“Half an hour passed.  Suddenly there was a frightful racket, rattle, clanking of chain, hiss of water, and millions of sparks flew up into the shivering column of smoke that stood leaning slightly above the ship.  The cat-heads had burned away, and the two red-hot anchors had gone to the bottom, tearing out after them two hundred fathom of red-hot chain.  The ship trembled, the mass of flame swayed as if ready to collapse, and the fore top-gallant-mast fell.  It darted down like an arrow of fire, shot under, and instantly leaping up within an oar’s-length of the boats, floated quietly, very black on the luminous sea.  I hailed the deck again.  After some time a man in an unexpectedly cheerful but also muffled tone, as though he had been trying to speak with his mouth shut, informed me, ‘Coming directly, sir,’ and vanished.  For a long time I heard nothing but the whir and roar of the fire.  There were also whistling sounds.  The boats jumped, tugged at the painters, ran at each other playfully, knocked their sides together, or, do what we would, swung in a bunch against the ship’s side.  I couldn’t stand it any longer, and swarming up a rope, clambered aboard over the stern.

“It was as bright as day.  Coming up like this, the sheet of fire facing me, was a terrifying sight, and the heat seemed hardly bearable at first.  On a settee cushion dragged out of the cabin, Captain Beard, with his legs drawn up and one arm under his head, slept with the light playing on him.  Do you know what the rest were busy about?  They were sitting on deck right aft, round an open case, eating bread and cheese and drinking bottled stout.

“On the background of flames twisting in fierce tongues above their heads they seemed at home like salamanders, and looked like a band of desperate pirates.  The fire sparkled in the whites of their eyes, gleamed on patches of white skin seen through the torn shirts.  Each had the marks as of a battle about him—­bandaged heads, tied-up arms, a strip of dirty rag round a knee—­and each man had a bottle between his legs and a chunk of cheese in his hand.  Mahon got up.  With his handsome and disreputable head, his hooked profile, his long white beard, and with an uncorked bottle in his hand, he resembled one of those reckless sea-robbers of old making merry amidst violence and disaster.  ’The last meal on board,’ he explained solemnly.  ’We had nothing to eat all day, and it was no use leaving all this.’  He flourished the bottle and indicated the sleeping skipper.  ’He said he couldn’t swallow anything, so I got him to lie down,’ he went on; and as I stared, ’I don’t know whether you are aware, young fellow, the man had no sleep to speak of for days—­and there will be dam’ little sleep in the boats.’  ’There will be no boats by-and-by if you fool about much longer,’ I said, indignantly.  I walked up to the skipper and shook him by the shoulder.  At last he opened his eyes, but did not move.  ‘Time to leave her, sir,’ I said, quietly.