the whole neighbourhood of the ship's bows with
a reeking vapour that was positively stifling. As we listened, too, we
could hear a dull rumbling sound, but we were as mystified as ever to
comprehend where the air could have entered that was evidently fanning
the flames. Only too certainly, it was now becoming a question not
of days nor even of hours before we must be prepared for the final
catastrophe. The sea was still running high, and escape by the boats was
plainly impossible. Fortunately, as I have said, the main-mast and the
mizzen are of iron; otherwise the heat at their base would long ago
have brought them down and our chances of safety would have been
much imperiled; but by crowding on sail the "Chancellor" in the full
north-east wind continued to make her way with undiminished speed.

It is now a fortnight since the fire was first discovered, and the
proper working of the ship has gradually become a more and more
difficult matter. Even with thick shoes any attempt to walk upon deck up
to the forecastle was soon impracticable, and the poop, simply because
its door is elevated somewhat above the level of the hold, is now the
only available standing-place. Water began to lose its effect upon the
scorched and shrivelling planks; the resin oozed out from the knots
in the wood, the seams burst open, and the tar, melted by the heat,
followed the rollings of the vessel, and formed fantastic patterns about
the deck.

Then to complete our perplexity, the wind shifted suddenly round to the
north-west, whence it blew a perfect hurricane. To no purpose did Curtis
do everything in his power to bring the ship ahull; every effort was
vain; the "Chancellor" could not bear her trysail, so there was nothing
to be done but to let her go with the wind, and drift further and
further from the land for which we are longing so eagerly.

To-day, the 29th, the tempest seemed to reach its height; the waves
appeared to us mountains high, and dashed the spray most violently
across the deck. A boat could not live for a moment in such a sea.

Our situation is terrible. We all wait in silence, some few on the
forecastle, the great proportion of us on the poop. As for the picrate,
for the time we have quite forgotten its existence; indeed it might
almost seem as though its explosion would come as a relief, for no
catastrophe, however terrible, could far exceed the torture of our
suspense.

While he had still the remaining chance, Curtis