Mr. Spokesly was genuinely alarmed at this news. He left them precipitately and ran down the cabin stairs to find out if the ship was making water.
There was no need. The Kalkis, on rebounding from the terrific impact on her forecastle, had heeled over to starboard, the side of the ship had been buckled and crushed along the line of the deck, and the concussion had knocked the lamp out of its gimbals and it was rolling on the floor. He picked it up and relit it. He hurried out again to find the engineer. His training was urging him to get the wells sounded. Moreover, the filling of the forepeak through the smashed chain-locker had put the ship down by the head a little. She might be all right, but on the other hand....
He found the engineer calmly hauling the line out of the forward sounding pipes.
"Is she making anything, Chief?" he asked anxiously.
"Just show a light please, Mister Mate. I got a flashlight here but it's gone out on me. Why, four inches. Nothing much here. We'll try the other side, eh?"
They scrambled over the hatch and hastily wiped the rod dry before lowering it into the pipe.
"Hm!" The engineer grunted as he brought the rod into view again. "Three feet! I reckon she's makin' some water here through that bulkhead, Mister Mate. What say if I try the pumps on her, eh?"
"You do that, will you? I was afraid o' that, Chief. You know the bosun's gone?"
"Is that so? Gee! That's a big smash! The bosun? Tk—tk! I'll get the pump on her."
"Now!" said Mr. Spokesly to himself, "I'm going to see the Old Man." And he sprang up the ladders once more.