Tom Tully did give way, and another and another tried, but made worse of it, for the big fellow did blunder on somehow, no matter what obstacles presented themselves; and at last, quite in despair, just as the sounds in front were dying right away, almost the last man being up the cliff, the great sailor clambered over a huge block of rock and uttered a shout of joy.
“Here’s the place, your honour, here’s the place!” he shouted, and the lieutenant and the men scrambled to his side.
“Well,” cried the lieutenant, “what have you found? Where are we?”
“We’re here, your honour,” cried Tom Tully eagerly. “We’re all right. Oh lor’, look out! what’s that ’ere?”
For just at that moment there was the whizz made by a running out rope, a rushing sound, a heavy body came plump on Tom Tully’s shoulders, and he was dashed to the ground.
Chapter Thirty Four.
On board once more.
There was an attempt at flight on the part of the Kestrels, but there was no room to fly, though the general impression was that the smugglers were about to hurl down pieces of rock upon them from above, but their dread was chased away by a well-known voice exclaiming: