"Th' fire's in th' hold!" cried Galton hoarsely. "Did you men drop a
match?"
"'Ow could they drop a match, wearin' nothin' but undershirts?" flared
back another navvy.
"We could do no good in a small boat!" cried Galton.
'She's afire from stem to stern!"
"But smoke--w'ere's th' smoke?"
Then, quite surprisingly, the light wavered out, leaving the schooner in
stony blackness. A vague blur of complementary color swam in Madden's
eyes. A gasp went up from the watchers.
"Bhoys," faltered Hogan in an awed tone, "th' banshees ar-re dancin'
to-night!"
"Banshees!" sneered Mulcher. "Th' deck's caved in--it'll break out
again!"
"Th' engines must be ruint complately."
"Wot do ye make of it, Mister Madden?" asked Galton, bewildered.
"Look--there it is again!"
Sure enough the mysterious light flamed up once more as suddenly as it
disappeared. It flickered and wavered over hull and spars.
"It might possibly be a phosphorescent display," hazarded Leonard,
completely mystified.
"Tropical seas grow very luminous when disturbed... a school of
dolphins or sharks on the other side the schooner might----"
"This must be a reg'lar fire!" cried Mulcher. "Nothin' but a furnace in
th' hold----"
"W'y don't hit smoke?"
"'Ow do I know?"
"Hit ain't a fire!"
"W'ot is hit?"
"Phosphescence, didn't you 'ear Mister Madden say!"
"Will hit sink 'er?"
Deschaillon gave a sharp laugh.
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