She had not a sail aloft
nor a plume of smoke in her funnel. For the moment this lifelessness was
not observed by the hungry castaways. A joyous medley arose from the
dock.
"Th' _Vulcan_! Hit's th' _Vulcan_! Th' good _Vulcan_!
We'll 'ave full rations t'night, 'at will! Hurrah!"
They fell to cheering. Voices arose in confusion.
"_Vulcan_ ahoy! _Vulcan_ ah-o-oy!" they bellowed in an effort
to span the miles with human ices.
"Say, lads, she ain't movin'!" cried someone making the surprising
discovery.
"Faith and phwat's th' matter with _her_ now?" exclaimed Hogan in
exasperated wonder.
A silence fell over the boisterous group.
"Out o' coal," hazarded Galton, "that's w'y she harsn't got back no
sooner."
"W'ere's 'er sails, then?"
"A tug couldn't do nothin' with sails--she isn't made for sails!"
"It ain't w'ot ye're made for, hit's w'ot ye can git in this blarsted
sea!"
"Maybe 'er machin'ry's broke?"
"Maybe they're hall sick?"
"Or dead?"
"Maybe----"
Madden hurried to his cabin and returned with binoculars. The men
foregathered curiously about him as he scanned the vessel. He ran his
eyes over the tub from stem to poop. She stood out with absolute
distinctness in the glaring light. He could see her high prow, the
swinging buffers along her side, the wide-mouthed ventilators.
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