“Can't he walk?” said the sailor, in a half whisper, as he stood beside the car. “Well, let 's lose no more time; we 'll take him down between us.”
“No, no,” said Darby; “put him on my back; I 'll do it myself.”
“The ground's slippier than you take it,” said the other; “my way 's the safest.”
With that he lifted me from the car, and placing me between Darby and himself, they grasped each other's hands beneath me, and soon began a descent which I saw would have been perfectly impracticable for one man to have accomplished with another on his back.
During the time, my desire to know where they were bringing me again grew stronger than ever; and as I turned to ask Darby, I perceived that the tears were coursing each other fast down his weatherbeaten cheeks, while his lips shook and trembled like one in an ague.
“Mind your footing there, my man, I say,” cried the sailor, “or you'll have us over the cliff.”
“Round the rock to the left there,” cried a voice from below. “That's it, that's it; now you're all right. Steady there; give me your hand.”
As he spoke, two men advanced from the boat, and assisted us down the sloping beach, where the wet seaweed made every step a matter of difficulty.
“Lay him in the stern there; gently, lads, gently,” said the voice of one who appeared the chief amongst them. “That's it; throw those jackets under his head. I say, piper, ar'n't you coming with us?”
But Darby could not speak one word. A livid pallor was over his features, and the tears fell, drop by drop, upon his cheek.