"Bence has tried, and Bence has failed," answered Drew, with a shake of the head. There was no need to say more. The captain's opinion was plainly expressed by his words and manner. Bence had tried to swim out to the yacht with a rope, had failed, and there was no likelihood any other man would succeed.
But as time went on, and the men on shore signalled by an outward gesture of the arms, as in swimming, and by then holding up an arm for each opening passed, the excitement on board the yacht became intense. The captain ordered a man to the masthead with a rope; he also ordered another man aloft to cut away the topmast, so as to lighten her above. For now he had begun to hope.
The reason why it was utterly impossible for a man to swim from the yacht to the shore was simple enough. In order to do so it would be necessary to cross that comparatively open space between the yacht and the narrow passage, and to enter the passage with one's back to the source of danger. This alone was an enormous difficulty, added to the others already existing. But what prevented any member of the crew trying to swim ashore was the conviction that no human being could ever get through that passage with life. Bence had more than a local reputation as a swimmer, and anyone could understand his trying to do what no other man would attempt.
When at last the signal came that Cheyne had reached the seventh passage, the excitement on board became intense. Only a few seconds had before elapsed between the signal that Bence had entered and the signal that he had failed. Now minutes went by, and the men on board saw that the men ashore had not begun to draw in the line or made any signal of recall. The eyes of every man were now fixed on the mouth of the passage.
"If he does it," said the captain, "he deserves a monument."
"And he shall have it," said the Duke. No one had the least clue as to what station in life Cheyne belonged. The sailors assumed he was a seafaring man of some kind, because he would have been a credit to their class. While bathing it is difficult to recognise in the water an acquaintance until you hear his voice. But although Cheyne was battered and ragged and marred, there was something about him which told the Duke of Shropshire that the man who had come to the rescue was not an ordinary sailor. You can always tell a sailor by his hands; and the Duke saw by this man's hands that he had not had any long dealing with ropes. The hand was small and powerful, but the knuckles were not abnormally developed, and the nails were smooth and fine.
The men both ashore and on board worked with a will. The whip had been hauled ashore, and the block of it made fast; and now they were hauling the hawser to the beach. Once the hawser was made fast to the anchor on the knoll, they could begin sending the men ashore.
Meanwhile men had been busy in the ship preparing the jackets for the warp. The hawser was new and strong. The whip was of unusual thickness, and, as time was the only thing which could now beat them. Captain Drew decided that two men should go at a time.
Two deep baskets were lashed to a short spar, and then firmly to one another top and bottom. The spar was then secured to two patent blocks, and these patent blocks were slipped in on the hawser and secured. All now was ready for the first two men to go ashore.
Meanwhile Cheyne had recovered to a great extent. He was now able to stand alone. They had brought him clothes, which he had put on, and although he began to feel cold and sick the stiffness of reaction had not yet set in.