The Red-Blooded Heroes of the FrontierBronson, Edgar Beecher
History
The Red-Blooded Heroes of the Frontier
Bronson, Edgar Beecher
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.); West (U.S.) -- Social life and customs
Two nights ago I was awakened half suffocated, to find my cabin full of
strong sulphurous fumes; but fancying them brought in through my open
portholes from the smoke-stack by a shift aft of the wind, I paid no
further attention to them. But when the next morning I as usual turned
out on deck to see the sun rise, a commotion aft of me attracted my
attention, Looking, I saw the first mate, chief engineer, and a party
of sailors, all so begrimed with sweat and coal dust one could scarcely
pick officers from seamen, rapidly ripping off the cover of one of the
midship hatches, while others were flying about connecting up the deck
fire hose. This didn't look a bit good to me, and when, an instant
later, off came the hatch and out poured thick volumes of smoke, I
failed to observe that it looked any better.
When the hatch was removed, the men thrust the hose through it, and
began deluging the burning bunker with water; for, luckily, it is only
a bunker fire,--in a lower and comparatively small bunker.
The fire had been discovered early the day previous, and for nearly
twenty-four hours officers and seamen had been fighting it from below,
without any mention to their two passengers of its existence, fighting
by tireless shovelling to reach his seat. And now they were on deck,
attacking it from above, only because the heat and fumes below had
become so overpowering they could no longer work there. But after an
hour's ventilation through the hatch and a continuous downpour of
water, the first mate again led his men below.
And so, the usual watches being divided into two-hour relays, the fight
has gone on wearily but persistently, until now, the evening of the
fourth day, the men are wan and haggard from the killing heat and foul
air. In the engine-room in these latitudes the thermometer ranges from
rarely under 108 degrees up to 130, and one has to stay down there only
an hour, as I often have, until he is streaming with sweat as if he
were in the unholiest heat of a Turkish bath. And as the burning
bunker immediately adjoins the other end of the boiler room, to the
heat of its own smouldering mass is added that of the fire boxes, until
the temperature is probably close to 140 degrees.
While the fire is confined to the bunker where it started, we are in no
particular danger; but if it reaches the bunker immediately above, it
will have a free run to the after hold, where several thousand packages
of case oil are stored. In the open waist above the oil are a score or
more big tanks of gasoline, and, on the poop immediately aft of that, a
quantity of dynamite and several thousand detonating caps. Thus if the
fire ever gets aft, things are apt to happen a trifle quicker than they
can be dodged.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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