"This is no chance," I said. "There may be more yet. We must get
all this lumber cleared."

It had been the same on the other side of the pile, but the peat
was cold and dead, not having burned so long. Then we moved the
wagon from the after end of the penthouse, and cleared that. Here
again was peat, and more of it, and it had been lighted, and had
only been out for a short time. Some of the turfs may still have
had fire within them, but we did not wait to see. And all the while
as we worked at this strange task, I wondered what the meaning of
it all was.

The last fagot went overboard, and Bertric rose up and looked at
me. His face was white as with some fear, and he stepped backward
away from the penthouse aft.

"Comrades," he said, "why did they want to burn this ship? She is
not burnt, only because as she ran in the light breeze there was no
wind to set the peat aflame. They meant her to burn when she was in
the open sea--when the spark they set in the turf should have had
time to grow to flame, and fire the brushwood. Look at those two
tar barrels set handy."

"Aye," I said, for all this had been growing on me. "They meant her
to run far from shore before her rigging went. That is why the
halliards have been brought aft, out of the way of the flame."

"And why the sail was wet," said Dalfin. "And maybe why we are not
chased."