"What!"
"That's right. A big orang-outang from one of the northern islands of the Malay peninsula, probably," put in Captain Akers.
"And he is dead in the flames?"
"Yes, in the flames he kindled himself," put in Joe. "You see, it was shortly before dark when we had all the kerosene transferred, but it was dim enough for us to need a light in the hold to work by. When all the stuff was out—or, rather, all that we needed of it—we came on deck for a breath of air.
"Hardly had we emerged from the hold before the great ape came leaping and bounding from forward. It clambered over the bow, so we conjectured that it must have hidden itself in the figure-head, or the bow carving, while we were searching for our mysterious annoyer. At any rate, as soon as we got a fair and full view of it, we knew it for what it was.
"It eluded us, when it saw we were in no mood to fly from it, and swung itself down into the hold. In a rage or panic, I don't know which, it seized up the lamp and smashed it. Instantly the oil-soaked wood blazed up and we lost no time in getting overboard. The last we heard of the orang was a repetition of the terrible cry that had so alarmed us on board the schooner. It evidently perished in the flames."
"Poor creature," said Nat. "I suppose it was a ship's pet and was left on board when the crew deserted their ship."
"You've no reason to feel so bad about it," put in Joe. "The animal came almost costing you your life."
"But I owed it a good turn for casting loose that boat," said Nat. "If it hadn't been for that, I would not be alive now."
"That's so," agreed Captain Akers soberly. "That fire also was a blessing in disguise, for if it had not occurred you would have had no means of finding us."