"Hogan! Mulcher! Galton! Ropes! Give us your ladder!" bawled4 Madden at the top of his authority.
"Is—is that you, Misther Madden?" chattered5 Hogan.
"Yes, yes, ropes, before we drown!"
"Was that you shootin' at us over there?"
"They were shooting at us! They hit two or three of us! Hurry!"
"And who's all that wid ye? Faith, the wather's alive wid min!"
"We're the crew of th' Vukan!" "Throw down ropes!" "Shut up and throw down ropes, ye bloody6 Irishman!" howled an angry chorus.
"Th' crew o' th' Vulcan, and thim all dead, these weeks ago! Sure if it's a lot o' ghosts——"
But others of the crew summoned enough courage to fling down aid to their old comrades, and soon the men came crawling up the dark sides of the tug and dropped limply inboard.
The utmost excitement played over the crew of the dock when they identified the former crew of the Vulcan. The air was full of excited questions and tired answers, but presently the word got out. It was "War." The news passed from mouth to mouth and grew in portentousness7. War! Nations were at war! These men had escaped from a German warship8!
It was unbelievable. It was stunning9. Presently Caradoc shouted out in the darkness for Malone, Mate Malone. The cockney answered.
"Put your firemen at the furnace! Set your engineers to work on the engines. We must have steam up and be away in an hour!"
The two crews fell into silence, and Malone ordered his men below. Some of the dock's crew hurried off with the others to cut down coal in the bunkers. Another gang fell to work; pulling in the sea anchor. But over all their various activities hovered10 the vast consternation11 of war.
Caradoc had climbed to the bridge of the Vulcan and stood staring silently at the bulk of the mother ship that was barely discernible through the night. The searchlight had been switched off. Neither ship showed a signal. From below came the muffled12 sounds of men working at the furnace, and in five or ten minutes a film of smoke trickled13 out of the Vulcan's great funnel14.
Madden climbed up on the bridge beside Caradoc.
"How long before the submarine will be out?" he asked in a low tone.
"Small boats will come first," replied Smith. "That's why they shunted off the searchlight—to surprise us."
"Will they try to board us?"
"Certainly. We'll have to defend ourselves with anything we can pick up, sticks, knives, hand spikes16—"
At that moment Malone appeared from the other end of the bridge.
"We'll have steam up in an hour," he announced, glancing up at the funnel.
"An hour?" thought Madden. "That's time enough for us all to be killed."
Caradoc said to the mate: "Go forward and tell the men to arm themselves, then take position along the rail to repel17 boarders. Tell them to look sharp for grappling hooks and throw them down."
"And what will they arm with, sir?"
"Use anything you can find, hand spikes, knives, sticks. They might throw lumps of coal. A cricket player ought to give a good account with a lump of coal."
"Very well, sir," grunted19 Malone and he hurried down on deck.
A few minutes later the men were scurrying20 around to their positions. One or two men had gone down for a sack of coal, a queer ammunition21 that might possibly effect something. On the other hand, Leonard knew the attacking force would come armed with mausers, rapid fire guns, grappling hooks, swords. A onesided fight was brewing22.
The American looked anxiously at the funnel; a ribbon of black smoke filtered out into the air.
"Madden," said Caradoc, "they will make the hardest fight around the anchor ports and amidships. Which position do you prefer to defend?"
"I believe I'll take the forecastle."
"Good, I wish you luck."
"Same to you."
As Madden moved down the ladder to the deck, he heard, above the murmur23 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. As the American approached in the gloom, two men came up, laden24 with sacks, and poured out a pile of coal on deck. Every lump was about the size of a baseball.
Hogan recognized Madden in the darkness. He was exuberant25 now that he had learned his enemies were human beings and not ghouls.
"Do ye think those Dutchmen will be able to put up a daycent foight, Misther Madden?" he inquired hopefully.
"They have plenty of arms, Hogan."
"Sure, that'll hilp 'em some. But Oi'm going to knock th' head off the spalpeen that firrust sticks his mug over that rail."
"Your chance is coming," said Madden soberly, as he listened to the increasing noise of the oars26.
"Now, men," directed the American, "lie flat down behind the rail and use your sticks and hand pikes to prize off grapnels. They will shoot your hands."
"Very well, sor," breathed several voices.
The noise of the oars grew louder until it sounded immediately beneath the defenders28. Hogan stood up suddenly, leaned over the rail with a lump of coal in each hand, and threw down viciously. There was a whack30 as one lump hit the boat, and a grunt18 as the other struck some man. In return came a terrific crash of rifles, and bullets spattered the iron plates of the Vulcan. Fortunately Hogan had flopped31 down on deck in time.
At that instant, the searchlight of the mother ship swept the Vulcan's deck with startling brilliance32. The first volley had perhaps been the signal, and the fight was on.
There came a clanging of grapnels on the rail over the crouching33 defenders. Madden flung down the one nearest him, but others came flying through the air to take its place. The prostrate34 men worked busily dislodging the flukes. The fusillade from below prevented their getting on their knees, and they were forced to lie on their backs as they worked at the hooks. It seemed some sort of queer game: the attackers flinging up scaling irons, the defenders flipping35 them down. Madden had dislodged two or three, when Mulcher cried out for help.
The enemy had succeeded in catching37 a fluke on the rail, and putting so much weight on it that the cockney could not prize it off. Immediately Hogan and another defender29 crawled to Mulcher's aid like big lizards38. They thrust in sticks and spikes and prized vigorously, while the bullets were drumming on the plates outside.
It stuck and Leonard started to their aid, when a hook in his own territory demanded his attention. Just then a head came up over the rail just above Hogan and Mulcher. The German had turned his automatic on the defenders when Hogan's shillalah caught him on the temple. He reeled backwards39, his pistol spitting into the air. He knocked down the whole line of men below him amid crashings, shoutings and splashings in the water below. The moment the weight was off, Mulcher loosed the grapnel and flung it down into the confusion.
The hail of bullets was immediately renewed, and more hooks came flying over. The iron rails rang like a boiler40 shop, and the steel missiles glanced off whining41 like enormous mosquitoes. Madden whirled his head for a glance aft.
The same sort of drama was taking place amidship, boarders were climbing over the rail and arms, sticks, and iron spikes snapped out of the inky shadows and smote42 them. The invaders43 fired blindly into the darkness that rimmed
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