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Page 68
The Consul could see that they had got the sail drawn over the roof; but
at that instant the tiled roof of the pitch-house fell in, and the
flames suddenly shot high into the air, and were borne by the wind right
down on to the storehouse. The _attach�_, and those that were with him,
had to get down from the roof on the other side as best they might.
A step was heard running up the stairs and through the passage.
"Father! father!" It was Morten, who dashed in breathless and dripping.
"Father, we must have some powder; the storehouse must be blown up!"
"Nonsense!" answered the Consul, drily. "Why, it is right under the very
stern of the ship."
"Well, I don't know," answered Morten, "but something must be done. I
don't see much good in those old fire-engines."
The young Consul drew himself up; he seemed to hear an echo of all the
disagreements there had been between them. It was the old story, the new
against the old, and he answered shortly and coldly--
"I am still the head of the firm. Go back and do your duty, as I
directed."
Morten turned and left the room with an air of defiance. The idea of
using powder had taken his fancy, although it was not his own. An
engineer had been standing behind Morten with his hands in his pockets,
after the manner of engineers, and had said, as engineers do say, "If I
had my way, I'm blest if I wouldn't do different to this."
"What would you do?" asked Morten.
"Powder!" answered the engineer, curtly, as engineers have a habit of
answering.
It was hard for Morten to give up his powder, and he muttered many ugly
oaths as he went down the staircase.
When the Consul again looked out of the window after Morten had gone, he
involuntarily seized the damask curtains tightly in his grasp, for the
change which had taken place in these few minutes was only too apparent.
The wet sail had already turned black, and in another minute was
beginning to shrivel; while the whole of one side of the storehouse
burst into a bright yellow flame, which came streaming down over the
roof, flashing amid the thick smoke, and long fiery tongues began to
lick underneath the vessel.
The Consul knew what there was in the building--tow, paint, oil, tar.
The ship was hopelessly lost; the good ship of which he was even more
proud than any one suspected.
After the first feeling of despair, he began to calculate in his head.
The loss was heavy, very heavy. The business would be crippled for a
long time, and the firm would receive an ugly blow.
And yet it was not this which seemed to crush the determined little man,
until it almost made his knees quiver. This ship was to him more than a
mere sum of money. It was a work he had undertaken in honour of "the
old" against "the new;" against the advice of his son, and with his
father always in his thoughts, under whose eye he almost seemed to be
working. And now all was thus to come to such an untimely end.
The large engine belonging to the town managed to reach up just so high
as to keep the ship's side wet as far as the gold stripe which
surrounded her; but in under the stern the water could not get properly
to work, and small points of flame soon began to break out, and the
Consul could now see that the fire had caught the stern-post.
The side of the ship which was towards the fire became so hot that the
steam rose from it every time the thin stream of water swept over it.
And now all at once a large part became covered with small sparkling
flames, just as if sheets of gold leaf had been thrown against it, which
crackled in the wind, and at last got fast hold in the oakum seams
between the planking. The hose played upon them and swept them away; in
another moment they were there again. They broke out in other places,
ever gaining ground, taking fast hold with their thousand tiny feet
until they got up to the gold band, and even beyond it; and see! the
flames now seemed to take a spring, and seize upon the name-board, and
the shining letters stood out amidst the flames. It could be read by
all. The Consul saw it. There it stood: _Morten W. Garman_. It was the
old Consul's name--his ship--and now what was its fate?
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