“What, down there, man?” said Oliver, with a shudder, as he looked over into the darkness. “Impossible.”
“Which it aren’t, sir, for I’ve done it.”
The burning pieces of wood increased in number now, lighting up the huge cavern weirdly, and the blacks were not a hundred yards away, and approaching cautiously.
“What do you say, Panton—fight or run that horrible risk and retreat?”
“I’d say fight,” replied Panton, with a shudder, “but we should not beat them off. They’d never dare to follow here. Let’s try it. Wriggs got through, why should not we?”
“Yes, go on,” cried Oliver. “You cannot talk to the men, and it’s as well they do not know the danger. Lead on, Wriggs, and Heaven help us all.”
It was as he said, no one but Smith fully realised what the dangers were, and though they were staggered by the noise and horrors around them, the men knew that there was a way through, and, following their comrade’s example, they lowered themselves down over the edge of the rock and dropped, the stream seeming less repellent than the ferocious enemy.
One by one they dropped down, disappearing directly as if suddenly snatched away, till only Smith was left with the three friends, and his action was suggestive, for he held out his hand to each in turn, shook that placed within it, and then, grasping his gun, lowered himself over the edge.
The blacks were very near as Drew followed the man’s example, and then Panton shook hands with Oliver.
“Good-bye, or au revoir,” he cried, and turning, he jumped boldly forward into the darkness.