He uttered a peculiar sound, as, after waving the rings of rope well above his head, he looked across at Roylance, who stood in a bent attitude, close to the side, forgetful of the sharks; and then, with everybody wishing the cast God-speed, the rope was thrown.
Chapter Thirty Seven.
The excited party burst into a hearty cheer as the rings of wet rope flew glistening through the sunshine, and a fresh burst broke forth as they saw the outermost deftly caught by Roylance. But the cheer changed to a yell of horror as it was seen that in his effort to cast the line far enough, the old boatswain had overbalanced himself and fallen headlong down the cliff, which was, fortunately for him, sufficiently out of the perpendicular where he fell to enable him to save himself here and there by snatching at the rugged blocks of coral, checking his fall cleverly enough till, as his companions breathlessly watched, he stopped altogether, hanging, almost, on a ledge about six feet above the waves, and only keeping himself from going farther by grasping the stones.
The intense interest was divided now between Roylance on the slowly drifting boat and the boatswain clinging for dear life.
“Who can climb down to him,” cried Syd, “before the rope tightens and he is dragged off? Here, I will.”
“No, sir; I’ll go,” said Rogers, eagerly; and without waiting further orders he began to lower himself down as actively as a monkey, now hanging by his hands and dropping to a ledge below, now climbing sidewise to get to a better place before descending again.
“Give the rope a turn round one of the blocks as soon as you get hold of it, Rogers,” cried Syd.
“Ay, ay, sir.”