“Stand by to grasp that ringbolt, Joy,” he called out from his position at the steering oar.
The cadet he addressed leaned out from the bow of the launch in readiness to obey the order.
The other occupants busied themselves in lowering the sail and in assisting Joy to bring the boat alongside the strange derelict.
As the launch slipped alongside the torpedo boat, Joy cleverly caught the ringbolt and thrust the end of the painter through it. The sail was lowered, then all hands scrambled up the sloping side of the craft.
The iron surface was rusty and tarnished by wind and weather, but a bright spot of paint here and there gave evidence that the derelict could not have been long abandoned.
The deck sounded hollow under the footsteps of the boys, and the water lapped against the cylindrical hull with a strange weird sound not altogether pleasant.
The little door leading into the forward conning tower was tightly closed, as was also that giving entrance to the after tower.
At intervals along the deck were hatches all hermetically sealed. Clif and his companions were puzzled.
“I don’t understand this,” murmured the former. “If the crew was compelled to leave, why did they close all the doors and hatches?”