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.