ROUND THE CAMP-FIRE.

By Harold Ericson.

VIII.—THE MAN AT THE WHEEL.

'Have either of you fellows ever been in the middle of a fire at sea?' asked Vandeleur one evening, when informed that it was his turn to spin a yarn for the benefit of the rest. 'If not, I advise you to keep as far away from such a thing as you can. My own experience is only, so to speak, on a small scale; that is, I was only, at the time, upon a short journey across a lake in a small Japanese steamer—a voyage of about sixty miles—but I can assure you I was never more frightened in my life. One feels so utterly helpless when apparently at the mercy of the most pitiless of the elements, far from shore, and—for all one can see—confronted by the necessity to choose one of two kinds of death, if one is more terrible than the other—drowning or burning.

'Am I right in believing that you succeeded in cheating both the fire and the water, perhaps out of deference to the hangman?' asked Bobby, 'or am I speaking to a somewhat solid ghost?'

'Escaped, I believe.' replied Vandeleur, 'in order that I might try to teach manners to a certain ruffian of the name of Robert Oakfield.'

With the words, Vandeleur fell suddenly upon Bobby, and quickly upsetting him, rubbed his nose in the soft moss. There was a short, sharp struggle, and Vandeleur returned to his seat.

'I have not yet succeeded in my object,' continued Vandeleur, 'but I hope for the best.'

We had gone about half-way to our destination—town called Shukisama, on the other side of the lake—when it was suddenly discovered that our little steamer, the Toki Maru, was on fire. With very little warning, flames sprang up from the hold—no one ever discovered how the fire began—and almost in an instant the half of the steamer which lay aft of the hold became unapproachable on account of the dense volumes of black smoke which flew in clouds over it, driven by the head-wind against which the little steamer was making its way.

The captain quickly ordered every passenger forward into the bows of the vessel, out of the reach of the heat and suffocating smoke. The crew then attempted, with hose and pump, to keep the fire in hand; but already, it appeared, the flames had obtained the mastery, and their attempts came too late. The cargo, I believe, was tow, or some other oily substance difficult to extinguish once the fire had secured a firm hold upon it. Moreover, the smoke and heat were such that it was impossible for the workers to approach near enough to concentrate their efforts where they would be most likely to succeed.

The passengers huddled together in the bows of the little steamer and watched the efforts of the crew. It was obvious that these efforts had failed.

'Have we time to reach Shukisama?' men and women asked one another; 'it is twenty miles, or more—nearly two hours—shall we do it?' The captain, when anxiously asked as to this, replied: 'We hope so; who can tell? Much depends on the man at the wheel.'

The man at the wheel! Not one of us selfish people in safety and comfort—speaking comparatively—in the bows, had thought of the poor fellow back there in the stern, sticking bravely to his post in spite of the dense, hot smoke which must be enveloping him in its suffocating fumes.

'He cannot last long, captain,' said some one, 'in that atmosphere; he will be suffocated, or he will give up and jump into the sea. What will happen if there is no one to steer the ship?'

'She will go round and round,' replied the captain, laughing grimly, 'while we are roasted or drowned. At present he is sticking to his post, and we are travelling in our course. You may be thankful, all of you, that we have a brave man, young Hayashi, at the wheel. He was only married last week, and his wife is at Shukisama; you may be sure he will do his best to get home.'

'A man may be ever so much in love,' said a passenger, 'but he cannot breathe fire and smoke for air: it must be pretty hot where he is, and it will soon be hotter!'

A cry went up for volunteers to relieve the man at the wheel. Several came forward—they are brave as lions, these Japanese. One was selected as the first to make an effort to pass through the smoke and flame to the stern of the vessel. A line was made fast to the good fellow's waist, for, he had said, in case he should collapse in the dense smoke, he would rather be hauled back in any position, than left there!

Three times the brave man rushed into the mass of hot, poisonous vapour, and twice he returned staggering and choking. The third time he entirely collapsed, and was pulled back. His jacket was on fire and he was unconscious. A second man instantly volunteered; he had a new suggestion to make.

'I will slip over the side of the ship, and you can pay out line gradually until I have reached a spot where I think I can climb up. When I pull, you must slack out the line.'

'Mind the screw. Don't get sucked back too far astern,' said the captain; 'be careful.'

The man jumped into the water, and was carried instantly astern; he tugged, and line was paid out. Soon it became evident, by the tension of the line, that he had clung on to the vessel's side; probably he was climbing laboriously upward—his plan was going to succeed.

But the line suddenly sprang outwards; he had jumped into the sea again; a few minutes, and he was hauled back, out of breath and exhausted.

'I couldn't climb it,' he said, 'it's too steep and slippery. I nearly got sucked into the screw. The flames are not near the wheel yet, but the smoke is flying right over it in dense, black volumes. How young Hayashi is standing it, I don't know.'

But the steamer was standing straight as a line upon her course; it was obvious that the good fellow's nerve still held out, his eyes were not yet dimmed with the smoke and heat—good, brave Hayashi!

Some one proposed that the passengers should approach in a body as far aft as the fire permitted, and then shout together words of praise and encouragement. This was done. Some thirty men and women stood together nearly amidships and shouted in time to the beat of a conductor: 'Hayashi—Banzai—brave Hayashi—you shall have glory and reward—Banzai!' Some said they heard a voice reply 'Banzai,' some heard nothing. Other attempts were made to relieve the plucky fellow at the wheel. His lungs and breathing apparatus, a doctor present declared, must be made of cast iron; since he had stood the poisonous fumes so long, he might perhaps last out; people would see the burning vessel from Shukisama before long, and help would come.

But the flames began to gather strength; the after portion of the steamer seemed now to be a kind of seething cauldron of fire. The heat grew intense, even up at our end; what must it be for poor Hayashi, with the wind carrying it at close quarters into his face? Would he actually stand at the wheel, devoted fellow, until the flames caught him and burned his hands as they gripped the spokes, and scorched his eyeballs so that they could see the course no longer? There was no knowing what these marvellous Japanese could not do in the way of pluck and fortitude!

On went the little vessel upon her way; Hayashi could not possibly have steered a better course, said the captain. He had not once deviated by a hair's breadth.

But every moment the heat grew more and more; women wept and hugged their children to them. Another half-hour, and—unless help arrived—every passenger must swim for it. In spite of the headwind, the fire was encroaching forward as well as aft.

Another five minutes of acute suspense was passed. Personally, after a brief prayer, I spent the time in deciding which woman I would try to save when it came to swimming. I had already made my selection, when suddenly a voice called out from the rigging, 'Banzai! they have seen us—a steamer comes!'

Then the heat and the danger were forgotten in the excitement of watching the oncoming steamer. When two vessels, both going at full speed, are meeting one another, the intervening distance is soon covered. Suffice to tell, the succour arrived in time, and every passenger was taken off in safety.

Meanwhile a boat had been sent round the stern, with orders to shout to Hayashi to jump clear of the ship and allow himself to be picked up. The boat returned almost immediately; no one, the crew said, replied to their shouts. Presently the steamer separated from her burning sister and dropped back; then it was seen that the flames now swept the entire stern of the ill-omened Toki Maru. The wheel still stood, but no one was at it, nor could any human form be discerned on deck or in rigging.

Sadly we steamed homewards. We were saved, indeed, every one of us, but he to whom all were indebted for their lives, the young hero, Hayashi, the best and bravest of them all, had fallen a victim. Probably he had sprung, scorched and maddened with pain, into the sea, and had gone down like a stone.

But you will scarcely believe it, while groups of us still stood upon the quay at Shukisama discussing the tragedy, and wondering who would break the sad news to the wife at Hayashi's home, a small boat hove in sight, coming in from the lake; in it sat a man rowing, and some one said, 'That is like the Toki Maru's boat which we thought burned.' Another said, 'What if it should be Hayashi in it?' Well, it was Hayashi. He arrived, grinning and well, though black with smoke and fire and half suffocated.

As the largest subscriber (Vandeleur ended), I was asked to present to Madam Hayashi the testimonial which the passengers united to offer to our brave 'man at the wheel.' He could not be made to see that he had deserved it, however.

'It got too hot at last,' he said with a laugh, 'and I cut down the boat and dropped overboard. 'The wheel? Oh, I lashed it so that it couldn't turn. Yes, I choked very much, but that is nothing!'

'I should like to meet a few more of Hayashi's kind before I die,' said Vandeleur, after a pause—'good, simple, humble chap; the very stuff heroes should be made of.'