“Next, Gedge,” said Bracy.
Gedge sprang forward as if his leg were uninjured, lowered himself down till his head was out of sight of those behind, and then, muttering the words of the old school game, “Here comes my ship full sail, cock warning!” he let go, glided down, made his splash, and the next minute was standing beyond Roberts, holding on, for the pressure of the rushing water was great. The others followed rapidly, Bracy last, and feeling as if he had suddenly plunged into liquid ice, so intensely cold was the water, which reached nearly to his chin. He glanced outward to get a dim peep of the river they were about to try and cross, and another chill ran through him, for it was like standing face to face with death, the surface eastward being one race of swirling and rushing foam, dotted here and there by masses of rock. There was a few moments’ anxious pause, and, above the hissing rush of the water, the echoing crack, crack, crack of the enemies’ jezails reached their ears, but sounding smothered and far away. Then Roberts spoke:
“You can swim, Drummond?”
“Yes, in smooth water,” was the reply. “I don’t know about cascades.”
“You’ve got to, my lad,” said Roberts shortly. “What about your men? You can, I know, Gedge.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You others?”
“I can swim a few strokes, sir,” said one.
“Never was no water, sir, where I was,” replied the other.
“A few strokes!” cried Roberts fiercely. “No water! Shame on you, lads! No one who calls himself a man ought, to be in a position to say such a thing. Well, we’ll do our best. Don’t cling, or you’ll drown us as well.”