"Just Heaven! Did that bulkhead go?"
A form tore down the passageway, splashed through the water at the foot of the companion, and was upon me in an instant. Raoul struck me fairly between the eyes, and I went down to sleep—that was all I remember of the inside of the Prince Gregory, as she lay foundering off the Shoals.
When I came to, I was in the boat, with Driscoll bending over me and pouring sea water upon my head. The dark stain showed me that I was bleeding fast, and the sailor tore off the sleeve of his jumper, and tied it about my forehead. I tried to sit up, but everything swam and rolled about me horribly. Finally I managed to get my head up.
"What's happened?" I asked.
"Bulkhead gave way, sir," he told me. "You was hit on the head by wreckage. I run in after you, an' jest managed to git you clear. She's gone, sir!"
"What! The ship?" I cried.
"Sure, sir."
"And the old man—Jenkins, and the rest of them?"
"All got clear just in time—seems like Jenkins and his gang were at the bulkhead from forrards, trying to shore it up, when bing! she went, and them as was left beat it—all got clear, sir."
"See anything of a passenger—that chap we had a run-in with at the first getaway?" I asked.