"Canst walk?"
"Yes, sir. I'm not wounded, only stunned."
"Then run below to Mr. Lanyon, and tell him to bide my whistle."
"Where is he, sir?"
"Where he ought to be," growled the old man—"powder-magazine o coorse."
The eye closed: the little ray of soul, still haunting the body, seemed quenched for ever; but it was not.
"And bring along a brace o round-shot when ye coom back, wilta?" came the painful voice out of the deeps.
II
Kit slid down the companion ladder.
The lower deck was half awash, and foul with smoke. There was a stink of dead men, bilge, and powder.