Dutch shook the old diver roughly, and he started up muttering, while, as the former turned up the lamp, he started with surprise.
“Where is—”
The words had not left his lips when there was a tremendous concussion, a deafening roar, and the two men were thrown down, to struggle up again, with the air of the little cabin filled with a strange choking vapour, which nearly suffocated them before they had staggered up the steps to sink helplessly on the deck, now covered with burning fragments which kept showering down.
As Dutch fell, stunned and confused, on the fore part of the deck it seemed to him that he heard wild shrieks and cries for help from the direction of the stern cabins, but he was too helpless to comprehend what had taken place till he heard Oakum speaking to him and shaking his arm.
“Are you killed, Mr Dutch?” said the old fellow. “Oh, do say you ain’t.”
“I don’t think I’m hurt, Sam,” faltered Dutch, as he struggled to his feet. “I feel stunned, though,” and he clung to the old sailor to keep from falling backwards.
“Here’s poor old Rasp killed,” exclaimed Oakum, “and the ship sinking. Quick, to the boat.”
“You’re an obstinate old liar,” exclaimed Rasp, staggering to his feet. “I ain’t killed. Who’s been a-doing of this?”
“Here, quick, Oakum,” exclaimed Dutch, who, now that he could think, had his first thoughts for his wife and friends, “the ship must be going down. Help me to reach those astern.”
“There’s no getting to them, if they’re alive,” exclaimed Oakum; “the whole of the schooner’s blown out amidships.”