Lewis found the rockets easily enough; he also found a ginger-beer bottle full of matches; but of what use would matches be in that torrent of blown spray?
The cabin was worse awash than ever, and there was no possibility of making a fire.

Ferrier felt in his inside breast pocket.

Ah! the tin box of fusees was there--all dry and sound inside.

He beckoned Larmor, and signed to him expressively; then he crouched under the hatch and pressed the flaming ball to the root of the rocket.

One swing, and the rushing messenger was through the curtain of drift, and away in the upper air.