Hiram Strong was in need of oil for his gloves, and, left to myself, my mind reverted to the conversation I had overheard between the ship's officers. Shoreward, about a half-mile, I could make out a lightship. Being somewhat familiar with the coast, I decided it must be the Cape Charles light. As soon as we were abreast of it, our ship changed its course several points to the west and seaward, just as the officer said it would. I observed this and recalled the other officer's cocksureness that the ship had been running by or through the supposed mine field for months. Nevertheless I confessed to myself a distinct feeling of anxiety as we went down into the region Hiram had properly designated as "Hell," to begin another four-hour draft on endurance and vitality. Though silent, Strong remained cheerful and never for a moment allowed his steam gauge to drop. The draft was good, making the work easier.

There is something about labor in intense heat that calls for silence, but after an extended stillness there comes an oppressive feeling that makes one want to break out into a yell. Often in a steel mill a weird howl will be started by some one, to be taken up by others until a bedlam is created among the thousands of workers. There is a certain rhythm in it, a sort of boisterous chant, a good-natured protest against conditions. Then, suddenly, it will die out just as quickly as it started and quiet will reign for an hour or two.

Such a yell had been started by an Italian standing under the ventilator. Then it was that I learned that Hiram Strong had a voice, and although more than half our watch had passed, he felt vigorous enough to join in the general outbreak.

As though in protest against the riotous exhibition, the engines stopped, a circumstance that regular firemen secretly desire, for it means a respite in their conflict with the blazing furnace and grates, with the excitement of uncertainty added. The pause may continue for a minute or an hour. At any rate the trouble in this case had been shifted to the engine room.

Before the engines first stopped I thought I heard a noise, but it wasn't loud enough to attract the attention of others, so concluded it must have been a slight shift in the cargo near us and gave it no further thought.

Hiram accompanied me to the far end of the furnace room for water, after which we returned and sat down on the hot, iron-sheeted floor against the bulkhead that flanked our station, from which point we viewed the whole length of the narrow corridor between the battery of blazing furnaces that generated the ship's power.

"Did you ever read Dante's Inferno?" he surprised me by asking.

"Yes, but not recently."

"A tutor made me read it as punishment. You know, I never would study. I guess that's what makes the Governor so sore. I tried three colleges and flunked. I was so infernally worthless that I wouldn't even go in for athletics; but what I started to say was that I believe Dante must have known about the furnace room of a steamship, when the engines were at a standstill." He said all this with a sleepy grin.

I could see what he meant. The engines had been stopped but a few minutes when the entire fire-room crew succumbed to a lethargic sleep. A serrated ridge of coal two feet high extended the entire length of the room, on which they had disposed themselves in all sorts of postures—some curled up like animals going into hibernation, others sprawled out full length, and there were many who lay as though stricken dead while in a reclining position. Most of the crew who worked in overalls, with bodies bared above the waist, black and grimy to the tousled hair now matted with sweat, laid carelessly about as in death from convulsions. In some cases they were in such a position that the fierce light from the cracks in the furnace doors gave their faces a weird, deathly appearance, and after noting this, I glanced at Hiram and saw that he, too, had succumbed, his head resting heavily against the supporting bulkhead.

A sweet, irresistible languor now dulled my perseverance to keep awake. How long I slept was uncertain, but I do know that I was awakened with a start by dreaming of an immense wave, much higher than the ship, a solid perpendicular wall of green sea bearing us down—a veritable tidal wave. I was sure the ship could not survive. Hiram was tugging at my sleeve.

"Ben—Ben, wake up; we have struck something and the ship is sinking!" He did not seem frightened, just urgent.

"What!—What's that?" I asked, wondering if I was still dreaming.

"We've been asleep an hour. The ship's deserted; I can't find a living soul on board! Passengers, crew, and boats are all gone!" he cried, catching me by the arm and helping me to rise hastily. "Nobody on board but the engine-room shift."

If the effect of this information on me was magical, it was electrical on other firemen and the coal passers. One and all seemed to hear it instantly and made a rush for the narrow, iron stairs leading up, which could accommodate but one at a time. Here they fought, as if in death's last throes.

With a fiendishness indescribable, twelve or fifteen men massed seemingly into one great squirming monster, all legs and arms, kicking, striking, biting, shouldering and trampling each other, emitting groans and execrations in all languages. The struggle was to determine who should ascend the stairs first.

Young Strong seemed deeply moved by this exhibition, but stood beside me, superior, contemptuous, little impressed with the danger. He turned toward me, saying—

"Let 'em fight it out; she isn't going to sink at once; she has floated an hour. It's full daylight and good weather. Did you ever see human beings so quickly turned into writhing snakes?"

"Suppose we turn the water on them," I suggested, and we both ran for an inch hose used to wet down the coal.

Hiram aimed the nozzle at the struggling mass while I opened the valve releasing the high pressure stream which shot forth upon their bodies. This had a cooling effect upon all but two who were lost to their own safety in the vicious fight over a screaming woman. These we shoved aside, while the prospective victim escaped. We then hurried up the three flights of stairs to the main deck where others were attempting to lower one of two remaining lifeboats.

Strong, cool and collected, said, "The bow sunk an hour ago. The sea is washing over it." The damage was located ahead of the forward bulkheads and the ship would probably float until they gave way.

"We must get our bags, Strong," said I, starting forward to our steerage quarters. He followed, though a little dubious about taking the time. Our quarters, though not flooded, were very wet.

Strong grabbed up all of his belongings that were outside of his bag, while I attempted to free the chain that held them to the stanchion against possible larceny. It seemed an interminable time before I found the key. Then we hurried back to where a mass of fighting men were lowering a lifeboat.

"Good God, Ben; what is this?" exclaimed Hiram, as we rounded the deckhouse to where the boats had been hanging. All but one had been lowered and apparently all would be saved but ourselves and one officer in uniform—he was the captain! There was no mistaking his great bulk, lumpy skin and small piggish eyes.

As we approached he turned upon us as though we had done him great injury and swore like a pirate. He held in his hand a pistol of ancient pattern as big as an anchor shank.

"I don't believe they would have stopped if I had killed every damned one of 'em!" he shouted, as if to overawe us, "but you needn't think you are going to get away. You've got to stay," he added, gritting his teeth as he moved toward us, holding the aged shooting-iron down at his hip as clumsily as the usual officer of a merchantman.

I was greatly reassured by his presence on the ship, and also the remaining lifeboat. We were two against one and I was inclined to consider the humor of the situation.

"Why should we stay when every one else has gone, captain?" Hiram asked this question respectfully enough, glancing at me; then placed his grip against the deckhouse and deliberately laid across it his shirt, coat, necktie, hat and shoes.

The captain continued to focus his two ferocious eyes upon us, and took full time in which to answer Strong's question.

"Because this ship ain't goin' to sink, and you've got to help work it over to the beach!" he fairly shouted, unable to control himself. He was evidently of the old school and as appropriate on a passenger ship as a pig in a parlor. He was unable to see in us anything more than ordinary firemen.

"How can two men run a big ship like this?" Strong asked, keeping himself well in hand, though there was a glitter in his eye as he glanced at me, while advancing toward the captain, who still held the firearm in a hip position against his six feet and two hundred and fifty pounds of flesh.

"That's for me to say," he shot back threateningly, "an' if you don't do it I'll put you in irons."

"We can't see it that way, captain; besides, I'm afraid——" Then something happened which indicated that Strong had acquired the art of jiujitsu.

With the litheness of a cat he sprang violently forward, struck the captain's wrist that held the gun, and the immense revolver dropped to the deck with a thud. Strong quickly kicked it overboard with the same agility.

"Captain, I was just going to say that you seemed to handle that gun awkwardly and I feared it might go off accidentally," he said, as he jumped back beyond reach. The captain's florid, lumpy face now ran scarlet, his eyes glaring like those of an old dog in futile rage. He swallowed hard but could not articulate.

"You allowed the passengers and crew to leave, but left the firemen down in that hell hole to drown like rats. We are inclined to hold that against you, captain," said Strong, quietly enough. "There is one boat left and we are going along, too," he said, turning to me as I edged over toward the boat.

"Didn't I stay?" the captain was finally able to say in a shaky voice, with some trace of a plea.

"Yes, you stayed, because you would be put down for a coward if you hadn't, and if there is any profit or glory you get it. I've traveled on ships before when I wasn't firing," Strong replied forcefully, but with no trace of anger, coming over to where I was engaged in placing our baggage in the lifeboat.

"But we can save the ship if you'll help—I'm willing to pay you extra if you'll stay," said the captain, pleading outright now.

"Well, that sounds different—how much will you give us to stay and take chances?" Strong asked quickly, assuming a bargaining attitude, but still assisting me to lower the boat.

"Why, I'll—I'll give you fifty dollars apiece," he offered, as though making a tremendous sacrifice.

"Fifty dollars don't look good to me—how about it, Ben?" he asked, as we halted the boat a few feet from the water. "The news headlines will state that the captain went down with the ship, but two firemen drowning with him wouldn't be worth an agate line."