Captain Dodge stood near by urging on his men. Nor did he shirk any of the work himself. He fought the flames with all the fury of a determined man, but it soon became plain that it was an unequal struggle and that the Josephine would never reach Buenos Aires or any other port for that matter.

“Man the boats!” shouted the captain.

The lifeboats were loosened on the davits and made ready to launch. A stock of provisions was placed on board of every one of them and preparations were made to embark. The four Go Ahead boys were assigned to one boat, together with Sam the cook and Petersen the Finn sailor.

“That’ll never do,” said John in a low voice to Grant. “Sam and Petersen in the same boat are bound to have trouble.”

“I’m afraid so myself, String,” said Grant, “but what can we do? Captain Dodge gave the orders and we must do as he says.”

“Wouldn’t he change them?”

“He might, of course, but I’m not going to ask him to.”

“No,” said John ruefully, “I don’t suppose we could do that. I guess we’ll have to put up with it.”

The wind had been steadily increasing in violence since the fire started and now was blowing almost a gale. It whipped the waves into foam and whistled and shrieked through the rigging. The fire, fanned by the breeze, now roared menacingly while its volume increased steadily. It was only too evident that it would be impossible to remain on board the Josephine many moments more.

“We’d better get away from here,” said Fred nervously, as he watched the mass of flame and smoke which now enveloped the whole forward part of the ship.

“When we do leave we won’t be much better off,” said Pop gloomily.

“Just the same I’d rather take my chances with the ocean than with this fire,” exclaimed Grant.

“Where are we going!” demanded John.

“How do I know!” said Grant. “We must leave, that’s sure. What we are to do after we leave is another matter.”

“Stand by to lower away!” came the order.

The four boys sprang to their positions. Petersen and Sam joined them a moment later. The negro cook was half-crazed with fear and still kept mumbling to himself, “Dat Finn, dat Finn.” Undoubtedly he did not understand that Petersen was to go on the same boat with him or he would not have consented to step aboard. Now, in the darkness it was almost impossible to recognize anybody and Sam probably had no idea who any of his companions were to be.

“Lower away.”

The boats descended rapidly and soon rested upon the water where they danced and bobbed about like corks on the angry waves.

“Get aboard, Sam,” urged Grant.

Making no objection, the negro quickly lowered himself into the waiting boat. Fred, John, Grant and George followed in order, leaving only Petersen on board the brig. He stood with the painter in his hand, awaiting the word to leave.

“Unship your oars,” he called.

“All right,” answered Grant.

There were two pairs of oars in the boat and every one of the four boys took charge of one of them. Sam cowered in the bow of the boat shuddering and still murmuring over and over again, “Dat Finn, dat Finn.”

At the sound of Petersen’s voice from the deck above, however, he half raised himself. “Who dat talkin’?” he demanded.

“One of the sailors,” said Grant carelessly, knowing what was passing in the black man’s mind.

“Dat Petersen,” said Sam. “Am he comin’ on dis heah boat?”

“I don’t know,” Grant answered evasively.

“He bettah not. He bettah not,” said Sam fiercely. “We’s had enough hard luck on account ob dat man already.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” said Grant trying to quiet the excited negro.

“It was! It was!” Sam fairly shouted, at the same time trying to stand up in the skiff.

“Sit down, Sam,” ordered Fred sharply.

“Ah won’t sit down,” the cook cried menacingly. “Ah won’t do nothin’ if dat Finn am gwine git in dis heah boat. Ah tells yo’ all we’s had enough hard luck on account of dat man.”

“You’ll sit down or get out of the boat,” said Grant threateningly. “We won’t take any fooling here either.”

Sam subsided, but he still mumbled to himself incessantly.

“All right, get aboard,” John called to Petersen, though he took care not to call him by name.

Petersen threw the painter and jumped into the stern of the life-boat. The four oarsmen dug their blades into the water and the little craft shot forward. The other boats had also left and the Josephine was now a blazing mass of wood. Sparks shot high into the air and in all directions only to fall with a hiss into the angry waters of the sea. The roar of the flames could be heard even above the noise of the storm which seemed to be increasing in intensity.

The four boys rowed a couple of hundred yards away from the burning brig and then rested on their oars and watched the destruction of the ship on which they had expected to go to South America. She was entirely enveloped in flames now and presented a wonderful but terrible sight as she was rapidly being devoured by the hungry fire.

All the occupants but one of the boat watched the fire. That one was Sam. He still remained huddled in the bow and never once did he look back. He moaned and groaned and raved until the rest of the party began to think that perhaps he was losing his mind.

Farther and farther from the burning ship drifted the tiny boat. All that the crew of it could do was to keep the stern straight into the waves and straighten her out when a great roller sent them flying. Lower and lower appeared the hull of the Josephine, when an occasional glimpse could be had of her from the crest of some huge wave. At length she disappeared, entirely burned to the water’s edge, and thus came the end of another brave ship. One more was added to the great ocean graveyard, already thick with the bones of many a gallant merchantman.

“She’s gone,” said George soberly.

“Yes,” said John, “and what’s going to happen to us?”

“We may be picked up,” exclaimed Fred hopefully.

“And we may not,” added Grant.

“Do you know where we are?” he asked of Petersen.

“I’ve no idea,” was the answer. “Somewhere near the West Indies, or maybe we’re right in them now for all I know.”

“Then we’ll soon find land,” said Fred as cheerfully as was possible under the circumstances.

“I hope it isn’t the land that’s at the bottom of the ocean,” said George.

“Don’t be so pessimistic, Pop,” urged Fred. “What’s the matter with you lately?”

“Nothing. We’re in a bad fix, that’s all.”

“Look out for this wave!” warned Grant suddenly as a great mountain of water loomed up behind them.

The little boat was driven along at the speed of a race horse for many, many yards, but fortunately she remained right side up. The four boys managed their oars skillfully and Petersen steered marvelously. Now and then some water was shipped but aside from that no harm came to them.

Gradually the wind died down and the storm abated. Night had now come upon them, however, and they were in a sorry plight.

“Where are the other boats?” asked Grant when an hour of silence had elapsed.

“I’ve no idea,” said Fred. “Has any one seen them?”

No one had. At least every one denied it but Sam, and as he had not once looked around him there was no chance that he had seen anything. Now he was asleep. He had made no move to help in any way and seemed to take it for granted that the others would look after him. His last words before he had closed his eyes were, “Dat Finn.”

“We’ve got some provisions, anyway,” said John.

“Yes,” agreed George, “but how long do you think they’ll last?”

“Plenty long enough to keep us going until we are picked up.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” George advised. “At any rate, we have no water, and that’s even more important than food.”

“Yes, we have, too, Pop,” corrected Fred. “It’s right under my feet.”

“Yes, salt water, though,” grumbled George.

“Not at all. There’s a cask of fresh water right here in the bottom of the boat.”

“Give me some, then,” exclaimed George eagerly. “I’m half dead with thirst as it is now.”

“Don’t drink it now, Pop,” urged Grant. “We may be hard pressed for water, as you say, and I think we’d all better wait till morning. Then we can take stock of just what we have here.”

“That’s right, Grant,” agreed John heartily. “Don’t you think so, too, Petersen?”

“I do. We can surely get along without food and water until light comes, but in a day or so we may need it very badly.”

“You think we’ll be out here that long?” demanded Fred.

“I don’t know. Still you never can tell, and it’s always well to be prepared.”

“You’re right,” acknowledged George. “At any rate, I don’t want any water.”

It was a characteristic of these four boys that they were usually cheerful under any and all conditions. No matter how hard a thing might be, they bore it willingly if it was necessary. They made complaints if they thought it was unnecessary, but when they knew it was the only thing to be done they never raised a murmur. No sportsman ever complains of a thing that is fair, and what is best for the most people is always fair.

Hour after hour dragged by. To the little band on board the life-boat it seemed as if morning would never come. The storm had passed, but the water was still rough and the night still inky dark. Now and again the boys dozed off and caught a few winks of sleep. No attempt to row had been made for several hours. Petersen steered the boat and was the only one who did not rest. Incessantly through the long night he guided the little craft and watched over the safety of those on board.

At last morning came. The first faint streaks of light thrust their rosy fingers up over the eastern horizon and soon the whole sky was covered with an orange glow. Little by little the faint outlines of the occupants of the life boat became visible. What a sorry looking crew it was, too. Disheveled, dirty and unkempt, they plainly showed the effects of their harrowing experience.

As the light crept over the ocean it showed some of the party asleep. The others were haggard and worn looking and seemed to have but small concern as to what happened to them. They lolled on the cross seats in a listless way, not at all interested in the beautiful sunrise. They were more concerned in their own welfare than in the beauties of Nature.

“Oh, hum,” yawned Sam, raising himself from the position in which he had lain all night. “We sho’ has had a powerful lot of hard–”

He caught sight of Petersen and suddenly ceased talking. A change came over his face as he recognized the man to whom he charged the hard luck that had overtaken them. Hate spread itself over the features of the superstitious negro and his breath came in short gasps as if some one was choking him.

“Dar yo’ are!” he exclaimed fiercely. “Dar yo’ are, yo’ hard luck Finn. I’ll fix yo’,” and he started to make his way towards the stern of the boat to the spot where his enemy was seated.