an unusual angle. He scrambled up, a
pitiable object. A couple of rats ran over his body, and as each
whisked across his shoulders and past his cheek he uttered a
blood-curdling yell. A big wave surged up into the recesses of the
cleft and was flung off in a drenching shower on to the forecastle. It
nearly swept Watts into the next world, and it drove every rodent in
that exposed place back to the dry interior.

To return, they had to use the unhappy chief officer as a causeway, and
the poor wretch's despairing cries were heartrending. He was clinging
for dear life to a bolt in the deck when Coke joined hands with a
sailor and was thus enabled to reach him. Once the skipper's strong
fingers had clutched his collar he was rescued--at least from the
instant death that might have been the outcome of his abject terror,
for there could be little doubt in the minds of those who saw his
glistening eyes and drawn lips that it would have needed the passage of
but one more rat and he would have relaxed his hold.

Coke pulled him up until he was lodged in safety in front of the
windlass. The manner of the welcome given by the captain to his _aide_
need not be recorded here. It was curt and lurid; it would serve as a
sorry passport if proffered on his entry to another world; but the
tragi-comedy of Watts's appearance among the close-packed gathering on
the forecastle was forthwith blotted out of existence by a thing so
amazing, so utterly unlooked for that during a couple of spellbound
seconds not a man moved nor spoke.

CHAPTER V

THE REFUGEES

Watts was whimpering some broken excuse to his angry skipper when a
coil of stout rope fell on top of the windlass and rebounded to the
deck. More than that, one end of it stretched into the infinity of
dripping rock and flying spray overhead. And it had been thrown by
friendly hands. Though it dangled from some unseen ledge, its purpose
seemed to be that of help rather than slaughter, whereas every other
act of the inhabitants of Fernando Noronha had been suggestive of
homicidal mania in its worst form.

Coke and Hozier recovered the use of their faculties simultaneously.
The eyes of the two men met, but Coke was the first to find his voice.

"Salvage, by G--d!" he cried. "Up you go, Hozier! I'll sling the girl
behind you. She can't manage it alone, an' it needs someone with
brains to fix things up there for the rest of us." And he added
hoarsely in Philip's