“Give me elbow-room, all of you.”
There was the sound of men shrinking back.
“Now then,” said Dickenson, “here goes! I hope the head won’t come off this time.”
Fuzz! and directly after fuzz! but no light followed the rubbing of the match.
“Why, it has got no head,” cried the striker in dismay, and at this announcement the men uttered a groan. “All right,” cried Dickenson cheerily. “I was rubbing its tail instead of the head.”
Cr-r-r-r-r-r-ch! went the match; there was a burst of flame, followed at a trifling interval by the steady glow of the tiny taper, and the young officer’s fingers were lit up and seen to bear the flame to the lantern lamp, which caught at once and blazed up, when the door was shut with a click, and the men exhaled their pent-up breath in a hearty cheer.
“Well done!” said Captain Roby. “Here, I’ll lead now; or would you like to continue what you began, Mr Lennox?”
The latter looked at him, and seemed to hesitate.
“Oh, very well,” said Roby rather contemptuously. “I’ll lead myself.”
“No, no; you misunderstood me,” cried Lennox as Dickenson turned upon him wonderingly. “I want to go on.”