“Well,” said the major, speaking as coolly as if he were on parade, “shall I go first?”
“I was thinking, major. I can’t do it. It seems like breaking my pledges, and acting dishonourably to the owners of the ship to leave her.”
“My dear Strong,” said the major, clapping him on the shoulder, “the more I know of you the more I regret that you took to the sea.”
“My dear sir,” said Captain Strong angrily, “is this a time for compliments?”
“It was meant sincerely,” replied the major; “but let me point out to you that however painful this may be to you we must go now.”
“Why?” said the captain. “The Malay scoundrels are escaping to their praus.”
“Yes, there is no doubt of that.”
“Then it is my duty to call back my men, and attack the flames.”
“Now, my dear Strong, even if we had the whole crew instead of half a dozen men, all more or less wounded,” said the major, “you know as well as I do that we could not master a fire like this. Look out of the window yonder, how the sea is lit up, and then through that hole; why, the mainmast and rigging must be all in a blaze!”
“Yes,” said the captain, as if to himself, “from deck to truck, and the burning pitch falling in a fiery rain. But if we could master the flames, now the enemy are gone—”