almost at once.
The stranger was not making way. She was either a steam or a motor vessel with her engines stopped. She lay with a slight list to starboard—a craft of about a hundred and fifty feet in length with a schooner-bow and short, rounded counter. Her bridge and deck-houses had disappeared; likewise her funnel, if she ever possessed one. Her foremast had been carried away close to the deck while her mainmast had parted at the hounds. Half-way up the broken mainmast fluttered a signal that required no reference to the Code Book to decipher. Every seaman knows its grim significance "NC—want immediate assistance".
"It's a case of the blind helping the blind," remarked Second Officer Strachan.
"Yes, Mister," agreed the Old Man. "We'll have to; but how? What d'ye make of her?"
"A Yankee pleasure cruiser, sir," replied Strachan. "I've seen plenty of her type down the Florida coast. What beats me is why Yankee millionaires risk their hides in top-heavy, jim-crack-built craft."
"She's weathered the hurricane anyway," said Kelso. "And she isn't on fire."
Already the Old Man had made up his mind as to what course to pursue. It was a daring plan. Obviously, with insufficient boats to take off his own crew should necessity unfortunately arise, he could not receive the crew of the distressed vessel, since in the event of the fire gaining the mastery the risk of loss of life would be infinitely greater. But he could take the disabled yacht in tow. With the wind as it was, the Golden Vanity's speed would not be very greatly reduced. In the event of the Golden Vanity having to be abandoned, a temporary refuge for her crew could doubtless be found in the yacht.
Orders were then given for the ship's main yards to be swung round and the main-topsails set aback. In spite of this disadvantage—of being without her rudder—the old ship was hove-to and remained so, hardly forging ahead.
The remaining cutter was then ordered away under Third Officer Kelso, to whom instructions were given to explain the state of the Golden Vanity and the inadvisability of transhipping the crew of the distressed yacht.
The boat, with the outboard motor attached, was lowered, Geoff being one of the members of the cutter's crew—a position he had gained by his knowledge of the now tractable engine.
It did not take the cutter long to cover the distance of a little less than a mile that separated the two vessels. As she rounded the disabled yacht's stern Geoff read the name Lorelei—New York Yacht Club. Although she was fitted with davits for carrying four boats no sign of the latter was to be seen. In fact, except for the broken mainmast her deck had been swept clear fore and aft.