ow, and it'll be going off directly.
Gunpowder, you savvy, shoot-powder, go _fizz--boosh--bang_!"

There was a sharp clatter of understanding and explanation, but no
movement. The African is not great at making deductions. Captain Kettle
had to give a definite order. "Now, overboard with you, all hands, and
lib for beach. No time for lower boats. You all fit for swim."

They took the hint, and began leaping the bulwark rail like a swarm of
black frogs. "Good-by, boys," he said, in valediction. "You'll find it
cheaper to be good and virtuous next time. You haven't stay enough in
you for a real good fight." And then he went to where the davits dangled
over the water, and slid down to the boat, while the frightened crew
cursed him aloud for keeping them waiting.

Not much was said as they rowed away. The all-nation rowers were openly
terrified; the Mate had all his attention used up in steering to a hair;
and Sheriff sat with his shoulders humped beside his ears in the
position of a man who expects a blow. Captain Kettle held his peace. He
knew that mere words could not urge the sweating crew to heavier effort,
and he puffed at his treasured cigar as any smoker would who had been
divorced from tobacco for so many a month, and does not know when he
will meet with his next indulgence.

And in due time the powder was fired, and the steamer was turned into a
vast volcano of steam and smoke and flame, which vomited iron and human
limbs, and which sent forth an air blast which drove the boat before it
like the hurricane of a tornado. And then the _debris_ from the sky
foamed down into the water, and then there was a long, long silence.
Save for some inconsiderable flotsam, the steamer and all that was in
her had vanished eternally. The canoes from the village were paddling
for the beach again. They were alone on a lonely sea. No man seemed to
have a thought he wished to share.

The Mate was the first to speak. He patted a bundle whose outer housing
was a pillow-case, which lay on the thwart beside him. "Well," he said,
"it's been a close thing. I darn nearly lost those new clothes of mine."

"It might have been worse," said Sheriff; "we might well all have been
killed. But as it is," he added with a sigh, "we've merely got to start
fresh from the bottom again. Anyway, Kettle, I'm obliged to you for what
you have done."

The little sailor frowned. "It's kind of you, sir, to say that. But I
hate being beaten. And it's no ex