Meanwhile Kenyon was deftly making "bowlines on the bight" at the extremities of two three-inch manilla ropes. "Jackson," he said, addressing the leading hand of the duty-watch, "I’m going after that chap. Tell off a couple of men to attend to each of the ropes. If I make a mess of things and don’t get back, keep the ship head to wind till daylight, and then make for our former mooring. There’ll be plenty of help available." Adjusting one of the loops under his arms and another round his legs above his knees, Kenneth slipped through the narrow trap-hatch, taking the second rope with him. It was a weird sensation dangling in space with about 8000 feet of empty air between him and land or sea, for by this time the "Golden Hind" was probably over the African coast. But soon the eerie feeling passed and Kenneth, courageous, cool-headed and accustomed to dizzy heights, had no thought but for the work in hand. "At that!" he shouted, when he found himself on the same level with the man he hoped to rescue. "Take a turn." Ten feet from him was the unconscious Enrico Jaures. The question now was, how was that intervening space to be bridged? Kenyon began to sway his legs after the manner of a child on a swing. "If the rope parts, then it’s a case of ’going west’ with a vengeance," he soliloquised grimly. "Christopher! Isn’t it beastly cold?" Momentarily the pendulum-like movement increased until Kenneth was able to grip the arm of the unconscious man. As he did so Enrico’s belt, that had hitherto prevented him from dropping into space, parted like pack-thread. With a jerk that nearly wrenched the rescuer’s arms from their sockets, the deadweight of the Scorp almost capsized Kenyon out of the bow-line. As it was, he was hanging with his head lower than his feet, holding on with a grip of iron to Jaures’ arms. Thus hampered, he realised that it was manifestly impossible to make use of the second bow-line. "Haul up!" he shouted breathlessly. "Heavens!" he added. "Can I do it? Can I hold on long enough?" It was a question that required some answering. The strain on his muscles, coupled with the effect of the unexpected jerk, the numbing cold, and, lastly, his own position, as he hung practically head downwards, all told against him. Even in those moments of peril he found himself thinking he must present a ludicrous sight to the watchers in the airship in the dazzling glare of the searchlight. "Stick it another half a minute, sir," shouted a voice. "I’ll be with you in a brace of shakes." Of what happened during the next thirty long drawn out seconds Kenyon had only a hazy recollection. He was conscious of someone bawling in his ear, "Let go, sir; I’ve got him all right."