Promptly Kettle reloaded his revolver and stepped out into the open.  “Now,” he said, “you seen my ju-ju? You savvy him too-big ju-ju?  You want any more of it?  No.  Then get away aft with you.  You hear?  You lib for bottom deck back there, one-time.”  He rushed at them, one slight, slim, white-clad white man against all that reeking, shining mob, and they struggled away before him in grotesque tumblings and jostlings, like a flock of sheep.

But at the break of the deck he paused and looked below him, and the fight all dropped away from his face.  No. 3 hatch lay open before him, with the covers thrown here and there.  From it was creeping up a thin blue smoke, with now and then a scarlet trail of flame.  Here was a complication.

“So you gluttonous, careless brutes have set fire to her, have you?  Here, who was in the engine room?”

Discipline was coming back.  A man in black trousers, with a clout round his neck, stepped out.

“You?  Well, slip below, and turn steam into the donkey.”

“Steam no lib, sar.  Cranes die when we try to work him just now.”

“Oh, you holy crowd of savages!  Well, if we can’t use the hose, you must hand buckets—­and sharp, too.  That fire’s gaining.  Now then, head-men, step out.”

“I second head-man, sar.”

“I head-man, sar.”

“Get buckets, tubs, tins—­anything that’ll hold water, and look sharp.  If you boys work well now, I’ll overlook a lot that’s been done.  If you don’t, I’ll give you fits.  Try and get below, some of you, and pull away what’s burning.  Probably you’ll find some of your dear relations down there, drunk on gin and smoking pipes.  You may knock them on the head if you like, and want to do a bit more murder.  They deserve it.”

But though half a dozen of the Krooboys, who were now thoroughly tamed, tried to get down the hatch, the fire was too strong for them.  Even the water when it came did little to check the burning, for though it sent up great billows of steam, the flames shot out fiercer and higher every moment.  In that sweltering climate it does not take very much inducement to make a fire settle down thoroughly to work, once it gets anything like a tolerable start.

To add to the trouble, news of the wreck had been carried to the village behind the beach where Captain Kettle had sung for his lodging over-night, and the one-eyed head-man there and his friends were coming off to share in the spoil as fast as canoes could bring them.  They, too, would have their theories as to the ownership of wrecked cargoes on the West African Coast, and as they were possessed of trade guns, they were not like to forego what they considered their just rights without further fighting.

But as it happened, a period was put to the scene on the steamer with considerable suddenness.  Sheriff, who had been making sure that there were no Krooboys lurking forward who could take them from the rear, came up and looked upon the fire with a blanched face.  “Excuse me, Skipper,” he said, and turned and bawled for the lifeboat to come alongside.