sharp explosions, and then a bright flame sprang up from the
hatchways, ran up the shrouds and ropes, that had been soaked with
oil and tar, and in a moment the sails were on fire. In spite of the
flames, a score of men sprang on to the rigging of the _Henrietta_
and cut the ropes of the grapnels, which, as yet--so quickly had the
explosion followed their throwing--had scarce begun to check the way
the fire-ship had on her as she came up.

Cyril, having cast over a grapnel that had fallen on the poop, looked
down on the fire-ship as she drifted along. The deck, which, like
everything else, had been smeared with tar, was in a blaze, but the
combustible had not been carried as far as the helm, where doubtless
the captain had stood to direct her course. A sudden thought struck
him. He ran along the poop until opposite the stern of the fire-ship,
climbed over the bulwark and leapt down on to the deck, some fifteen
feet below him. Then he seized the helm and jammed it hard down. The
fire-ship had still steerage way on her, and he saw her head at once
begin to turn away from the _Henrietta_; the movement was aided by
the latter's crew, who, with poles and oars, pushed her off.

The heat was terrific, but Cyril's helmet and breast-piece sheltered
him somewhat; yet though he shielded his face with his arm, he felt
that it would speedily become unbearable. His eye fell upon a coil of
rope at his feet. Snatching it up, he fastened it to the tiller and
then round a belaying-pin in the bulwark, caught up a bucket with a
rope attached, threw it over the side and soused its contents over
the tiller-rope, then, unbuckling the straps of his breast- and
back-pieces, he threw them off, cast his helmet on the deck,
blistering his hands as he did so, and leapt overboard. It was with a
delicious sense of coolness that he rose to the surface and looked