Barry caught up the lifebelt and followed.
"Your lifebelt, doc," he said, as they passed up the companion way.
"Oh, I'm a peach of a soldier," said the doctor, struggling into his
lifebelt, and swearing deeply the while.
"Stop swearing, doc! It's a waste of energy."
"Oh, go to hell!"
"No, I prefer Heaven, if I must leave this ship, but for the present, I
believe I'm needed here, and so are you, doc. Look there!"
The doctor glanced out upon the deck.
"By Jove! You're right, old man, we are needed and badly. I say, old
chap," he said, pausing for a moment to turn to Barry, "you are a dear
old thing, aren't you?"
The deck was a mass of soldiers struggling, swearing, fighting their way
to their various stations. Officers, half dressed and half awake, were
rushing hither and thither, seeking their units, swearing at the men
and shouting meaningless orders. Over all the stentorian voice of the
sergeant major was vainly trying to make itself understood.
In the confusion the cry was raised: "We're torpedoed! We're going
down!"
There was a great rush for the nearest boats.
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