them other members of the searching party, who stuck their heads out of ports and doors now and then to see that no evil magic had set the rigging in flames.
“They all go th' same way,” mumbled Hogan, staring at the anchor and wetting his dry lips. “Oi'm thinkin' it'll be our toime nixt.”
“Piffle,” derided the American half-heartedly.
“It makes no difference what happens,” put in Caradoc, “we'll see the thing through.”
For some reason the men thought better of Smith since the fight and his crisp announcement cheered them somewhat.
“She's got plenty o' coal,” volunteered Galton.
“'Er engines look all right,” contributed Mulcher, “though I know bloomin' little about hengines.”
“I weesh I knew what happened to the men,” worried Deschaillon in his filed-down accent.
“My quistion ixactly, Frinchy,” nodded Hogan emphatically. “Misther Madden says 'Piffle,' but Oi say where are they piffled to? Did they go over in a storm, or die of fever, or run crazy with heat?”
“They didn't starve,” declared Mulcher, “for
