“No; I can’t see him. Can you?”
“Yes; only his hand. It’s like a speck. He’s waving it to us. There, I can just see a bit of his arm, too.”
“I got it now. Yes, I can see it. He must be at the mouth of an adit where they threw out their waste stuff to be washed away by the sea.”
“Ahoy! Rope!”
Those two words came up plainly now, and Joe answered through his closed hands.
“All—right—coming down!—Now, Sam, quick. Make me fast, and lower away.”
“No! Rope!” came up from below.
“Says you aren’t to go down,” cried Hardock, excitedly. “And why should yer? I’ll drop the rope, and you can help me haul him up. He’ll make it fast enough, I know.”
As he spoke the man rose up, threw the ring of rope on the rock by his side, set the end free, made a knot in it, and gave it to Joe to hold while, after a little examination to make sure that it would uncoil easily, he raised the ring, stood back a couple of yards, swung the coil to and fro horizontally on a level with his left shoulder and then launched it seaward with a vigorous throw, making a snatch directly after at the end close to where Joe held on with both hands.
Away went the rope with the rings gracefully uncoiling and straightening out as the stout hemp writhed like some long thin serpent, opening out more and more, till, far away below them, they saw it hang down, swaying to and fro like a pendulum.