and she began to forge ahead.

"Better get into the boats, some of you," Captain Davenport commanded.

His voice was still ringing, and the men were just beginning to move in
obedience, when the amidship deck of the Pyrenees, in a mass of flame
and smoke, was flung upward into the sails and rigging, part of it
remaining there and the rest falling into the sea. The wind being abeam,
was what had saved the men crowded aft. They made a blind rush to gain
the boats, but McCoy's voice, carrying its convincing message of vast
calm and endless time, stopped them.

"Take it easy," he was saying. "Everything is all right. Pass that boy
down somebody, please."

The man at the wheel had forsaken it in a funk, and Captain Davenport
had leaped and caught the spokes in time to prevent the ship from yawing
in the current and going ashore.

"Better take charge of the boats," he said to Mr. Konig. "Tow one of
them short, right under the quarter.... When I go over, it'll be on the
jump."

Mr. Konig hesitated, then went over the rail and lowered himself into
the boat.

"Keep her off half a point, Captain."

Captain Davenport gave a start. He had thought he had the ship to
himself.

"Ay, ay; half a point it is," he answered.

Amidships the Pyrenees was an open flaming furnace, out of which
poured an immense volume of smoke which rose high above the masts and
completely hid the forward part of the ship. McCoy, in the shelter of
the mizzen-shrouds, continued his difficult task of conning the ship
through the intricate channel. The fire was working aft along the deck
from the seat of explosion, while the soaring tower of canvas on the
mainmast went up and vanished in a sheet of flame. Forward, though they
could not see them, they knew that the head-sails were still drawing.

"If only she don't burn all her canvas off before she makes inside," the
captain groaned.

"She'll make it," McCoy assured him with supreme confidence. "There is
plenty of time. She is bound to make it. And once inside, we'll put her
before it; that will keep the smoke away from us and hold back the fire
from working aft."

A tongue of flame sprang up the mizzen, reached hungrily for the lowest
tier of canvas, missed it, and vanished. From aloft a burning shred of
rope stuff fell square on the back of Captain Davenport's neck. He acted
with the celerity of one stung by a bee as he reached up and brushed the
offending fire from his skin.

"How is she hea