“Nothing here, massa, but this dead fellow’s leg-bone and little bits of broken jugs,” and the dauntless Peter came out with his ghastly trophy.
Moore seemed not to lose heart.
“Perhaps,” he said, “there is something on the roof. Peter, give me a back.”
Peter stooped down beside one of the wooden pillars and firmly grasped his own legs above the knee. Moore climbed on the improvised ladder, and was just able to seize the edge of the roof, as it seemed to be, with his hands.
“Now steady, Peter,” he exclaimed, and with a spring he drew himself up till his head was above the level of the roof. Then he uttered a cry, and, leaping from Peter’s back retreated to the level where we stood in some confusion.
“Good God!” he said, “what a sight!”
“What on earth is the matter?” I asked.
“Look for yourself, if you choose,” said Moore, who was somewhat shaken, and at the same time irritated and ashamed.
Grasping the lantern, I managed to get on to Peter’s shoulders, and by a considerable gymnastic effort to raise my head to the level of the ledge, and at the same time to cast the light up and within.
The spectacle was sufficiently awful.