The cry was faint, but it sent a thrill through all gathered at the mouth of the chasm.
“Ahoy!” roared Smith, as he violently agitated the rope. “All right, my lad, coming. Aloft there with the line. No, no, no, don’t lower; haul. I’m too low down now.”
The men gave a cheer, and began to haul up till the mate checked them.
“That right?” he cried to the sailor.
“Little higher, sir. Couple o’ fathom. He’s on a bit of a shelf, ’cross a hole, and I shall have to swing to him.”
“That do?” cried the mate in the midst of the breathless excitement.
“Yes, that’s about it, sir. Now, then, make fast. I’m going to swing.”
“Right!”
Then the lantern began to pass to and fro, like a pendulum, and at every thrust given with his feet by the swinging man, the loose blocks of lava and pumice went rumbling and crashing down, sending up whispering echoes and telling of a depth that was absolutely profound.
“Can you manage?” shouted the mate.