Stunned and shaken, he clung to the stanchion while all about him were confused shouts and orders and the rushing to and fro of many feet.
Almost as if in a dream, Ned saw the dark shape that had smashed into the troopship slowly back away—pull itself out of the great gash that had been cut. Then the fog swallowed it up.
He had slid to the deck after being hurled against the stanchion, and now he pulled himself to his feet again. As he did so he saw himself surrounded by a number of officers and men who had not been standing near him when the crash came. They looked from Ned to the hole in the side of the transport, and then out into the fog.
“What was it?” some one asked.
“I—I don’t know,” confusedly murmured Ned. And then it occurred to him that he did know—that he had seen exactly what had happened. So he answered: “A steamer crashed into us. She’s out there!”
He pointed to the mist that was thicker than ever.
“What ship was it?”
“Did you see the name?”
“Why doesn’t she stand by and give assistance?”
“I didn’t notice what the name was,” he managed to answer. “She just crashed into us—right here—and then she backed out.” He pointed to the gaping hole.