It was something to do—something to occupy his thoughts for a few moments, and, setting one hand free, he passed it round the side of the ladder, leaned toward it, as he forced it toward his neck; his fingers seized the knot—a sailor’s slip-knot—and the next minute the handkerchief was loose in his hands.
A few more long moments, and he had taken his companion’s from his neck. Then came the knotting together, a task which needed the service of both hands, and for a time he hesitated about setting the second free.
Free he could not make it, but by clinging round the sides of the ladder with both arms, he brought his hands together, and with the skill taught him by the Cornish fishermen, he soon, without the help of his eyes, had the two handkerchiefs securely joined in a knot that would not slip, and was now possessed with a twisted silken cord about five feet long.
But how slight! Still it was of silk, and it was his only chance unless help came; and of that there seemed to be not the slightest hope.
He twisted the silk round and round in his hands for some seconds after the fashion that he and Joe had observed when making a snood for their fishing lines, and then passing one end round the spell that was on a level with Joe’s throat, he drew till both ends were of a length, and then tied the silken cord tightly to the piece of stout, strong oak, letting the ends hang down.
Joe’s hands were grasping the sides of the ladder—how feebly Gwyn did not know till he tried to move the left, when it gave way at once, and would have fallen to his side but for his own strong grasp. Holding it firmly, he passed it round the left side of the ladder, placing it along the spell, and then passing one of the silken ends round the wrist, he drew it tight to the spell and kept it there, while he loosened the boy’s right-hand, passed that round the other side, so that wrist rested upon wrist, and the next minute the handkerchief was slipped round it, and drawn tightly, binding both together.
They were safely held so long as he kept up a tension upon the end of the silk; and this with great effort he was able to do with his left hand, while, working in the opposite way, he passed the second end round the two wrists once, dragged it as hard as he could, and then tied the first portion of a simple knot. Then he dragged again and again, bringing his teeth to bear in holding the shorter end of the handkerchief, while he tugged and tugged till the silk cut into the boy’s flesh, and his wrists were dragged firmly down upon the spell. There the second portion of the knot was tied; and, feeling that Joe could not slip, he bound the longer end round again twice, brought the first end to meet it, and once again tied as hard as he could.
Breathless with the exertion of holding on by his crooked arms while he worked, and with the perspiration streaming down his face, he stood there panting for a few moments, holding on tightly, and peering through the spells to make sure that his knots were secure, and the silken cord sufficiently tight to stay Joe’s wrists from being dragged through. Then he tried the fastening again, satisfying himself that Joe was as safe as hands could make him, and that his arms could not possibly be dragged away from the spell to which they were tied, even if his feet slipped from the round below.
Satisfied at this, Gwyn’s heart gave a throb of satisfaction.
“You can’t fall, Joe,” he said. “I don’t want to leave you, but I must go for help.”