Promptly Kettle reloaded his revolver and stepped out into the open. "Now," he said, "you seen my ju-ju? You savvy him too-big ju-ju? You want any more of it? No. Then get away aft with you. You hear? You lib for bottom deck back there, one-time." He rushed at them, one slight, slim, white-clad white man against all that reeking, shining mob, and they struggled away before him in grotesque tumblings and jostlings, like a flock of sheep.
But at the break of the deck he paused and looked below him, and the fight all dropped away from his face. No. 3 hatch lay open before him, with the covers thrown here and there. From it was creeping up a thin blue smoke, with now and then a scarlet trail of flame. Here was a complication.
"So you gluttonous, careless brutes have set fire to her, have you? Here, who was in the engine room?"
Discipline was coming back. A man in black trousers, with a clout round his neck, stepped out.
"You? Well, slip below, and turn steam into the donkey."
"Steam no lib, sar. Cranes die when we try to work him just now."
"Oh, you holy crowd of savages! Well, if we can't use the hose, you must hand buckets--and sharp, too. That fire's gaining. Now then, head-men, step out."
"I second head-man, sar."
"I head-man, sar."
"Get buckets, tubs, tins--anything that'll hold water, and look sharp. If you boys work well now, I'll overlook a lot that's been done. If you don't, I'll give you fits. Try and get below, some of you, and pull away what's burning. Probably you'll find some of your dear relations down there, drunk on gin and smoking pipes. You may knock them on the head if you like, and want to do a bit more murder. They deserve it."