Speake, holding to one of the wire guys that supported the periscope tube, descended the rounded deck, until up to his knees in water. Stretching out his hand he caught the fist of the big fellow in the sou’wester. The latter, standing on the gunwale of the yawl, gave a leap and landed sprawling on the submarine’s deck.
A wave rolled over him, but he managed to clutch the guy rope and hang on. The next moment he rolled over close to the conning tower and lay there, face down, apparently almost spent.
Clackett, imitating Speake’s maneuver, was bringing another of the men aboard. One by one the yawl was unloaded, the boy being the last to come.
Bob, climbing out of the conning tower, ordered the rescued men below. Two of them had vanished through the hatch when Bob, bending over the big fellow by the base of the conning tower, asked him who he and his comrades were, and how they happened to be adrift in a small boat.
“Had er shipwreck,” answered the man hoarsely.
“Can’t you get up?” asked Bob. “We’ll have to get you below, somehow.”
“Mebbe I kin make it if yer put yer arms under mine an’ give me a lift.”
Bracing himself on the deck, Bob reached downward and pushed his hands under the man’s armpits. At the same moment, the big fellow developed a surprising amount of strength. Both his arms went upward, as he whirled over on his back, and closed about Bob’s waist like the two jaws of a vise.
“Now, then, nail ’em, you swabs!” he roared. “I got the boss o’ the gang, an’ you git the rest!”