Ward upon the opposite side of the Halfmoon's cabin
superintending the burning by the black cook of a bundle of
oily rags in an iron boiler.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Mr. Harding. "This is terrible. The
poor devils are panic-stricken. Look at 'em making for the
boats!" and with that he dashed back to the bridge to confer
with his captain.
"Yes," said that officer, "I noticed the smoke about the
same time you did--funny it wasn't apparent before. I've
already signaled full speed ahead, and I've instructed Mr.
Foster to have the boats in readiness to lower away if we find
that they're short of boats on the brigantine.
"What I can't understand," he added after a moment's
silence, "is why they didn't show any signs of excitement
about that fire until we came within easy sight of them--it
looks funny."
"Well, we'll know in a few minutes more," returned Mr.
Harding. "The chances are that the fire is just a recent
addition to their predicament, whatever it may be, and that
they have only just discovered it themselves."
"Then it can't have gained enough headway," insisted the
captain, "to cause them any such immediate terror as would
be indicated by the haste with which the whole ship's crew is
tumbling into those boats; but as you say, sir, we'll have their
story out of them in a few minutes now, so it's idle speculating
beforehand.
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