The gale was now a thing of the past; and the sea was rapidly subsiding. Clear skies overhead, and a brightly shining sun robbed the scene of much of its former grewsomeness.
In the sailing launch Trolley and Joy were laboring with might and main, as indeed all were. But the two young plebes had an added interest in reaching the strange derelict from the fact that Clif Faraday, their friend and chum, was on board the craft whence those horrible cries had come.
It was not long before the cutter reached the capsized whaleboat. Clinging to the keel were five of the crew. They were instantly dragged on board and a start made for the stern of the derelict.
The lieutenant and the rest of the crew were either swimming in that vicinity or holding on to the rudder.
The rather clumsy launch dashed up in time to rescue the officer, who had managed to keep himself afloat by strenuous efforts. As he was lifted over the side by willing hands, he gasped, hurriedly:
“Quick! board that vessel. Faraday is there, and he is in trouble.”
Trolley exclaimed something in Japanese, and sprang to his feet. Nimbly stepping forward, he made a flying leap from the launch’s bow, and caught the rope dangling from the derelict’s stern.
“Stop!” sternly cried the officer in charge. “Wait until you are ordered to leave the boat.”
But the young Japanese paid no heed to the words. The impetus caused by the leap sent him swinging and scraping along the slimy side of the strange craft, but he drew himself up inch by inch, and finally gained the rail.
“Stand by to catch a rope,” called out the lieutenant, making the best of the situation. “Make it fast to—— What’s the matter?”