“Leroy,” an impatient Scotsman shouted, “if you don’t start climbing, you’ll die here.”
I took a deep breath and reached for the ladder. I put one hand above the other and pulled myself up.
The ladder swung toward the ship. My cap fell into the ocean. My knees smashed against the hull.
The rope ladder wrapped around my body when it swung away from the ship. A glove slipped off, and my left hand lost its grip on the rung.
When I tried to catch the glove, my left wrist scraped against the rope. The skin ripped. Blood spurted out. I screamed.
“What are you yelling about?” the Scotsman hollered. “Climb, lad! Climb!”
“I can’t,” I cried.