At an unspoken signal the launch moved in until a sailor in the bow could hurl upward an iron grappling hook. At the first cast it caught on at the top of the rail, while the machine gunners trained their weapon to "get" any one who endeavored to cast off the grapple.
"Up with you!" shouted Darrin. One after another half a dozen sailors raced up the rope, swinging over to the deck.
Dave followed next, then more seamen. All were armed and ready for instant work of the sternest kind.
Two sailors lay dead, rifles beside them. Pools of blood showed that at least two more wounded men had been there, but had fled. No one else belonging to the ship was in sight on deck.
"Boatswain's mate, take the bridge," ordered Dave, as more men came up on board. "Put two men in the wheel-house. Take command of the deck with such men as I do not take with me."
Calling half a dozen seamen, and ordering them to draw their automatic revolvers, Darrin proceeded to the chart-room. He tried the door, but found it locked.
"Break it down," he ordered, and in a jiffy the thing had been done. But the chart-room proved to be empty.
Further aft Darrin went along the deck-house. The cabins of the captain and two mates were found to be empty.
"We'll soon know where the crew have gone to," he remarked.
In the dining-room were found three men in dingy blue uniforms, who appeared to be ship's officers. The oldest, who scowled hardest at the same time, Dave took to be the skipper.