All wet and shaken and excited and out of breath, he does get on board.

Ship lying over, smothered in sprays, but not moving very much; just enough to jag one's nerve a bit.
He finds them all crowded on the deck-house forward, in their shiny oilskins, with faces like sick men.

Captain Harry can't believe his eyes.

What! Mr.Cloete! What are you doing here, in God's name?
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