"We don't splash. You go oop; I go down under der water. Dot's all."
I forged alongside of him and gingerly climbed his immense shoulders, using a grip on his hair for haulage. Then I reached overhead again, and this time got my hands upon a stay of the bowsprit which ran from midway of the spar to a turnbuckle on the bow.
"Steady," I whispered. "I'm going to jump."
"Ja!"
I threw my legs upward and twined them around the stay, hanging like a monkey from it, and Peter went under with a gurgling ripple which might have been made by a fish. Presently he came to the surface and swam beneath me.
"Can you climb, Bob?"
"I think so."
"Goodt! I waidt."
The stay was fortunately dry—had it been slippery-wet I could never have swarmed it—and I was able, after much effort, to secure a grip on the bowsprit and lift myself astraddle of it. From here ordinarily the deck should have been visible, but in that intense darkness I could see no more than a vague loom of spars and a blur of light in the waist. The hum of voices was more audible, but still indistinct.
I worked down the bowsprit to the lift of the bows; but still I could see nothing, even on the fo'csle. 'Twas plain, however, that here was no watch to fear, and I dropped to the deck and crawled aft on my hands and knees toward the hum of talk, which I made certain now came from the waist.