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CHAPTER XII
THE RETURN OF THE VULCAN
Etched against the horizon lay a stumpy masted vessel that seemed as still and dead as the ocean that rotted around it. She had not a sail aloft nor a plume of smoke in her funnel. For the moment this lifelessness was not observed by the hungry castaways. A joyous medley arose from the dock.
“Th' Vulcan! Hit's th' Vulcan! Th' good old Vulcan! We'll 'ave full rations t'night, 'at we will! Hurrah!”
They fell to cheering. Voices arose in confusion.
“Vulcan ahoy! Vulcan ah-o-oy!” they bellowed in an effort to span the miles with human voices.
“Say, lads, she ain't movin'!” cried someone making the surprising discovery.
“Faith and phwat's th' matter with her
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