"We're 'eaded for the 'ole in th' sea!" muttered Mulcher.

"We'll go down tug an' hall," mumbled Galton unsteadily. "Fish bait, that's w'ot we are!"

"I've heard sea serpents can sting a man and numb him so he won't live or die," shivered Hogan, "like a spider stings a fly."

They spoke in half whispers under the influence of the unknown terror.

"If anything happens, I shall keel myself," declared Deschaillon, with nervous intensity, "but I shall see it first."

"That's w'ot went with the other two crews--killed theirselves,"

chattered Mulcher.

Another silence fell. The cool breeze came as a sort of mockery of their unknown peril. For the first time since the storm every man was thoroughly comfortable physically.

"Boys," planned Hogan, "whin th' thing comes aboard, we'll put up th'

best foight we can!"

"It don't come aboard--it bites a 'ole in th' 'ull."

"Aye, like th' _Minnie B_."

Just then a figure approached the men unsteadily, and Madden saw that Caradoc had recovered consciousness and was able to walk. As the tall, gaunt figure approached, the crew eyed him as if he were some new danger, then he asked.

"What is this? Are we moving?"

"Yes we're off," replied Madden.

"Under our own power?" he inquired, turning around and staring at the smokeless funnel.

"No, we're being towed."

"Towed! Towed!" exclaimed Smith in a weak voice. "What's towing us?"

"We don't know, sor," replied a cockney.

There was a silence in which Caradoc stood tall and cadaverous as a ghost. "Am I dreaming this, Madden?" he muttered finally. "Did you say we were being _towed_?"

"That's right."

"What's towing us--not--not the dry dock--don't say the dry dock's towing us!"

"We don't know, sor," repeated the cockney.

"Where are we going?"

"To be killed, sor."

Caradoc moved slowly over to the rail and sat against it near Madden.

"A cool breeze," he murmured gratefully.

The American was lost amid the wildest speculations as to the mysterious agent that had the _Vulcan_ in tow. He was trying to think logically, but found it hard in that atmosphere of terror. The utter weirdness of the whole affair defied analysis. The towing of the _Vulcan_ by an unknown power was the very climax of the fantastic.

No hypothesis he could form even remotely approached an explanation.

It could not be some sea monster surging steadily at the tow line of the _Vulcan_. That theory was untenable. A monster might attack; it would never tow.

But any other, attempt to account for the strange predicament fell equally as flat. What human agency would operate so mysteriously in this hot, stagnant sea? Why should any group of men entrap the helpless crew of the _Vulcan_ with such a display of mystery and power? It was useless. It was ridiculous. It was shooting a mosquito with a field gun.

All his thoughts ended in utter absurdity. He felt that he had run up against some vast power. The schooner _Minnie B_, the tug _Vulcan_, were but trifling units in the enigma of this deserted, weed-clogged sea. It must be some power whose operations were ocean-wide.

Why such a spot should be chosen?--Why a power that sank one ship out of hand and towed another mile after mile?--Why it operated only at night?--What lay at the heart of this brooding fabric of terror--he could not form the slightest conception. Outlawry, piracy, smugglery, were all goals too small for such operations.

His thoughts seemed to be physical things trying to clamber up the smooth polished side of an enormous steel plate. They made not the slightest progress. The more he thought, the more unaccountable all phases of the question became.

In absolute perplexity, he turned to the Englishman at his side. He could just make out the blur of Caradoc's face.

"Have you a theory about this, Smith?" he asked in a low voice.

The Englishman nodded in silence.

"What is it?"

"I--I got my head hurt awhile ago. I believe I'm delirious--dreaming."

Leonard thought this over without any feeling of amusement. "That doesn't explain why I see it too," he objected gravely. "Nothing wrong with my head--that I know of." He tried the time honored experiment of pinching himself.

"I shall assume that I am awake," he decided after he had felt his pinch. "I may not be, but I'm going to act as if I were."

Madden had an impression that Caradoc was smiling in the darkness. Just then Gaskin began laughing shrilly in a queer metallic voice.

"Quit that!" snapped half a dozen thick voices at once, as if his laughter had violently shocked their tense nerves.

Gaskin pointed a stumpy arm off the starboard bow, "Look! Look!" he gasped. "It's that rotten whiskey! Whiskey done it! Whiskey made me see that! Look w'ot whiskey done!"

Leonard had no idea that anything could be added to the nightmarish quality of the adventure, but there off the starboard arose a great bulk, blotting out the stars. It was not a ship; it was not a barge; there was not a light on it, but it seemed somehow dimly illuminated. It was as shapeless as death.

"The Flyin' Dutchman!" shuddered Galton.

"It burns a blue light!" corrected Hogan with chattering teeth.

"Th' ship o' the dead!" shivered Mulcher.

A sudden explanation flashed into Madden's head. "You fools are afraid of our own dry dock," he whispered briefly. "We've traveled in a circle and reached the dock again."

"Oh, no, sor, it ain't that! Tain't th' dry-dock, sor!" aspirated several fear-struck voices.

The crew held their breaths as if the apparition might vanish as suddenly as it appeared.

By this time the moon lay flat on the sea, throwing a faint shining streak across the dark Sargasso. This vague light was enough to show Madden, when he took a close look, that it was not the dock.