The thick wooden walls were glowing with the heat, and he could see the people shrink back when they got too near them.

The wind was blowing so strongly, that it beat down the smoke and shrouded the engines and spectators from his view, but upon the roof of the storehouse he could see Uncle Richard, in company with some other forms, working away with the wet sail.

The storehouse was only a few yards distant from the pitch-house, and was thus so close under the stern of the ship that she was as good as lost, if the fire once happened to catch the former building.
The Consul could see that they had got the sail drawn over the roof; but at that instant the tiled roof of the pitch-house fell in, and the flames suddenly shot high into the air, and were borne by the wind right down on to the storehouse.

The _attache_, and those that were with him, had to get down from the roof on the other side as best they might.
A step was heard running up the stairs and through the passage.
"Father! father!" It was Morten, who dashed in breathless and dripping.
"Father, we must have some powder; the storehouse must be blown up!" "Nonsense!" answered the Consul, drily.

"Why, it is right under the very stern of the ship." "Well, I don't know," answered Morten, "but something must be done.