Norwegian coast once for
a period of fifty years, and that the whole occupation of the people
of that coast was changed. Was that to be the fate of Grande Mignon?
If so, what could they do? Extensive farming on the rocky island was
impossible, and not one ship had ever been built there for the trade.
Where would things end?

So it had gone until now, in the middle of August, the people of
Freekirk Head, Seal Cove, and Great Harbor, the main villages along
the front or Atlantic side of the island, were face to face with the
question of actual life or death.

So far the season's catch was barely up to that of a good month in
normal times; credit was low, and salting and drying were almost
useless, for the people ate most of their own catch. Things were at a
standstill.

And now the fire on top of all!

Captain Code Schofield thought of all these things as he ran along the
King's Road toward the fire. Now he was almost upon it, and could see
that the fish stand and wharf of the two wealthiest men in the village
were burning furiously. The roar of the flames came to him.

A hundred yards back from the water stood Bill Boughton's general
store, and next it, in a row, dwellings; typical white fishermen's
cottages with green blinds and a flower-filled dory in the front
yard.

The King's Road divided at Bill Boughton's store, the branch leading
down to the wharfs, while the main road went on to Swallowtail Light.
Schofield plunged down the branch into the full glare of the fire,
where a crowd of men had already gathered.

As good luck would have it there was not a vessel tied up to the
stand, the whole fleet being made fast to its moorings in the bay.
Code's first duty when he started running had been to make sure that
his _Laughing Lass_ was riding safely at her anchorage.

The burning wharfs faced south. The brisk breeze was southeast and
bore a promise of possible rain. The steamer _Grande Mignon_, after
giving the first warning, had steamed away from her perilous dockage
to a point half a mile nearer the entrance to the bay, and now lay
there shrieking until the frowning cliffs and abrupt hills echoed with
the hideous noise.

"How'd it happen?" asked Schofield of the first man he met.

"Dunno exactly. Cal'late some tanks in the oilroom caught first. Can't
do much with them wharfs, I guess."

"Who's in charge of things here?"

"The squire."

Schofield hurried away in search of Squire Hardy, head man of the