So much water had been pumped into the hold, that it was now doing the work steadily by soaking in all directions, and making packing-case and bale so saturated that the fire was languishing for want of food. For my part I fully expected that if we poured in much more the ship would become unsafe; and when I descended into the forecastle and cable-tier in turn, I thought the water would be a couple of feet deep on the floor. But there was no sign of a drop. Saturation had taken up an enormous quantity, but more had gone off into the air turned into steam; and when I went down with Mr Brymer to sound the well, I was astonished to find how small the amount of water was in the ship. "No fear of our sinking, Dale," said the mate; and he went on deck again to look at the tremendous clouds of steam rising from the hold. Before evening the pumping had been allowed to slacken; and as wherever the jet was directed now, the hissing had ceased, it was decided to give up and rest, though everything was laid ready for continuing the fight should it become necessary. Every one was fagged, but there was so much to do that we could not afford to show it, and we set to work to try and place matters so that we could go steadily on as far as was possible in the regular routine of the ship--no easy matter, seeing that we were so short-handed. But the cabin arrangements were put straight, and Miss Denning and Mr Preddle did all they could to provide a comfortable late dinner, which, if not hot, was plentiful. Then Mr Frewen did all he could for his patients, and Neb Dumlow was bandaged and ordered to rest. He said he could not, for there was so much to do. It was not, he said, as if he could have been set to steer, for the ship still lay motionless, merely drifting with the current. "I can do nothing, sir," he growled morosely. "Look here, my lad," said Mr Frewen, "I have no objection if you wish to provide me with a bit of practice--go on, and I will do my best." "Whatcher mean, sir, with yer bit o' practice?--pouring of physic into me as if I was a cask?" "No; I meant taking off your leg." "Taking off my leg!" cried Dumlow, with so comical a look of disgust on his countenance that I was obliged to laugh; "whatcher want to take off my leg for? Can't you stop the holes up?" "I don't want to take off your leg, my man, and I can stop up the holes as you call it; but you persist in using it, and if you do, the consequences will possibly be that the wounds will mortify, and the leg get into such a state that I shall have to amputate it to save your life." "Hear this, Mr Dale!" growled Dumlow. I nodded. "That won't do for me. Timber-toes goes with the Ryle Navy and pensions. They won't do in the marchant sarvice. All right, doctor; I'm game to do just as you tell me, only let me get about a bit. Couldn't you put my leg in a sling?" "Your leg isn't your arm, Neb," I cried, laughing.