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A vague blur of complementary color swam in Madden's eyes. A gasp went up from the watchers. "Bhoys," faltered Hogan in an awed tone, "th' banshees ar-re dancin' to-night!" "Banshees!" sneered Mulcher. "Th' deck's caved in it'll break out again!" "Th' engines must be ruint complately." "Wot do ye make of it, Mister Madden?" asked Galton, bewildered. "Look there it is again!"
Me and Mulcher 'ave decided as 'ow we're goin' to kill that sea sorpint, if it comes a-bitin' into our tug, sor." Madden looked at his willing helper curiously. "Kill it how are you going to kill it?" "Dead, sor, yes, kill it dead, sor."
"I don't b'lieve 'e can walk a plank," surmised a cockney gravely. "'E's too drunk; 'e'd fall hoff." "Where's Farnol Greer, Mulcher?" snapped Madden disgustedly. "Is he drunk, too?" "D-drunk you don't think we're drunk, sor?" "We 'ave been drinkin' a little, sor, but we're not drunk." "Oi am," nodded Hogan, resting his chin on Galton's shoulder as if from deep affection.
As Madden moved down the ladder to the deck, he heard, above the murmur of the busy men, the strong measured beat of a ship's cutter approaching the tug with deliberate swiftness. There were some good men stationed to defend the forecastle, Hogan, Mulcher, Greer and two or three of the Vulcan's former crew whom Madden did not know.
We're going to run the tug and dock out of this sea, crew or no crew ease away on that rope, Mulcher. Let go! Now climb down, Galton, loose the tackle and swing her in alongside the ladder." When the cockneys obeyed, Madden ordered the whole crew into the small boat. They climbed down the ladder one by one with a reluctance Madden did not quite understand at the time.
Mulcher had a way of breathing aloud through his coarse lips that chafed Hogan's temper. For hours at a time the Irishman would stare at those flabby spewing lips, filled with a desire to maul them. Yet before this isolation, he had never observed that Mulcher breathed aloud. The only occupation the men had now was to stare at, listen to and criticise each other.
"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'."
"Land on 'is nose there, Smith!" shouted Mulcher. "Don't let 'im to ye! Play away, play away, me boy! Now huppercut 'im! Huppercut 'im, I say!" On the other side, Galton was shrieking hoarsely, "Bore in, Greer! Bore in, me lad!" and Hogan, "G'wan and mash the spalpeen's ribs! Br-reak his long nick! Cr-rush him! Why don't ye hit him on th' head and lay him out?" "Time's up!" announced Madden.
"Wot would they want to be settin' in th' sun for?" demanded Galton brusquely. "'Ow do I know? If they was Eth'opians, wouldn't they set in th' sun?" "This is as clost as we'll ever git," surmised another voice. "The night breeze'll blow 'er back where she come from." "Well, w'ere's that?" demanded Mulcher savagely.
That day, when Madden had ordered Heck Mulcher to paint in a certain place, the navvy had grumbled out a "That's all very well for you, sir," and the rest was lost in a mutter. The uncertain discipline of his men made Madden hesitate to cut the rations more decidedly. He felt that his command was questioned by the sailors.
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