“Bravo, skipper!” I said, for he gave his orders so cleverly and concisely that the task seemed quite easy.
“Wait a moment,” he cried. “I haven’t got the bar quite right. That’s it. My! Won’t it go!”
“Pah! Tah! Tah! Tah!” rang out over our heads just like a mocking laugh, as a couple of jackdaws flew past, their dark shadows seeming to brush us softly as they swept by.
“Now, then, Big. Don’t stand gaping after those old powder-pates. Now: are you ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready,” cried Bigley.
“And you, Sep? Come and catch hold of the bar. Now, then, altogether. Heave up, Big. Down with it, Sep. Altogether. Hooray! And over she goes.”
But over she did not go, for the great mass of stone did not budge an inch.
“Here, let’s shift the bar, lads,” cried Bob. “I haven’t got it quite right.”
He altered the position of the lever, thrusting in a piece of stone close under the rock so as to form a fulcrum, and then once more being quite ready he moistened his hands.
“Get your shoulder well under it, Big; shove down well, Sep, and we shall have such a roarer.”