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.