“I can get one on ’em across like a shot, sir,” cried Gedge excitedly.
“Silence!” cried Roberts.
“But I done drowning-man resky, sir, in Victory Park lots o’ times.”
“Then rescue the drowning-man with the injured leg—yourself,” said Roberts, smiling—“if it comes to the worst. Draw swords, gentlemen. I’ll lead. You take hold of my sword, my lad, and take fast grip of Mr Drummond’s hand. Drummond, hold out your sword to Gedge. Gedge, take Mr Bracy’s hand. Bracy, you can extend your sword to the last. We may be able to wade. If not we must go with the stream, and trust to the rocks. Each man who reaches a shallow can help the rest. Ready? Forward!”
Chapter Ten.
A Nice Walk.
“Halt!” cried Roberts in a low tone of voice; for, as he gave the order to advance for the attempt to ford the river, a fresh burst of firing arose from what seemed to be nearer, and he hesitated to lead his companions out into the rushing flood and beyond the shelter of the overhanging trees.
“It is like exposing ourselves to being shot down while perfectly helpless, old fellow,” he said, with his lips close to Bracy’s ear.