It was formed of a couple of forty-foot scaffolding poles, stoutly bound and corded together, the base of one to the top of the other, so that they stood at right angles.  Five or six feet of the butt of the horizontal one was projected beyond its lashings, and to this three lengths of rope were fastened, and trailed long ends in the dust as the structure was held aloft and pushed and dragged into position.

“Now!” shrieked the girl, red-hot, reliant, never still for a moment; “as marny as can hold to each end there, and swing the blessed boom out towards him!”

Fifty may have responded.  They swarmed like ants about the upraised pole, and she drove them into position—­a black knot of men hauling on the triple cordage—­left, right, and middle, like the ribs of a tent.

They saw her meaning and fell into place with a shout.  To hold the projecting pole levered up at that height was a test of weight and muscle, even without their man on the end of it; but there were plenty more to help pull, did their united force waver.

“Jack!” screamed the girl again, in a wildness of excitement.  “Only a second longer, Jack!  Hold on by your eyelids, and snatch the stick the moment it comes agen thee!”

The horizontal spar pointed down the street.  Slowly the men worked round with the ropes, and slowly the point of the pole turned in the direction of the chimney-stack and its forlorn burden.  There was room and to spare for the process in the wide gap made by the tumbled house.

The crowd held its breath.  Here and there a strangled sob was rent from overstrained lungs; here and there the wailing voice of a baby whined up and subsided.

The pole swung round with the toiling men—­neared him on the ruin.  He turned his head and saw, shifted his position and staggered.  Jenny gave a piercing screech.  The men, thinking something was wrong, paused a moment.

On the instant there came a crackling, tearing sound—­a heaving roll—­a splintering crash and uproar.  The man aloft was seen to make a flying leap—­or was it only a hurled fragment of the falling chimney?—­and white dust rose in a fog once more and blotted out all the tragedy that might be enacting behind it.

A horrible silence succeeded, then a single woman yelled, and her cry was echoed by fifty hoarse voices.

The noise came from those at the ropes.  They were straining and tugging, and some of them bobbed up and down like peas on a drum.

“More on ye! more on ye!  We’ve hooked un, and he’s got the pull of a sea sarpint!”

The ropes became thick with striving men.  The whole street resounded with a medley of cries.

Then the point of the boom swung slowly out of the fog, and there was the rescued man swinging and swaying at the end of it.

They lowered him gradually into the street.  But the strain upon them was awful, and he came down with a run the last few yards.