Time seemed to stand still and the world to poise on its poles as Ned
shot through the narrow opening. A thunder boom sounded in his ears and
his soul appeared to be flying from his mouth.
With quick instinct--it was no conscious effort of will,--he had spread
his legs as he fell, turning his feet outward, as he had often done in
the gymnasium when hanging from a bar. It was that swift movement, and
that alone, that saved him from plunging straight down to the depths of
the sea or striking the iron decks so far below him.
There he clung, head downward, sustained only by the grip of his feet
on two steel posts. Every muscle of his body was strained to its utmost
tension. His brain seemed bursting. With every heave and roll of the
ship he was swung far out and then back again, with every likelihood
that if his foothold was not broken his head would be dashed against a
steel brace.
Below from the bridge came a horrified cry:--
“Great Scott, sir! Look at that!”
“It’s Gunner’s-Mate Strong!” groaned the Captain.
“Look, sir, the other man, Sharp, his name is, has seen his plight.
He’s trying to haul him aboard.”
“Good heavens, they’ll both go! Man the mast there! Jump aloft! Look
alive, men! Poor boy! Poor boy!”
Up the ladder sprang a red-headed youth. It was Herc, and behind him
swarmed a half dozen Jackies who had seen the peril of their ship-mate.
“Oh, they’ll never save him! Never!” cried the navigating officer with
a groan.
Suddenly a second horrified shout went up from bridge and deck. Ned
had made a frantic effort to grab the mast on one of his wild swings.
At the same instant Sharp appeared to be laying hold of his feet to
try and drag him back into the top. Those who had set up that groan of
dismay had seen Ned’s feet suddenly slip out of position.
“He’s gone!” cried the captain, half turning away.
Some of the crew shut their eyes. Ned had lost his hold and was doomed
either to be drowned,--for in that sea it would have been impossible to
launch a boat,--or else to be dashed to atoms on the steel decks of the
dreadnought.
But the next instant a glad cry of renewed hope went up. It was a yell,
a frantic shout of encouragement and joy.
Ned had somehow managed, by the instinct of self-preservation, to seize
a stay, and there he hung, swaying wildly back and forth as the ship
rolled, but still gripping it in a firm grasp.
“Can he hang on?”
That was the question that agitated every man who was watching the
lad’s plucky battle for life.
“Stick to it, Ned!” cried the sailors encouragingly.
“Hang on, old boy! We’ll help you out of it in a brace of shakes.”
But these cries, meant to encourage Ned, were not practical of
execution. It was manifestly impossible to reach him. His salvation lay
in his own hands and he must work it out alone.
Herc had, by this time, reached the top and now hung over the rail in
an agony of apprehension. There hung his comrade, twenty feet below
him, dangling high above the decks on a slender wire stay and he was
as powerless to aid him as if he had been a hundred miles away. But he
shouted encouragement.
Suddenly there came a voice at his back. It was Sharp.
“He’s a goner for sure,” he muttered indifferently.
Herc faced around on him like a thunderbolt. His red hair bristled like
the hackles on an angry dog.
“Say that again, will you?” he demanded fiercely, his freckled fists
clenching.
“I only said that there wasn’t a chance for him to get away with it,”
rejoined Sharp, a leer spreading over his countenance. “He stands no
more chance of being saved than a snowball in a furnace.”
“Oh, you think so, do you? Well, just let me tell you one thing, Ned
Strong has got out of worse scrapes than the one he’s in right now.
If it’s humanly possible, he’ll save himself yet, in spite of such
croakers as you.”
Sharp slunk away before Herc’s broadside. He could not meet the other’s
eyes.
“I did all I could to keep him from falling, but I couldn’t get him
in,” he muttered.
A sudden shout from the decks attracted Herc’s attention at this
moment. He rushed to the edge of the top and beheld the most amazing
specimen of grit in the face of overwhelming odds that he had ever
witnessed.
The stay which Ned had caught stretched between the fore and the after
masts. From it were suspended the signal halliards, the nether end of
which ropes were on the bridge. Hand over hand, and painfully slowly,
Ned was working himself along this stay. He appeared to have lost his
presence of mind for the time being, for, instead of coming back to the
after mast, he began working his way forward.
“Come back! Come back!” yelled Herc frenziedly.
“The other way! The other!” shouted officers and men, but Ned appeared
not to hear them.
“Oh, he’ll never make it!” groaned Captain Dunham. “Poor lad! Poor lad!”
And now began a spectacle that none of those who beheld it ever forgot.
It was photographed indelibly on the minds of every witness, officer
and enlisted man.
It was seen that, provided Ned could hold on long enough, his progress
must bring him above the funnels, belching hot, suffocating gases and
blinding, cinder-laden smoke. Captain Dunham sent a man below to order
the fires smothered instantly so as to minimize the amount of vapor
issuing from the funnels.
“I don’t believe that the lad has one chance in a thousand,” he said
with an unaccustomed quaver in his voice, “but we’ll leave nothing
undone to help him out.”
“That’s just the trouble, sir,” rejoined the navigating officer,
“there’s so little we can do. It’s almost unbearable to have to stand
here helplessly and watch that brave struggle.”
Discipline for the time being was entirely forgotten. The sailors
crowded on the fore-decks, oblivious to showers of spray and water, and
shouted encouragement at the tops of their voices.
“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.
“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!
“He’s made it!”
“Hip! hip! hurray!”
In the after top Herc, tears streaming down his face, danced a wild jig
of jubilation, while on the fore-deck Jackies threw their arms around
each other and shook each other’s hands and performed a hundred mad
antics. On the bridge the officers stood with sternly compressed lips,
but from the captain there broke out a fervent:--
“Thank God!”
As Ned, white-faced but smiling bravely, touched the bridge, he was
hauled out of the bos’un’s chair by a score of hands, and for a minute
he needed the support. But he rallied as he faced the captain and
saluting said:--
“Come aboard, sir!”
“Great heavens, Strong, you gave us all the scare of our lives!” said
the captain, with a great sigh of relief.
“I’m sorry, sir,” rejoined Ned, “I somehow missed my footing and----”
“That’s it. How did it happen?” demanded the captain.
“Just as I said, sir. I missed my footing and fell against that
rope-yarn. It carried away and I went through.”
“Strong, you are keeping something back.”
“No, sir. That’s how it happened to the best of my knowledge and
belief.”
“Very well, if there’s nothing further to report, I’m not going to
heckle you now. Mr. James, see that the ropes on the top openings are
replaced by pipe rails. We want no repetition of to-day’s experience.
As it is, I don’t believe that there is another man in the fleet that
would have come out of the ordeal alive. Where are you going, Strong?”
“Back to my post, sir. I’m all right,” replied Ned respectfully.
“Nonsense. You’ve been through enough to incapacitate most lads for a
week. Go below and take it easy. Carry on.”
This was tantamount to an order, and Ned, although he disliked to go
off duty at such a time, had no recourse but to obey. As he passed
along the decks, the blue-jackets crowded about him to press his hand
and cheer him. Through the throng Herc pushed his way, having descended
from the after mast at express speed.
“Good boy, Ned! Oh, good boy!” was all that he said as he wrung his
comrade’s hand, but his voice held an unaccustomed quaver as he spoke
and Ned saw what an ordeal Herc had been through.
“It’s all over now, Herc,” said Ned lightly.
“That fellow Sharp, had he----?”
“I don’t know. I’d accuse no man of such a dastardly thing. But I
thought, only thought, mind you, that I felt a shove as I fell.”
“If I thought----”
“Now see here, Herc, don’t breathe a word of this. In times like that a
fellow might imagine anything. It might all be fancy on my part.”
But, although Ned passed the matter off in this way, he had a well
defined impression, which refused to be obliterated, that at the moment
that he was sent staggering to leeward in the top he had received an
accelerating shove. Henceforth he resolved to watch Sharp narrowly.
He knew that the man hated him with all the malice of a small, mean
nature; but that he would actually attempt such a thing as Ned was
forced to suspect of him, the Dreadnought Boy was loath to believe.