[Illustration: Realising he was discovered, the miscreant bounded over the remaining distance between him and the powder hold, and raised the lighted fuse.]
FOR fully thirty seconds the policeman and the lads remained rooted to the spot, gazing with horror-stricken faces at the gaping hatchway. The momentary expectation of the explosion—the swift upward blaze of fiery light; the awful concussion, the disintegration of the hulk, was pictured under fearfully realistic conditions. A swift death, yet terrible to contemplate.
Even as they waited they saw the fuse, fanned into flame by its flight, had ignited a part of the hold, and a dull glare was playing upon the sides of the coamings. Yet the explosion had not taken place.
Smith was the first to find his voice.
"Perhaps the fire has fallen clear of the cordite," he gasped. "Man the pump; it's our one chance."
The hose of this relic of years past was fortunately already connected, and the two lads frantically turned the heavy crank while the policeman directed the muzzle. Meanwhile Adams had remembered the extincteurs; but in his excitement he threw them down the hold without attempting to unscrew the patent heads, and this means of fighting the flames was absolutely wasted.
But a few revolutions of the pump resulted in a steady flow of water. The flames turned to smoke, and in a few minutes the danger was passed.
But now the tardy assistance was at hand. Steam-launches and pinnaces from the ships in harbour tore pell-mell towards the signals of distress. Bluejackets, scorning the risk they ran, swarmed up the decks of the Bikanir. Additional hoses were brought into action, and in less than a quarter of an hour the hold was flooded.
Daylight was now breaking. Jack, pale-faced and breathless, pointed to where the Spray was now plainly visible, riding to the flood-tide.
"Let's scoot," said he. "I've had enough of this to last me a lifetime."