This they did, only to find that four of the crew were dead. The remaining two were insensible, but showed signs that life was not yet extinct, although both were far gone through exposure.
Partly dressed, Biggs ascended the cliff path, and hastened back to Rockport for assistance, while Derek and Kaye, having tumbled into their clothes, proceeded to do their best to restore the two unconscious men to life.
"Look!" exclaimed Kaye, as they cut away a saturated jersey from the elder of the two men. "Dirty work here, by Jove!"
For in the bluish flesh of the sailor's shoulder were three small punctures—unmistakable indication of machine-gun fire. The other man had likewise been hit, a bullet having completely passed through his neck, and two more just above the knee.
Deftly the two cadets set about their task of restoring animation. Regardless of time, they worked in the rapidly-fading light, without any indication that their work was showing any signs of success.
In about an hour Biggs returned, accompanied by a doctor, a couple of policemen, a dozen sturdy fishermen, and a section of the Rockport ambulance workers. By the aid of ropes, the still unconscious men were hauled to the top of the cliffs and carried off on stretchers. With the help of plenty of strong and willing hands, the waterlogged whaler, with its ghastly contents, was dragged above high-water mark—a tell-tale record of the infamous activities of the modern Hun.
"There's nothing more for us to do," remarked Kaye, as the sad procession wended its way to the town.
"Isn't there?" rejoined Derek. "I think we'll sprint back to Rockport and catch the lorry."
"Sure," agreed the still benumbed Biggs. "That's the stunt."