“Keep it up, boy! Oh, keep it up!” yelled a hundred hoarse throats.
“Come on! Come on! Not much farther now! Oh, stick to it, Ned! Stick to it!”
“Ned! Ned, old boy, we’re all with you!” howled poor Herc, almost beside himself. His face under the tan was ashen gray, and his freckles stood out like ink spots on blotting paper.
With anxiety and interest keyed up to a pitch that was almost unbearable, Ned continued to advance. The smoke from the funnels was perceptibly lessened by this time. The engineers, apprised of what was going on, had shut off all draughts, and if Ned could only maintain his grip he would be able to make the passage above the four huge smoke pipes without being suffocated.
His objective point was now plain. It was the signal halliards that he was making for.
“Rig up a bos’un’s chair and send it aloft on those halliards,” roared Captain Dunham.
In a jiffy the plank seat was attached to the halliards and sent aloft to the stay along which Ned was slowly but surely advancing.
His head was quite clear now and his fighting spirit was up. He would make those halliards. With every sense that was in him he exerted his will to reach the goal he was aiming for.
All at once he let go with one hand for an instant.
A mighty groan, concentrated in a hundred voices, went up.