e!" was Leach's crafty answer, strained from him in a
smothered sort of way.

This was greeted with whoops of joy, and from then on Wolf Larsen had
seven strong men on top of him, Louis, I believe, taking no part in it.
The forecastle was like an angry hive of bees aroused by some marauder.

"What ho! below there!" I heard Latimer shout down the scuttle, too
cautious to descend into the inferno of passion he could hear raging
beneath him in the darkness.

"Won't somebody get a knife? Oh, won't somebody get a knife?" Leach
pleaded in the first interval of comparative silence.

The number of the assailants was a cause of confusion. They blocked
their own efforts, while Wolf Larsen, with but a single purpose, achieved
his. This was to fight his way across the floor to the ladder. Though
in total darkness, I followed his progress by its sound. No man less
than a giant could have done what he did, once he had gained the foot of
the ladder. Step by step, by the might of his arms, the whole pack of
men striving to drag him back and down, he drew his body up from the
floor till he stood erect. And then, step by step, hand and foot, he
slowly struggled up the ladder.

The very last of all, I saw. For Latimer, having finally gone for a
lantern, held it so that its light shone down the scuttle. Wolf Larsen
was nearly to the top, though I could not see him. All that was visible
was the mass of men fastened upon him. It squirmed about, like some huge
many-legged spider, and swayed back and forth to the regular roll of the
vessel. And still, step by step with long intervals between, the mass
ascended. Once it tottered, about to fall back, but the broken hold was
regained and it still went up.

"Who is it?" Latimer cried.

In the rays of the lantern I could see his perplexed face peering down.

"Larsen," I heard a muffled voice from within the mass.

Latimer reached down with his free hand. I saw a hand shoot up to clasp
his. Latimer pulled, and the next couple of steps were made with a rush.
Then Wolf Larsen's other hand reached up and clutched the edge of the
scuttle. The mass swung clear of the ladder, the men still clinging to
their escaping foe. They began to drop off, to be brushed off against
the sharp edge of the scuttle, to be knocked off by the legs which were
now kicking powerfully. Leach was the last to go, falling sheer back
from the top of the scuttle and striking on head and shoulders upon his