"Do you know what has caused the fire?" I presently inquired.

"It probably arose," he answered, "from the spontaneous
combustion of the cotton. The case is rare, but it is far from
unknown. Unless the cotton is perfectly dry when it is shipped,
its confinement in a damp or ill-ventilated hold will sometimes
cause it to ignite; and I have no doubt it is this that has
brought about our misfortune."

"But after all," I said, "the cause matters very little. Is
there no remedy? Is there nothing to be done?"

"Nothing; Mr. Kazallon," he said. "As I told you before, we have
adopted the only possible measure within our power to check the
fire. At one time I thought of knocking a hole in the ship's
timbers just on her waterline, and letting in just as much water
as the pumps could afterwards get rid of again; but we found the
combustion was right in the middle of the cargo and that we
should be obliged to flood the entire hold before we could get at
the right place. That scheme consequently was no good. During
the night, I had the deck bored in various places and water
poured down through the holes; but that again seemed all of no
use. There is only one thing that can be done; we must persevere
in excluding most carefully every breath of outer air, so that
perhaps the conflagration deprived of oxygen may smoulder itself
out. That is our only hope."

"But, you say the fire is increasing?"