The whaleboat swept on and finally gained a position on the lee side of the tossing hulk. A weather-beaten rope dangling over the side promised a means of ascending to the deck.
“Catch it, one of you,” shouted the officer. “Shin up the side and take the painter.”
The position of the boat brought the rope within reach of Clif’s hands, and he lost no time in obeying the order.
Fortunately the black tarry strands were strong enough to bear his weight, and he was soon climbing agilely toward the high railing.
Slipping and sliding, up, up he went, the pressure of his feet dislodging masses of the strange, slimy green marine vegetation adhering to the storm-beaten planks.
Finally he grasped the rail and crawled over. Then, just as he disappeared, those below heard a strangling, unearthly cry, followed by the sounds of a desperate struggle.
Then came one shrill, agonizing appeal for help, and—silence!