“Better make a light and see how deep the hole is first,” replied the commander of the first battalion.
Fortunately Ben had plenty of matches with him, and striking one, he lit a bamboo stalk and held it up as a torch. By the flickering light thus afforded they saw that the hole was about eight feet wide and twice as long. The level of the road above was fully eight feet over their heads.
“Looks as if we were in a box, eh, captain?” said the major, grimly.
“We’re certainly in a hole,” responded Ben. 163 “But I think we can get out without much trouble. I wish we had a spade.”
“Well, wishing won’t bring one, and there is nothing here to take the place of one, either.”
“Nothing but our hands. Here, if you’ll hold the light, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Here is a bit of a flat stick, try that,” rejoined Major Morris; and taking the article mentioned, Ben set to work with vigor, attacking one end of the hole by loosening the dirt so that a large portion of it soon fell at their feet. Standing upon the fallen portion he continued his operations, and presently more of the dirt fell, leaving an incline up which both began to scramble on hands and knees. It was not a very dignified thing to do, but it was far better than to remain in the hole, and besides, there was nobody at hand to comment on the want of dignity in the movement.
“We are well out of that,” began Major Morris, brushing off his clothing as he spoke. “In the future—”
“Hold on, major, somebody is coming,” interrupted Ben, and pulled his companion back. He had seen a faint light advancing toward them, from a side road which joined the main road at a point but a few 164 yards distant. Soon he made out a heavy cart approaching, drawn by a pair of caribaos, or water buffaloes. On the seat of the cart sat two sleepy-looking natives.
“We must stop that cart,” was the major’s comment. “If we don’t, there will be a bad smash-up.”