"Better keep our strength for the oars." "Take up that bucket, sir," roared the captain furiously, "or--" He did not finish his sentence but took a couple of strides forward, and the man resumed his work.
"I give orders here," said the captain in a loud deep voice.

"Now, Mr Gregory, what is it ?" "Matches.

A chest or two must have been sent by some scoundrel described as something else, and the pressure or crushing in of the case has ignited them." "That does not help us, sir," said the captain bitterly.

"I want to know where they are." "Matches--did you say matches ?" cried a highly-pitched voice; and Jimpny dropped his bucket and started forward.
"Back to your work!" cried one of the men, but the captain stopped him.
"Yes, matches, my man," he said, for there was a faint hope that Jimpny might know something.
"There were chests of 'em down below where I lay," said Jimpny eagerly.
"I could smell 'em strong all the time." "Smell them ?" cried Mr Gregory.
"Yes, sir, onion phosphory smell, you know." "Hurrah!" cried the first-mate excitedly.

"Axes, my lad, and lanterns.
We know now." Three men started forward, but the captain caught the axe from one and a lantern from another, and was about to follow the first-mate when an uneasy movement among the crew arrested him, and he handed the axe and light to Mr Morgan.
"You go down," he said.