A few strokes took him to the boat, and after a good deal of trying he managed to scramble in. The unfastening was a matter of very few moments, and then with the painter in hand he worked right beneath the cabin-window, when Mr Gregory slid down and joined him.
For the next two hours slowly and silently ammunition and such food as they possessed in the shape of preserved meats and such like from the captain’s store were lowered down and packed in the bottom of the boat and beneath the thwarts, and this was hardly done when a dull glow seemed to show up the window above their head.
“Climb up, Mark, and tell them to put out that light,” whispered Mr Gregory.
Mark obeyed, not without some difficulty, and found that the saloon was in a state of excitement.
“I’ve been smelling it this last half ’our, sir,” said Billy Widgeon, “but I thout it was some queer kind o’ bacco as they Malay chaps smoked, so I didn’t speak.”
“Ah, there’s no mistake about it, Captain Strong!” said the second-mate; “the ship is on fire, sir. They’ll take alarm directly.”
Almost as he spoke the Malays, who must have been asleep, did take the alarm, and in a minute the whole deck was in an uproar.
“We’ve no time to lose,” said the captain, and he ran to the window and whispered down to Gregory what was wrong.
“Go down, Small,” said the captain then, “and help take the ladies as we lower them. Every man keep to his arms.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”