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"I weesh I knew what happened to the men," worried Deschaillon in his filed-down accent. "My quistion ixactly, Frinchy," nodded Hogan emphatically. "Misther Madden says 'Piffle, but Oi say where are they piffled to? Did they go over in a storm, or die of fever, or run crazy with heat?" "They didn't starve," declared Mulcher, "for some of th' fellows are in th' cook's galley now eatin'."
The Gaul was about to withdraw when Madden called out. "What is it, Deschaillon?" "I just came by to say your frien' ees in trouble. Zay play cards in zee salon. Smeeth he win beaucoup. Zay quarrel, perhaps zay fight. He ees your frien', and "
Now and then from the storm-swept wave tops Madden could catch the glimmer of the Vulcan's light. This slipped farther and farther into the void, heaving night, then he saw it no more. A sense of vast desolation swept over the American, and he was still staring into the black pandemonium ahead when Deschaillon, Hogan and a third man came struggling toward him.
"Good thing both of you came," shouted Madden, turning the tiller over to the men. "It's as stiff as cold molasses how are the sick ones?" The boy saw Deschaillon grin and twirl his pointed mustache in the faint illumination. "Zay are very numerous," he laughed. But the Gaul had no sooner swung his weight against the wheel than his grimace vanished. "Parbleu! Here, Greer, pull zis wheel with me!"
"You fools have followed a man half mad with a sunstroke! He has blown his nerves all to pieces with a rum bottle, and you bunch of mush-heads have mutinied to give him more rum so he could finish the job!" The leaderless insurgents stared at Caradoc's still form, then began filing out of the cabin. "Deschaillon, get that medicine chest out of my bag!"
"You Americans very keen," panted Caradoc in the midst of his rackings. "Think you're d-deuced smart it's in my bag's lining there was some alcohol in it, so I took it let it go don't do anything for me." Deschaillon entered with a bucket of seawater. They stretched the sick man on the floor, and a moment later, the Englishman shuddered under the deluge.
"This fish reminds me uv a fun'ril," he observed, "an' yonder lad looks to be chief mourner," he nodded toward Farnol Greer. "He ees not mourning over the feesh," declared Deschaillon gayly. "He ees struck on heemself, and found his affection ees misplaced." Madden laughed. The spirits of the Celt and the Gaul seemed to improve as their fare grew worse.
"Thot's all r-right, Misther Madden. We ar-re wid ye. I am always for law and ordher, Misther Madden, aven whin I am most disordherly," "That ees true, he ees," nodded Deschaillon. "And I always fight on th' wakest side no matther whether it's roight or wrong." "Hogan ees a chevalier, no matter eef he does have to paint," corroborated the Frenchman. "Are all the other boys in with Smith?"
"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.
As the sailor gasped out "horrible" they entered the cook's galley where a dim light burned and a group of silent, sobering men stood in a knot over some object. Madden shoved through to where two men stooped over a long body, dimly seen on the decking. The two men were Hogan and Deschaillon. With his strange feeling still strong upon him, Madden knelt between the two.
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