“He’s falling!”
But no, Ned had only paused for a minute to draw himself up on the stay so that he could rest his aching muscles for the final spurt. Then he resumed his torturingly slow progress.
“Oh, I can’t stand this much longer!” cried Herc, beside himself with suspense and excitement.
“He’s coming ahead again!” went up the cry, as Ned began worming himself along once more.
“So he is! Good boy!”
“Come on, ship-mate! You’re on the home-stretch!” shouted another voice.
“We’ve got the tow-rope! Come on for the old Manhattan!”
A perfect babel of sound resounded along the decks. The officers made no attempt to check it. They were as excited as the men themselves.
Ned reached the signal halliards at last. A score of hands seized the free end of the rope to which the bos’un’s chair was attached and lowered the exhausted lad to the bridge, as soon as he had clambered, with a Jackie’s dexterity, into the swaying contrivance.
What a roar arose then!