The mate, meanwhile, had been superintending the removal of the wounded and the washing down of the decks. Three men had been killed, not including two firemen scalded to death in the stokehold, and the wounded numbered eleven. The latter were made as comfortable as possible in the hold and the former were carried into the wheel-house pending burial.
Gradually the commerce-destroyer became smaller and smaller, until, by evening, all that was visible of her was a feathery smoke-trail on the horizon.
Soon after eight bells that night, McPhulach succeeded in performing a miracle—the Hawk's engines began to move.
CHAPTER XII
A DESPERATE VENTURE
Slowly, like a convalescent taking his first walk and as yet doubtful of his strength, the Hawk began to push the seas aside and move ahead. The engines, instead of working with rhythmic regularity, were banging and thumping in jerky spasms—still, they were working—the bridge shook with their ponderous vibrations, while the wire funnel stays tautened and slacked as the smokestack quivered.
The first duty accomplished after the clearing up of the decks was the disposal of the dead, which were placed in canvas bags weighted with firebars to ensure their sinking. There were no prayers, services, or ceremonies of any kind; they were simply dropped over the side....
In the hold Calamity and the mate were at work with their coats off and shirt-sleeves rolled up. Some of the hatch-covers had been removed to secure better ventilation and a couple of lanterns suspended from the girders flickered feebly in the semi-twilight. Against the bulkheads were two rows of mattresses arranged so as to leave a passage between them, and on some of these lay wounded men, each with a coarse, black blanket thrown over him. The Captain, assisted by Mr. Dykes, was attending to the more serious cases in a manner which caused the mate considerable secret astonishment. He had expected to see the skipper perform the duties of surgeon in a rough and ready if not a brutal way, and had felt a strong sympathy for his prospective victims. Instead, Calamity handled the men with almost professional skill, performing even serious operations with deft, quick fingers, and without either nervousness or hesitation. A smile, a cheery word of encouragement, a full-flavoured joke worked wonders, and a man, even in excruciating pain, would grin feebly at some broad jest uttered by the Captain.
Dora Fletcher, who had thought better of her first hasty decision, was dressing some of the minor wounds. To her, Calamity's new rôle came as a startling revelation of a hitherto unsuspected phase of his character. She, who had seen him commit acts of unquestionable brutality, now watched him pass from bed to bed with an air of quiet assurance that inspired even the worst cases with new confidence and hope. Men flinched apprehensively as he approached to examine their injuries, but his touch, though firm, was as gentle as a woman's, and their fears were quickly set at rest.