A gaping hole in the ship's side admitted sufficient light to enable him to discern his comrade backing from one of the cabins. Shrap was preceding him, while Vernon was dragging something limp and heavy. It was the body of the luckless A. P.
Without a word, for the atmosphere was hot and choky, Ross bore a hand. Stumbling and slipping, the two lads bore their burden to the companion, and by dint of much exertion carried Jolly on deck.
"Is he dead?" asked Ross, after he had refilled his lungs with less smoke-laden air.
"I don't think so," said Vernon. "It was good old Shrap that found him."
The A. P. was below when the salvo from the German cruiser struck the ship. He had gone to the cabin temporarily allotted to him to obtain some small but cherished belonging. A fragment from one of the shells had inflicted a nasty scalp wound, stretching him senseless upon the floor.
Had it not been for the sheep-dog, whose sagacity made him recognize that Jolly was a friend of his master's, the A. P. would have ended his career in the burning hull of the Hunbilker.
"Hurry up!" exclaimed Ross. "Let's get him aboard the destroyer."
Between them they carried the insensible officer across the quarter-deck, but as they reached the side abreast the wreckage of the superstructure they came to an abrupt halt.
The destroyer had sheered off and was out of sight.
"Now what's to be done?" asked Vernon, aghast at the latest turn of fortune.