“And do you think, my dear child,” cried Mr Brymer, “that we big strong men are going to lie down to sleep, and let you watch for us?”
“Why not?” she said quietly. “You have all risked your lives to save us. It is the least we can do.”
“Yes,” came in Mr Denning’s sharp voice; “we shall keep this watch together, I am strong enough for that. Nothing shall approach the ship, Mr Brymer, without your having warning.”
“He is quite right, Brymer,” said a fresh debater in a faint voice, as no less a person than the captain joined in the discussion. “You are all worn-out. We sick folk have sharp ears, and will keep them well opened.”
“I—I really hardly know what to say,” said Mr Brymer.
I did, for I suddenly started from the spot where I stood, after sniffing suspiciously two or three times, shouting—“Fire!—fire!” For the enemy had evidently been at work insidiously, and had burst its water-chains, and leaped up to attack us again.
We all made a rush for the pump and hose, for the smell of burning was stronger as we reached the steaming hold, I being first. But I felt puzzled, for the steam was dense as ever, and I could only smell the dank, unpleasant, hydrogenous odour of decomposed water, while the smell which had reached the companion-way had been the fresh, sharp, pungent scent of burning wood. The next moment, though, I saw where the danger was, and shouted—
“The galley—the galley!”
We all ran round to the door, for smoke was issuing from the wooden building freely, and a dull light shone out on to the darkness. Then I burst out in astonishment—
“What, Dumlow! You here?”