“I can help you to that,” said the mate.
“The fire’s gaining fast, sir,” said Small, the boatswain, coming up; “Mr Morgan says we must have more hands below.”
A thrill ran through the men, and one of them threw down his bucket.
“It’s labour in vain, captain,” he said. “Better keep our strength for the oars.”
“Take up that bucket, sir,” roared the captain furiously, “or—”
He did not finish his sentence but took a couple of strides forward, and the man resumed his work.
“I give orders here,” said the captain in a loud deep voice. “Now, Mr Gregory, what is it?”
“Matches. A chest or two must have been sent by some scoundrel described as something else, and the pressure or crushing in of the case has ignited them.”
“That does not help us, sir,” said the captain bitterly. “I want to know where they are.”
“Matches—did you say matches?” cried a highly-pitched voice; and Jimpny dropped his bucket and started forward.