Will shuddered, and tried to keep all these coward fancies out of his mind; but they would come as he stood listening and holding the rope just tight enough to feel the action of his friend.
What a tremendous effort it seemed; and how long he was! Surely he must be at the top by now.
“Nearly up, Josh?” he shouted.
“Up! No: not half-ways,” replied the fisherman. “She’s too thin, and as wet as wet. I can’t get a hold.”
Will’s heart sank, for he felt that there was failure in his companion’s words; and with parched lips and dry throat he listened to the climber’s pantings and gaspings as he toiled on, paused, climbed again, and then there was a strange hissing noise that made Will hold his breath. The rope, too, was curiously agitated, not in a series of jerks, but in a continuous vibrating manner, and before Will could realise what it all meant Josh was level with the gallery once more, swinging to and fro in the faint light.
“Haul away, young un, and let’s come in,” he panted; and somehow he managed to scramble in as Will held the rope taut.
“It ain’t to be done,” said Josh, sitting down and panting like a dog. “If it were a cable I could go up it like a fly, but that there rope runs through your legs and you can’t get no stay.”
“How far did you get, Josh?” whispered Will.
“Not above half-ways,” grumbled Josh, “and I might have gone on trying; but it was no good, I couldn’t have reached. I say, my lad, what’s going to be done?”