The horror of the situation gripped the plucky girl. Throughout the period between the explosion and the foundering of the _West Barbican_ she had been perfectly self-possessed, her chief solicitude being for her tyrannical employer. Now the full magnitude of the disaster became apparent. She and the unconscious Mrs. Shallop were alone in the boat with three apparently incapable lascars. Preston was, presumably, dead; Mostyn she had seen standing on the bridge just before the ship sank, keeping up the traditions of the Wireless Service to remain at his post as long as the ship was afloat and the transmitting apparatus was capable of being worked. The other boats were neither to be seen nor heard. Whether they were still standing by or whether they were making for the nearest land the girl knew not. She would have welcomed another lightning flash, out none came. The electrical storm had passed. Rain was now falling heavily, and the total absence of wind was ominous. It presaged a hard blow, possibly a storm, at no distant date. Olive was thinking deeply. It was "up to her" to show the lascars that a British woman is not helpless in a tight corner. "If only it were light," she thought. Then she remembered that the boats usually carried an emergency equipment, an oil lamp amongst other things. "Mahmed," she ordered, "get the boat's lamp from the stern-locker and light it." She would have found it herself, but for the fact that Preston's body lay on the stern-gratings. She frankly admitted to herself that nothing could induce her to grope her way past that in the darkness. The two lascars were still baling in the bows. They too were reluctant to go aft, where, by removing the stern-sheet gratings, they could deal more effectually with the water in the bilges. Mahmed obeyed without protest. Olive could hear the search in progress; first the clatter of the detached locker-cover, as it slipped upon the stern-sheets, then the rasping of a metal-bound keg, and the metallic clank of the lamp. "No can do, memsahib," reported Mahmed. "No light, no match." "Look again," commanded the girl. Unless some unprincipled person had purloined them, there ought to be matches in a watertight box along with the rest of the gear in the after locker. A further search proved futile. The boats and their gear had been inspected by the officer of the watch only that morning, and had been reported as being in good condition and fully equipped in every respect. Either Anstey, as inspecting officer, had shirked his whole duty or else, which to Olive seemed unlikely, the matches had been stolen in broad daylight. "See if there are matches in Preston Sahib's pocket," said the girl. But Mahmed drew the line at that. In his quaint English he explained, giving several reasons that seemed puerile.