Down he wint, loike he's hit wid an
axe, wid his skull broke in siv'ral pieces no doubt. Mad as a hatter,
sir, fr-rom th' hate. Though it's sich an onrasonable tale, sir, I won't
raysint it if ye call me a liar to me teeth."
Madden had found the Englishman's heart still beating. He pressed his
fingers in the long bloody wound on his head and the skull appeared
sound enough under the long gash.
"Get him out on deck," he ordered sharply, in an effort to keep his
voice from choking in his throat.
"Out on deck! He's not dead! Get him in fresh air!"
Hogan, Deschaillon, and two navvies caught him by the legs and arms.
Madden lifted the bleeding head from which the blood still ran in a
steady trickle. The crowd gave back and the five men with their grewsome
burden passed through the galley's door into the dark passage.
Just then a sudden vibration went through the whole ship, as if the
_Vulcan_ had been struck by some enormous force. The men carrying
Smith staggered. There burst out a blare of confusion, amazed cries,
shouts of terror. There was a stampede in the narrow passage. Flying men
bumped into the bearers of the sick man. They were shrieking, "We're
struck! We're foundering! Th' sea sorpint's got us!"
"Launch the small boat and stand by till we get there!" bellowed Madden.
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