“Of course,” I said excitedly. “But hadn’t you better have Dumlow too?”
“Can’t climb up, my lad,” said Bob Hampton, in a husky whisper; “and Mr Preddle’s too fat.”
“Ready?” said Mr Brymer.
“Ay, ay,” came from the men, and “Yes” from Mr Frewen.
“Then come on.”
The mate threw open the door to lead the way, and then hesitated for a moment or two, for the saloon was flooded by a pale bluish light.
“I hoped we should have darkness on our side,” he said, “but—”
“Look, look!” I cried wildly; “the ship’s on fire.”
We all ran to the companion together, three on one side of the saloon-table, two on the other; while I could hardly believe my eyes as I saw flooding up from beyond the main-mast great soft waves of bluish fire.
“It is the casks of spirits in the hold,” cried Mr Brymer, excitedly. “They’ve done for it at last. But come on quickly: we can pass that without getting much harm; and as soon as we have secured the scoundrels, we must try the pump and hose.”