ng
up for some distance, and then spreading out like a tree.

The glow of the smouldering fire could be seen, but with the sun now
shining brilliantly its appearance was anything but terrible, the
greater light completely dimming the lesser; but as I stepped out on to
the beam from which the planks had been torn by the explosion, I was
made fully aware of the danger being great, for a peculiar dizziness
suddenly seized me, and I was caught by the collar and dragged back to
the strip of ragged deck on the starboard side.

"None o' them games, Mr Dale, sir," said a gruff voice in my ear, as I
clung to the bulwark, and a cold perspiration gathered on my forehead.

"Anything the matter?" cried Mr Brymer.

"Not much, sir," growled the sailor; "on'y Mr Dale, here, trying to
dive down into the hold to look for the fire."

"Why, Dale!" cried Mr Brymer, hurrying up from where he had been
forward examining the hose left by the mutineers after their feeble
attempt to extinguish the fire, "did the fumes attack you?"

"Yes," I said faintly, as I pressed my hands over my forehead; "I
suppose it was that."

"Some'at queer burning below, sir," growled Bob Hampton.

"Or the gas from the combustion," said the mate, leading me a little
more from the part where the smoke arose.

"Pretty nigh combusted him, sir, if I hadn't got hold on his arm."

"Well, it's a warning for us," said Mr Brymer. "Now then, come and
pass this hose along."

I felt better now, and walked forward to where the pump was rigged, and
helped to drag the hose along the narrow path beneath, the bulwarks to
where Neb Dumlow was now stationed with the brass nozzle at the end of
the canvas tube, and Mr Brymer instructed him how to direct the stream
of water as soon as the pump was started.

"Better let me pump, sir," he grumbled. "I understands that a deal
better."

"I set you to this, man, because of your wound. You are not fit to take
your turn at the pump."

"Well, I like that, sir. It makes me mut'nous, it do. Why, you wants
all the strength yonder to take spells in pumping," grumbled Dumlow;
"wants men, don't yer, while this here's boy's work, or might be done by
the gal. A baby could handle this squirt."

"If you can pump, for goodness' sake go forward, and don't talk now,"
cried Mr Brymer, impatiently. "Here, Dale, is that sickness gone off?"

"Oh, yes," I cried eagerly.

"Take the branch, then, and direct the stream. Right down, mind, wh