"Have we rope enough on board to be of real service?" asked Frank in a voice broken with emotion.
"Bless you, yes, my boy, fifty fathoms of manilla, light, but strong enough to bear an ox's weight."
"Thank God!" cried Frank fervidly.
There was little thought of rest now till long past sunset.
A plank of extra breadth was got ready, and the rope was coiled so that several hands could assist in bearing it along.
Provisions were also packed, and so all was ready for the forlorn hope.
The relief party now lay down to snatch a few hours of rest, but, soon after the crimson and orange glory of the sky heralded the approach of the sun, they were aroused from their slumbers.
Breakfast was speedily discussed, and now they were ready.
There was no hesitation about Frank Trelawney, the Cockney boy, now. He was British all over, and brave because he was British. His dearest friend, Conal, lay stark and stiff in that fearful ice-gap; he would be one of the first to help the poor bruised body to bank, ay, and bedew it with tears which it would be impossible to restrain.
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