“Now,” cried Syd, as he grasped mentally the spot where his companion would land. “A man to go down.”
The sailor who had been his other companion on the day when Syd had attempted to explore the rock stepped forward, a loop was made in the rope, the man threw it over his head, and passed it below his hips.
“Ready,” he cried, and he was lowered down over the edge to be ready to give Roylance a helping hand, and try to make fast the line the latter was bringing ashore.
“Ah!” shrieked Syd, suddenly, for it seemed to him that the end had come. For as he gazed wildly at his messmate, he saw that he was swimming with all his might, but making no way. Worse: he was being drawn slowly and surely out to sea, and the reason was plain; the rope that should have continued to give over the side had caught somewhere in the broken edge of the bulwarks, and all Roylance’s risks and efforts had been thrown away.
“Let go, and swim for it!” yelled Syd, and Roylance answered by throwing up a hand.
“Can you see the sharks?” said Syd, half-aloud.
“No, sir, not yet,” said one of the sailors. “They’re cruising about the boat.”
“Roylance—Roy! Let go of the rope and swim,” cried Syd, in an agony of dread.
But the young middy turned on his back, loosened the rope all he could, and gave it a shake so as to send a wave along it. This had no effect, for it was too tight, and to the honour of those on the rock they saw him deliberately turn and take a stroke or two back toward the boat before giving the rope another shake. This time it had its due effect, for the wave ran along the line and shifted it out of the rugged spot where it had caught, so that it once more ran out freely as Roylance turned to swim for the shore.
“Hist! Don’t make a sound,” whispered Syd, as a murmur of horror ran through the group on the top of the cliff.