e the explosion occurred. It
must be soon, he knew. The possibility of being off the course did not
trouble him.

Soon the seams of the deck began to open. Smoke poured out in
thickening clouds. Points of light, fast changing to lines of flame,
warned the skipper that he must retreat. It was not, however, until
heat and smoke and the certain prospect of collapse compelled him,
that he joined the crew. He was not a spectacular hero; when common
sense dictated return, he obeyed without delay, and without maudlin
complaint. Without a word he took the wheel from Billy Topsail's
hands, and without a word he kept the schooner on her course. There
was no need of command or advice; men and boys knew their situation
and their duty.

"It can't be long," said the cook.

There was now a glow of red light above the forecastle. The fire was
about to break through. It was not hard to surmise that the collapse
of the bulkhead was imminent.

"No, sir!" the fidgety cook repeated. "It can't be long, now."

It seemed long. Minute after minute passed, each of incredible length,
while the _First Venture_ staggered forward, wildly pitching through
the seas. At last, the flames broke out of the forecastle and
illuminated the deck.

"Not long, now!" the cook whimpered. "It _can't_ be!"

Nor was it. The _First Venture_ struck. She was upon the rocks before
the skipper was well aware that breakers lay ahead. Her bow fell,
struck, was lifted, fell again, and fastened itself. The next wave
flung the schooner broadside. The third completed the turn. She lay
with her head pointing into the wind. Her stern, where the crew stood
waiting for the end, rose and fell on the verge of a great breaker.
Beyond was a broken cliff, rising to unwashed heights, which the snow
had begun to whiten. The bow was lifted clear of the waves; the stern
was awash. A space of white water lay between the schooner and the
shore.

Bill o' Burnt Bay let go his grip on the wheel. There was but one
thing to do. Many a skipper had done it before; but never before had
there been such desperate need of haste. The fire still burned
lustily; and the forecastle was high out of the water.

"If I can't do it," the skipper shouted, "it's the first hand's turn
next."

He had fastened the end of a coil of rope about his waist. Now he
stood swaying on the taffrail. By the light of the fire--uncertain and
dull--he must act. He leaped a moment after the next wave had slipped
und