"About all the chief could do under the circumstances was to stoke faster and cut down the draught. This he did to the best of his ability, but the screen did not bear much resemblance to one of those almost solid streams of soot a modern destroyer can turn out by spraying oil freely and shutting off the air. "Such as it was, however, the Old Man made the most of, and by steaming down the wind accomplished the double purpose of cutting down the draught fanning the fire on the poop and keeping a maximum of smoke floating above the ship. "The smudge bothered the Hun, but by no means put an end to his machine-gun practice. Except for the freight clerk, who was still pumping back at the seaplane every time it swooped over, every one on the poop had been killed, wounded, or driven to cover, and, with no one to fight it, the fire was beginning to gain new headway. "'Not good 'nuf by a mile,' I heard the Old Man muttering to himself as he eyed the quickly thinning trail of smoke from the funnels. 'Must do better'n that or 'taint no good.' Then I saw his bronzed old face light up. "'X----!' he shouted, beckoning me to his side, 'duck below, clean out all the stuff in the paint lockers and chuck it in the furnaces, 'specially the oils and turps. Jump lively!' "This was the job I went on when I said I saw the cowboy crumpled up against a bitt, but still full of fight. "Linseed oil, turpentine, and some tins of fine lubricants--I had them all turned out of the fore-peak and carried, rolled, dragged, or tossed down to the stokehold. "Most of the stuff was in kegs or cans small enough to go through a furnace door, and these we threw in without broaching them. The Old Man called me up twice--the first time to say that there was no increase in smoke, and wanting to know why I was so slow; and the second time to say that he had just got a bullet through his shoulder, and ordering me to come up and take over, as he was beginning to feel groggy. "There was an ominous crackling and sputtering in the furnaces as I sprang for the ladder, and before my foot was on the lowermost rung, one of the doors jumped violently up on its top-swing hinges from the kick of an exploding tin or keg of oil. As it fell back with a clang the swish of sudden flame smote my ears, and then a regular salvo of muffled detonations. The last picture I had of the boiler-room was of the stokers trying to confine the infernos they had created by wedging shut the doors with their scoops.