He made one step over the threshold, then he stopped with a gasp. From some spot below came a weird, shrill voice.
“Au secours! au secours!” it said. “J’ai faim. Au secours!”
Joy hastily sprang back. His face had paled and his hands trembled as he pointed behind him.
“There’s a man below there,” he cried. “Did you hear that?”
“I heard him,” replied Clif, eagerly. “It’s a Frenchman, sure enough. He is calling for help.”
Leaping past his companions, he disappeared down the ladder leading to the lower deck. Joy and Trolley tumbled after him.
They found themselves in a much larger apartment than that forward. It was not furnished so comfortably, containing only a few benches, a swinging table and half a dozen hammocks.
A pile of broken crockery occupied one corner, and swinging from hooks were several pans, and strings of tin cups.
Forward of the larger apartment was another, also containing hammocks. In this latter room were several chests, one being marked with a name in black letters. It was evidently the name of the torpedo boat. It ran: