"No need. I'll make it."
"Look out for back-tow!"
The other nodded. He had pulled off his coat and unlaced his shoes and
now he dropped these things through the forward hatch and wrapped the
big rope around his waist. "Better not try to swim with your coats,
fellows," he instructed. "Nor shoes. Don't take any chances. Last man
off see that this hatch is shut tight." He crawled around the
stanchions on the starboard side and crept along to the bow, the others,
huddled together on the sloping bridge, watching anxiously. Then he
slipped from sight. Once they saw his head, or thought they saw it, a
darker blot in the grey-green welter. Joe was already creeping toward
the bow, and, having reached it, he crouched there, blinded by rain and
spray, and waited for the rope to tauten. It seemed a long while before
he waved an arm to the watchers behind and swung himself off. They saw
his hands travel along the rope a moment and then he was smothered up in
the spume.
One by one the others followed without misadventure save when Han
slipped on the deck and would have rolled across and plunged over the
further side had he not fortunately caught the iron support of the
searchlight in front of the funnel. Phil was the last to go.
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