dly direct the
branch.

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

So much water had been pumped into the hold, that it was now doing the
work steadily by soaking in all directions, and making packing-case and
bale so saturated that the fire was languishing for want of food.

For my part I fully expected that if we poured in much more the ship
would become unsafe; and when I descended into the forecastle and
cable-tier in turn, I thought the water would be a couple of feet deep
on the floor. But there was no sign of a drop. Saturation had taken up
an enormous quantity, but more had gone off into the air turned into
steam; and when I went down with Mr Brymer to sound the well, I was
astonished to find how small the amount of water was in the ship.

"No fear of our sinking, Dale," said the mate; and he went on deck again
to look at the tremendous clouds of steam rising from the hold.

Before evening the pumping had been allowed to slacken; and as wherever
the jet was directed now, the hissing had ceased, it was decided to give
up and rest, though everything was laid ready for continuing the fight
should it become necessary.

Every one was fagged, but there was so much to do that we could not
afford to show it, and we set to work to try and place matters so that
we could go steadily on as far as was possible in the regular routine of
the ship--no easy matter, seeing that we were so short-handed.

But the cabin arrangements were put straight, and Miss Denning and Mr
Preddle did all they could to provide a comfortable late dinner, which,
if not hot, was plentiful.

Then Mr Frewen did all he could for his patients, and Neb Dumlow was
bandaged and ordered to rest. He said he could not, for there was so
much to do. It was not, he said, as if he could have been set to steer,
for the ship still lay motionless, merely drifting with the current.

"I can do nothing, sir," he growled morosely.

"Look here, my lad," said Mr Frewen, "I have no objection if you wish
to provide me with a bit of practice--go on, and I will do my best."

"Whatcher mean, sir, with yer bit o' practice?--pouring of physic into
me as if I was a cask?"

"No; I meant taking off your leg."

"Taking off my leg!" cried Dumlow, with so comical a look of disgust on
his countenance that I was obliged to laugh; "whatcher want to take off
my leg for? Can't you stop the holes up?"

"I don't want to take off your leg, my man, and I can stop up the holes
as you call it