"Dat's jus' what ah ses, sah, when dey excuses me of stealin' dat ole Shanghai rooster down in Barbadoes," struck in Rosewater, who happened to be close by, "ah ses, 'Ah is white as de dribben snow, yo' wushup.' I nebber done go fo' ter steal no chickens nohow. Ah was jes'— Fo' de lub ob Moses, wha' am dat!"
The Sea Ranger, for the second time on that trip, struck something, with a harsh, grating sound.
Rosewater was thrown flat on his back and rolled off the bridge, bumping down the steps like a sack of potatoes. The others only saved themselves by clutching at the rail with might and main.
"We've struck something!" shouted the professor.
"Back her!" yelled Jeff, madly spinning his wheel over. Tom had darted below at the instant of the crash, and set the reverse levers. Already the Sea Ranger began to swing backward. But her movements were slow, almost like those of a crippled animal.
"Hey, there!" hailed a fresh, youthful voice out of the darkness ahead, "what have we hit?"
"Well, what do you think you've hit?" bellowed Jeff indignantly, "an ice-cream parlor?"
CHAPTER XII.
MR. IRONSIDES' SUBMARINE—HURON.
"Who are you, anyhow?" shouted the professor, peering forward into the darkness that lay about them. There was no light ahead or in any other direction to indicate the location of the craft that had hit them.