“Can you hold on, Strake?”
“Ay, my lad, I think I can,” growled the boatswain. “Nuff to make a man hold on with them sharks down below.”
“The rope—the rope!” shouted Roylance from the derelict boat.
“Yes. We’re trying,” cried Syd. “Here, what are you doing? Don’t tighten that; you’ll have Strake off the rock.”
He yelled this through his hands as he saw Roylance stooping down and hauling away at the rope hand over hand.
“Perhaps he knows what he’s doing,” thought Syd; and he turned his attention to the boatswain and the man going to his help.
“Can any other man go down to assist?” he said. “I’m afraid that Rogers will not be able to hold on, and the boat will go.”
“You’d better go, Belton,” whispered Terry. “I’ll take command here. Mustn’t lose poor Roylance.”
Syd turned upon him sharply, and was about to follow the suggestion, when a shout came from Rogers.
“The rope—the rope!”